The Sasquatch Mystery

unbearably lonely cry that had echoed through the canyon a short while ago.
    “H-Have y-you heard that scream before tonight?” Trixie asked.
    Cap dug a moccasin heel into the pine needle ground cover. After a long silence, he looked up. “A few times” was all he would say.
    “What about you, Knut, and you, Hallie?” Trixie demanded.
    “No,” Knut said. “But Cap told me about it.”
    “Anybody care to strain a tonsil to let us in on the scary secret?” Hallie inquired.
    “Never mind, Hallie,” Cap said. “He’s gone now.”
    “He?” Mart asked alertly. “How do you know it’s a he?”
    “I don’t,” Cap said. “But it’s over seven feet tall and—”
    “Cool it, Cap,” Knut said quietly.
    Cap rose quickly and asked, “Who wants to help me serve the watermelon?”
    “Allow me!” Mart volunteered.
    The cousins marched off to the stream to lift two huge watermelons from the icy water. Hallie ran for a big metal dishpan. She set it on the long portable camp table. Cap unsheathed the hunting knife strapped to his wide belt. When
    he cut the first melon, it popped like a rifle shot.
    “Oh, yum!” Di squealed. She jumped up to help Mart dole out the dripping, sweet treat.
    While Mart pretended to weigh and measure the slices to be sure they were equal, Trixie concentrated on every small sound that came out of the dark. What was there in this forest that stood over seven feet tall? A bear might stretch to that height when it stood. A deer didn’t make that noise. What else...? She stared at her watermelon without really seeing it.
    “I know that watermelon probably isn’t a goose’s favorite food,” Mart was saying patiently, “but—”
    Trixie ignored him. “How tall is a moose?” she asked Knut.
    “Well over seven feet at the shoulder,” he told her.
    “What kind of a sound does he make?”
    “He bellows. Have you heard an elephant at a circus? The sound is similar.” Knut realized the intent behind her questions and added, “Don’t worry about it, Trixie. Nobody’s reported an incident so far.”
    Knut turned his attention to Miss Trask, who wanted to know how to recognize the famous Idaho white pine. Trixie heard Knut explain, “Its needles, or leaves, are in clusters of five, and the tree grows straight. It can reach a height of two hundred feet.”
    No incident so far , Trixie mused. What an odd thing to say! What kind of incident? And where would one be reported? Cap didn’t build that fire to such height and brightness to scare off a moose!
    When the last juicy bite of watermelon had been eaten, Cap collected the rinds and heaped them in the dishpan. “No need to bury them. The porcupines will polish off this treat by morning. I’ll dump them down the creek, so we won’t have the varmints wandering through camp all night.”
    “If you run across that bee trap, take care of it, will you, Cap?” Hallie asked.
    Cap looked startled, then he mumbled, “Oh, sure.” He strode into the dark, carrying the load of rinds.
    “Hey, wait for me!” Mart scrambled up to follow.
    Trixie watched them go, aware of an unexpected likeness they shared. Even though Mart was noisy and Cap quiet, Mart the performer and Cap the audience, Mart conservative in taste while Cap chose his own style, both shared a love of the earth itself. Both felt a oneness with earth’s creatures and products. She wondered if Cap also shared the memory that allowed Mart to spout dictionaries at will and to report accurately all the odd bits of information that caught his attention.
    She turned to ask Knut, “Does Cap read a lot?”
    “Depends on what you mean by ‘a lot.’ ” Knut smiled with a duplicate of Brian’s smile. “Cap’s English teacher would say he never cracks a book, but she’d be wrong. He hangs around the forestry lookout and memorizes all the government pamphlets.”
    “Then Cap knows all that goes on in the woods?” Trixie persisted.
    “Cap knows,” Knut said soberly. He turned away to listen intently.
    Once again, there came a suka, suka, suka, little more than a whisper far downstream.
    Trixie sighed deeply and realized she had been holding her breath while she waited for the reappearance of Cap and Mart. A small grunt from Knut let her know that he, too, was relieved when the young men returned, swinging the dishpan between them and chanting the nursery rhyme “Jack and Jill.” Trixie fervently wished they had not chosen to repeat that particular rhyme at this