“But, Mr. Harold,” I say, after swallowing an icy sip of my RC Cola on the top step of his porch after lunch with Charlie, “the mystery was solved. It wasn’t a Bigfoot at all. It was Tobin’s dad the whole time. He told the doctors he’s been living in the woods for a year.”

Mr. Harold takes a deep breath and wipes the back of his neck with his red bandana.

“I know it,” he says. “But that doesn’t explain what I saw out in the woods before, or what I saw again today.”

“What did you see?”

“Well, I was tending to another part of the fence in the pasture. And there was that smell, you know, that same skunk smell…strong, too. And just when I was thinking maybe it wasn’t a skunk, that’s when the first rock hit me in the back.”

“Just like before?”

“Yep. Then another one.”

“Another one?” I say, and take a long drink.

“That’s when I stood up and turned around,” he tells me. “And I saw them.”

The RC Cola goes down the wrong pipe, and I choke. My eyes fill up, and I cough and sputter and spray cola everywhere. Mr. Harold smacks my back a couple of times until I stop coughing.

“Them?” I gasp for air. “What do you mean, them?”

“I mean there were two of them. A big one and a little one.”

“Just like the footprints we found in Bluff Creek!”

“The two of them were hiding behind tree trunks in the woods just past the fence, so I couldn’t exactly see them clearly. Maybe there were more, but I can tell you I saw two Bigfoot-type shapes.”

“Then what happened?” I ask, kicking myself for not bringing a notepad to write down the details. I’m never going to hear the end of that one.

“The bigger one growled that same growl where the ground shook underneath me, and then threw one more stone that missed me, and then the two of them ran off. I could see that reddish-brown fur for a while, but they dodged through the trees so fast, it wasn’t but a minute until I couldn’t see them anymore.”

“This is unbelievable!” I say.

He nods in agreement.

“I guess I thought the mystery had been solved.”

“I mean, yeah…you’re probably right. Of course you’re right. Maybe it was just a grizzly and a cub,” Mr. Harold says, already talking himself out of it. “Or maybe another war veteran with battle fatigue…or another guy down on his luck living out in the forest here.”

“Or,” I say, “maybe it wasn’t any of those.”

At least I remembered the Polaroid. And a Twinkie, ’cause Bigfoot hunting is hungry work. It was already squished, with the filling smeared on the plastic, but I’ve learned to live with a squished Twinkie now and again.

I catch a ride out to the pasture behind Mr. Harold on Cimarron’s back. Mr. Harold steers the horse right to the part of the fence where he saw the two Bigfoot this morning.

“I talked to Charlie earlier and he said he’d be on his way as soon as he closed up shop. Sure you don’t want to wait?” Mr. Harold asks, helping me down.

“Mr. Harold, I’m a professional,” I assure him, puffing out my chest to show him my official badge with the clumped-up Elmer’s.

“Ah, well, yes, of course. Whatever or whoever it was is gone now. But there must be some evidence left out there somewhere. If you need anything, I’ll be right here working on the fence. You just holler. And don’t go too far, either.”

“Okay,” I say. “I won’t.”

“And how about a whooop now and again, just so I know everything is okay?” he asks.

“Sure.” I smile. “I’ll whooop you every five minutes.”

“Thanks.” He stands up real straight then and salutes me. “Good luck, Bigfoot hunter.”

I salute him back and take another deep breath before I climb over the fence.

Over the fence and on my way to my very first solo Bigfoot investigation. I adjust the neck strap on the camera and then take one more look back at Mr. Harold. He’s watching me.

“It’ll be okay,” I assure him again. “I know what I’m doing.”

He smiles. “Oh…yeah…I know it,” he calls after me. “I’ll give you a shout once Charlie’s here. Just remember the whooop until then.”

“I will,” I say.

Then I begin my journey.

A journey to find a Bigfoot.