By morning, the story was out of control. The claim of the six kids–“Seven,” Nish kept correcting–who said they had seen a living, breathing dinosaur had travelled around the world. American stations were sending in television crews. CNN was on the scene, broadcasting live. The Screech Owls were headline news, but it was hardly the kind of publicity they might once have dreamed of as they headed into a hockey tournament:

“CANADIAN CHILDREN TELL MONSTER FIB!”

“TINY HOCKEY PLAYERS ATTEMPT PREHISTORIC HOAX”

“CHINOOK BLAMED FOR YOUNGSTERS’ WILD CLAIM”

“FAIRIES AND FLYING SAUCERS — NOW LIVING, BREATHING DINOSAURS!”

“TERROR IN THE BADLANDS!”

Their parents had all phoned. Some of them were beside themselves with worry. Sarah’s mother had been in tears. Travis’s father had told him to remain calm, to say only what he knew to be a fact, and not to be afraid of the truth. Nish asked his mom to clip out all the newspaper stories.

The angle that most of the media had taken concerned children making up stories to draw attention to themselves. One story cited dozens of examples of stories where youngsters had fabricated huge lies and fooled their families and everyone else, at least for a while, and sometimes for years. Many of the news reports compared the “Drumheller Dinosaur Sighting” to an event that took place in England back in 1920. Two little girls who lived in a village in Yorkshire claimed to have played with real fairies since they were tiny, and had been able to take two photographs of the tiny flying creatures with a camera. The story had been such a sensation, and so many people had believed the two girls and their photographic evidence, that even the famous writer Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, was called upon to give his opinion. The great man gave his backing to the little girls’ amazing story. The hoax was not revealed for decades, when one of the little girls, now a very old woman, decided she could not go to her grave carrying such a fib.

There were no photographs of the Alberta dinosaur, all the stories gleefully pointed out.

“No one believes us,” Sarah said despondently.

The police briefly interviewed the seven Screech Owls, and one of the Mounties, who seemed very cross with them, warned that they could be charged with public mischief if they didn’t own up to the truth.

“This is a very serious charge, young ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “It would be a most serious blemish on your record and your families’ good names.”

“But it’s the truth!” said an exasperated Lars. “We saw a real, live dinosaur.”

“I saw it first,” added Nish.

If the reporters and the Mounties didn’t believe the Screech Owls, there were soon lots of others who did. Within a day Drumheller was flooded with the curious. Before long there wasn’t a vacant hotel room to be found between Drumheller and Calgary. They arrived first from all over Canada and the United States, and in the days after from England and France and Germany and Japan…

Several of the supermarket tabloid papers then hit the stands with stories–including photographs!–that seemed to back the seven kids’ version of what had happened. One of these papers even had a front-page headline that claimed, “CANADIAN AUTHORITIES DESPERATE TO SUPPRESS KIDS’ DISCOVERY OF THE MILLENNIUM!”

The Owls were able to hear some of the debate on the local radio talk shows. Most of the discussion involved dinosaur jokes at the expense of the Screech Owls, but several callers seemed to think that this extraordinary chinook had somehow, in some unknown way, released a slumbering, frozen giant from prehistory. Fahd was quick to point out that this explanation didn’t make sense–but then, what part of the story did make sense? All they knew for sure was that it had somehow captured the imagination of a good part of the world.

Traffic out to the Badlands became so frantic that the RCMP put up roadblocks and declared the barren hills beyond the suspension bridge off-limits–which only served to convince many that there really was something out there.

It seemed insanity had come to Dinosaur Valley. European television crews rented helicopters and were even flying about at night with huge searchlights bouncing over the hills. Hikers were walking in from the opposite direction, ignoring the roadblocks.

And hour by hour, the Mounties were getting angrier with the seven hockey players who refused to back down on their story. There was even a rumour that the seven youngsters were about to be formally charged with public mischief.

Mr. Higgins, looking very worried, gathered the seven Owls in the camp meeting room. He had Kelly Block with him and another man, Mr. Banning, who was a Calgary lawyer.

“The police are getting very concerned that this has gone too far,” the lawyer said. “I happen to know they are right now preparing charges against you.”

“They should be out looking for the Albertosaurus,” said Sarah, “not worrying about us.”

“Well, miss,” said the lawyer. Travis glanced at Sarah and saw her grimace; Sarah hated to be called “miss.” The lawyer didn’t even notice. “Well, miss, they are indeed worried about you,” he continued. “I have been asked by them if perhaps you would all, or even a couple of you, be willing to undergo lie-detector tests.”

The Owls looked at each other.

“That proves they don’t believe us!” said Nish.

Sarah shook her head. “But it also gives us a chance to prove we’re telling the truth.”

“Let’s do it,” said Lars.

“I don’t know, son,” cautioned Mr. Higgins. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Come on, Dad,” said Andy. “Or don’t you believe us, either?”

Mr. Higgins stumbled and mumbled. It was clear that he did not.

“I’ll do it,” said Travis.

“So will I,” said Nish.

All around the circle, the Owls nodded their agreement.