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“Oh, baby, we may have found somethin’ worthwhile. If only we can catch Big Foot an’ take him back with us, he may be worth a few thousand shaboozies.” Visions of money and freedom dance through your head. The footprints, which are as large as an elephant’s, lead west into an evergreen glade. This is in the opposite direction of Point Blanc. “But, Baloo!” Kit protests, shivering in your arms. “Don’t worry, kid,” you pat the boy’s head; “we got plenty of time before we gotta be at Port Talbot. It’s not every day that you get ta see a real, live Big Foot.” “I know a real, live big mouth,” Kit mutters sullenly under his breath. On and on you stomp through the snow, following the tracks. You notice that the footprints are going in a zigzag pattern. You follow them anyway. A little further on, the footprints are joined by two long grooves, almost as if Big Foot were dragging two sticks. You become more excited. It’s growing darker in the woods. Kit, held in your arms, is hugging you closely for warmth. Suddenly, you see bright lights ahead. You run towards the lights and stumble across...a ski slope. There are dozens of people on snowshoes and skis. Then you see what you have been following. Directly in front of you is a man on snowshoes pulling two small, laughing children on a sled. “I bet there’s a telephone in that lodge. We can call Miz Cunningham from there, Baloo,” Kit says. Happily, he anticipates the warm fireside. You head for the lodge, feeling stupid. The End |