Sasquatch and the Muckleshoot

by Adam Gidwitz

  As the newswoman extended her arm to point behind her, the image shifted to the forest, zooming in on three dark shapes moving cautiously beneath the trees.

  “There they are,” Grace Goodwind whispered, leaning in front of the lens so that her face again filled the screen. “Not just one, but three of them. Three young sassy catches.”

  “Sasquatch. The plural of sasquatch is sasquatch,” Andy whispered.

  Grace Goodwind gestured that her sound feed be cut—which it was not. “Quiet, Flavius. You’re the cameraman. I’m the talent. Now turn my mic back on.”

  Flipping her hair back and opening her eyes wide, she again addressed the camera: “There they are, baby sassy crutches, shown at last to America and the world. This is Grace Goodwind, reporting for SNERT—wait, who are those guys?”

  Out of the woods, five men were emerging.

  Phipps and the surveyors.

  “Oh no,” Milton moaned. “Not on live TV!”

  “Perhaps no one is watching,” Edmund said.

  The window on the top of the van popped open again briefly. “Largest viewership in the history of SNERT right now,” Sam Brounsnout shouted down in a triumphant voice. “All the networks are picking it up!”

  “Can we call our men off?” Milton asked.

  “Too late now,” Edmund moaned. “Look.”

  Indeed, on the tiny SNERT feed on Edmund’s phone, things were happening at lightning speed.

  “Get them,” Phipps shouted. “In the name of Schmoke Industries and the Schmoke Logging Company!”

  The four surveyors with tranquilizer guns and nets quickly encircled the trio of hairy creatures.

  “What are those mean men going to do to those poor little sassy couches?” Grace Goodwind said in a horrified voice.

  “Sasquatch. The plural is—” the cameraman whispered.

  “Shut up, Flaubert!”

  A struggle ensued, streamed live for all the world to see: The Schmoke surveyors grabbed the three juvenile sasquatch and tried to wrestle them to the ground. The small furry ones fought valiantly, striking out with their fists and kicking the shins of the hard-hatted attackers. But they were overpowered and pinned to the mossy forest floor.

  “This is horrible publicity!” Edmund groaned as Milton kept banging on the door of the van.

  “Stop! Halt! Cease! Desist!” he yelled, but to no avail.

  Then, as the horrified Schmokes and millions of viewers watched, the camera zoomed in for a close-up of the face of one of the small sasquatch—and its head fell off.

  “AHHHHHH!” Grace Goodwind shrieked. “It’s . . . Wait . . . Is that a . . .”

  Indeed, it was. For when the false head was dislodged, it disclosed the sweaty, grinning face of Raven.

  She looked directly at the camera. “Good afternoon, America,” she said.

  The Schmoke goons stepped back as the two other heads were removed by their wearers—Elliot and Uchenna.

  “Oh no,” Phipps groaned. “The masters will not be pleased. This was yet another hoax. Bigfoot, indeed!” He sighed. “Men, follow me.”

  As Phipps hurried off, followed by his chastened crew, the trio of costumed children stood up and waved at the camera.

  Grace Goodwind ignored them.

  “On me, Bob,” she said to the cameraman. “And so, thanks to our fearless reporting, we now know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Bigfeets are nothing more than a meaningless prank. But now we have another mystery to unravel. Why would the employees of Schmoke Industries attack what appeared to be a harmless furry family? Stay tuned for my next explosive report!”

  Edmund switched off his smartphone.

  “She is so fired,” Milton snarled. “SNERT is over!”

  “Indeed,” Edmund agreed. “If we had wanted journalism, we would never have started a cable news channel.”

  “We can still bring in our logging team and slash down this nasty forest—and make a healthy profit,” Milton growled, waving his arms at the big trees around them. “We have our agreement with those credulous Muckleshoots.”

  “Oh, no you do not,” a deep voice said.

  The brothers turned to look.

  One of the surveyors was standing there, hands on his hips.

  “It appears to be one of our goons,” Milton said.

  “What’s he doing here?” Edmund asked, puzzled. “Didn’t he go with the others?”

  “Allow me to disclose—by removing ‘dese’ clothes—my true identity,” Mack gәqidәb said. He pulled off his hard hat, his orange vest, and his blond wig with a dramatic flourish.

  “I still don’t know who he is,” Milton said to his brother. “Though I do like that wig.”

  “I’ll tell you who he is, you vile miscreants!” Professor Fauna stepped out from behind a tree.

  “Not you!” Edmund said. “We had you tied up!”

  “My fine Muckleshoot friend freed me,” Professor Fauna said, placing his hand on Mack’s shoulder. “And he has also cleverly engineered your downfall! Show them, amigo mío.”

  Mack held up his phone. “I videoed your speech about clear-cutting our forest. Sent it to the tribal chair. He wrote back pretty darn quick.”

  Edmund shook his head, resigned. “Well, that is disappointing.”

  “Losing the lumber deal doesn’t matter that much, brother,” Milton snarled. “Now that we know Bigfoot isn’t real. We only wanted to clear the forest to catch him.”

  “But why?” Mack asked. “I don’t get how you could hate sasquatch?”

  “Hate?” said Milton. “We don’t hate the Bigfeet!” He removed his own hard hat to reveal his hairless pate. “Our last encounter with the Unicorn Rescue Society left us hairless! And this cannot be! We are the world’s handsomest billionaires!”

  “Now the baldest . . . ,” Edmund grumbled.

  “By collecting the Bigfoots of the Pacific Northwest,” Milton continued, “we were hoping to find a way to regrow our hair. DNA extraction, gland reproduction—”

  “A huge collection of wigs . . . ,” added Edmund.

  “Whatever it took!” concluded Milton.

  Just then, their huge black Humvee pulled up, piloted by Phipps. The Schmokes’ henchmen began to climb out.

  Fauna reached down to remove his shoe.

  “Forget it,” Edmund ordered their men, as a siren sounded from down the road. “The police are on their way. Come, brother. There are more fish in the sea.”

  “Yes, but do fish have hair?” Milton added, glaring at the professor.

  He climbed into the vehicle, followed by his brother. The door slammed, and with a roar of the engine and a spinning of the tires, they were gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  As the night-black Humvee roared off, Elliot, Uchenna, and Raven emerged from the forest. No longer wearing their sasquatch gear, they looked like three normal kids returning from a hike through the woods. Except for the little Jersey Devil, floating from tree trunk to tree trunk above their heads. That was less normal.

  “Children!” Professor Fauna shouted, opening his arms wide. “You have done magnificently well! Thanks to you and my good friend Mack, the phony Schmoke henchman, we have vanquished the Schmoke brothers yet again!”

  “Are they gone for good?” Raven asked.

  “They’re gone for bad,” Mack replied. “But I doubt that they’ll ever come back here.”

  “I have a question,” said Elliot.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Mack chuckled.

  “Why didn’t you tell us that you were working as one of the Schmoke brothers’ surveyors?” Elliot asked. “You didn’t think you could trust us with the secret?”

  Mack looked at the ground. “It wasn’t that. It was that I hadn’t told Raven that I was working for the Schmokes. I wasn’t sure she would understand.”
He looked at Raven. “I know your mom would have been mad.”

  Raven shrugged. “It was all part of the plan, right?”

  “It was, but I didn’t know if you’d think it was worth it.”

  Raven smiled at her father. “I think you’re a hero.” Mack suddenly rubbed something from the corner of his eye. “Speaking of heroes,” Raven went on, “we did a pretty good sasquatch impersonation, didn’t we, Pop?”

  Mack furrowed his brow. “Well, things did look a little hairy for a while there. But when you took off your costume, you really pulled it off.”

  “Pop!” Raven groaned. Then she threw her arms around him.

  “Seriously,” Mack said, “I’m proud of you, daughter. You and your friends did an amazing thing. Which is why, with Professor Fauna’s permission, I’d like to give you something.”

  He held out his hand. On his broad palm sat a silver ring.

  Raven looked closely. Inside a circle atop the ring was the raised design of a unicorn.

  “Is this . . . ?” Raven asked, lifting the ring up to study it.

  “Yes, daughter. It was your mother’s. You know that every member of the Unicorn Rescue Society has one.”

  “We don’t wear ours,” Uchenna said, holding up her bare fingers. “Too conspicuous at school.”

  “Also, the ones the professor gave us were way too big,” Elliot added.

  “If you’re giving this to me,” Raven said, looking from her father to Professor Fauna, “that means . . .”

  The professor pulled himself up to his full height and announced, in his most official-sounding voice, “We hereby make Raven gәqidәb an official member of the Unicorn Rescue Society!”

  Raven gave a shout and jumped in the air. Then she spun toward Elliot. “Can you help me get it on?”

  “Uh . . . okay . . . ,” Elliot said, confused. But he took the ring from Mack’s hand and slipped it onto Raven’s finger.

  “Perfect,” Raven said. “Now we are legally engaged!”

  Elliot’s mouth fell open. Then Raven punched him in the arm. “Just kidding, boyfriend. I don’t expect you to ask me to marry you until we are at least out of high school.”

  Elliot stammered for a moment. But then Raven said, “Look!”

  Everyone turned. A large shape was making its way through the forest. The members of the Unicorn Rescue Society waited, barely breathing.

  And then the mother sasquatch emerged from the underbrush. She was carrying a thick fir branch, peeled clean. Her three children were standing all around her.

  Jersey leaped from a nearby tree trunk and landed on the mother sasquatch’s shoulder. She rubbed her hand against his blue cheek. The huge sasquatch turned her gaze to the members of the Unicorn Rescue Society. The corners of her wide mouth turned up. Then she looked to her children and flicked her hand at the humans.

  The three little ones loped forward. Each one was carrying a small round stone.

  “Hold out your hands,” Mack said softly.

  Uchenna, Raven, and Elliot did as he said. The sasquatch children dropped a small stone into each of their waiting palms. The stones were marked with a single spot of red berry juice.

  “Awesome,” Uchenna whispered. The stone still held the warmth of the sasquatch’s hand.

  “Do I also receive a present?” Professor Fauna asked.

  Just then, the mother sasquatch hurled the heavy branch to the professor. The tree limb was so large that it knocked him down.

  “Muchas . . . gracias . . . ,” the professor gasped, sitting on the ground under his gift.

  The mother sasquatch, who still had Jersey on her shoulder, knelt down. The three sasquatch children came over to her and, one at a time, kissed Jersey on his little blue head. Then the mother sasquatch slid her hand under Jersey’s belly and lowered him to the forest floor.

  Then the sasquatch mother, followed by her little ones, turned and disappeared into the forest.

  Mack helped the professor remove the heavy branch from his chest and rise to his feet. “I guess that was her way to thank you for going out on a limb.”

  All three children rolled their eyes. Professor Fauna admired his weighty gift. “Bien. This may serve as a walking stick,” he said, attempting with little success to hold it with just one hand.

  And then he added, “For very, very short strolls.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Just then, Elliot looked at his watch. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. “Professor, are we done here? I need to get home or my mom will kill me.”

  “We are done, indeed,” Professor Fauna said. “But there is the small matter of obtaining transport. I am not sure the Phoenix is flight-worthy. In fact,” he said, looking around, “I cannot quite recall where I left it.”

  “In pieces,” Uchenna said, “scattered all over a forest in Oregon.”

  Elliot groaned. “I’m going to be grounded until I am seventy years old when I get back home. If I get back home.”

  “It’s okay,” Raven said. “You can stay with us!”

  Elliot took a deep breath. He could feel a panic attack coming on.

  “Folks,” Mack said. “Come with me.”

  Everyone followed as Mack led them up past the bend where the forest trail joined the paved main road.

  There, parked on the roadside, was Professor Fauna’s small blue aircraft. Not only had it been pieced back together and furnished with new landing gear, the Phoenix looked finer than usual.

  “¡Mi querida avioneta! ¡Qué bonita quedaste!” Professor Fauna cried, and he ran over to the plane and began to rub his hands along the Phoenix’s freshly re-painted fuselage.

  “As soon as I saw you hit that treetop,” Mack said, “I put in a call to a cousin of mine who works at the Boeing plant outside Seattle. He patched it all up and delivered it here an hour ago. He just had one question for you, though.”

  “What is that?” the professor said, looking up from where he stood with his arms wrapped lovingly around the right wing.

  “He wanted to know”—Mack grinned—“if this plane came from the same folks who make Legos.”

  * * *

  Soon, Professor Fauna, Uchenna, Elliot, and Jersey were on board.

  “We don’t ever say good-bye in Muckleshoot,” Mack said, a serious look on his face. He paused. “Instead we say toodle-oo.”

  “How does one pronounce that?” Fauna asked.

  “Pop,” Raven said, “get serious for just a minute, okay?”

  Mack grinned again. “No, what we actually say is huý”—it sounded like “hoyt”—“which means something like ‘the time we spent together is finished now.’ But it might be better to just say the words for ‘I will see you all later’—ɫulabdubuɫəd čəd.”

  “Tu lob doo bee seed?” Uchenna said.

  “Close enough.” Mack smiled.

  Uchenna pulled the door closed, and Elliot strapped himself in as quickly as he could.

  Outside the window, Raven shouted, “See you again, Screams A Lot! See you again, Sings Real Sweet! huý! ɫulabdubuɫəd čəd!”

  “huý!” Uchenna and Elliot both yelled back.

  The Phoenix picked up speed as it roared down the road. The professor pulled back on the controls. The plane rose like a kite into the sky. In no time at all, it was a small blue speck banking over the big trees, winging away from Sasquatch Valley, heading home to New Jersey.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We would first and foremost like to thank the members of the Muckleshoot Indian Tribe who contributed so much to this book: Willard Bill, Jr., the tribe’s cultural director, who kindly read the book, recommended a number of resources, and facilitated our interaction with the tribe; and Nancy Jo Bob, a Muckleshoot language expert, who was incredibly generous with her time throughout—from suggesting Muckleshoot terms to checking our implementation
of the language in the text to coaching January LaVoy, our amazing audiobook reader, on the pronunciation of Muckleshoot words.

  Major thanks are also due to Tami Hohn, a member of the Puyallup Tribe, for creating the beautiful SL Lushootseed Style True Type font used for the Muckleshoot words in this book.

  Thanks to David Bowles, who ensured that Professor Fauna’s Spanish is grammatical—and yet still as wacky as the professor is.

  Additionally, Joe would like to thank all of his friends in the Native communities of the Pacific Northwest who have always been so generous and helpful over the years.

  And finally, Adam would like to thank Joe, for being an unparalleled storyteller, partner, and teacher through this process. Adam feels very humbled to have worked with such a legendary writer and such a legendarily painful punner. In all seriousness, the experience was series-changing and life-changing.

  PHOTO CREDIT: Michael Greenlar

  Joseph Bruchac is a New York Times bestselling author of over a hundred books, many of which draw on his Abenaki heritage. Although his northeastern American Indian heritage is only one part of an ethnic background that includes Slovak and English blood, those Native roots are the ones by which he has been most nourished. He continues to work extensively in projects involving the preservation of Abenaki culture, language, and traditional Native skills. Joe and his books have won numerous awards, including the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers Circle of the Americas.

  Although this book was a fun project for me and, I hope, will be fun for people to read, there are aspects to this story that I was very serious about.

  The first was to make sure that we were not adding to any of the stereotypes about Native Americans in general or the Muckleshoot Tribal Nation in particular. As an indigenous person, I am always very concerned about this—especially when writing for young people.