5

“There it is!” Dad shouted over the roar of the small plane’s engine. “Iknek. That’s the airstrip.”

I stared out the window at the tiny brown patch where we’d be landing. For the last half hour I’d seen nothing but miles and miles of snow. Wow. It was so white!

It was cool the way the snow sparkled in the sunlight. It made me think of Christmas carols. I couldn’t get “Winter Wonderland” out of my head—and it was driving me crazy!

I watched for giant footprints as we flew. How big would an Abominable Snowman’s footsteps be? Big enough to see from a low-flying plane?

“I hope there’s a restaurant down there,” Nicole said. “I’m starving.”

Dad patted her shoulder. “We’ll have a big, hot meal before we set out. But after that, it’s camping food.”

“How are we going to build a fire in the snow?” Nicole asked.

“We’ll be staying in a little cabin,” Dad replied. “It’s a long way out in the tundra, but it’s better than sleeping in tents. There should be a stove in the cabin. I hope so, anyway.”

“Can we build an igloo and sleep in that?” I asked. “Or dig out an ice cave?”

“You can’t build an igloo just like that, Jordan,” Nicole snapped. “It’s not like a snow fort or something. Right, Dad?”

Dad took the lens cap off his camera and started taking pictures through the plane window. “Sure,” he said absently. “Uh-huh.”

Nicole turned to the window, too. I mimicked her behind her back. You can’t build an igloo just like that, I mouthed. She acts like she’s my teacher or something. It’s really embarrassing when she does it in front of everybody at school.

“How are we going to find the cabin?” Nicole asked. “Everything looks the same in all this snow.”

Dad turned and snapped a picture of her. “Did you say something, Nicole?”

“I was wondering how we’re going to find the cabin,” Nicole repeated. “Do you know how to use a compass, Dad?”

“A compass? No, but that doesn’t matter. A man named Arthur Maxwell is supposed to meet us at the airport. He’ll be our guide through the tundra.”

“I know Arthur,” the pilot shouted back to us. “He’s an old musher from way back. Knows everything about dogs and sleds. He knows this part of Alaska better than anybody, I guess.”

“Maybe he’s seen the Abominable Snowman,” I suggested.

“How do you know there is such a thing?” Nicole taunted. “We haven’t seen any sign of him yet.”

“Nicole, people have seen him with their own eyes,” I replied. “And if there’s no such thing, what are we doing here?”

“Some people say they’ve seen him,” Nicole said. “Or maybe they think they’ve seen one. I won’t believe it until I get more facts.”

The plane circled the small town. I played with the zipper on my new Arctic jacket. I’d been hungry a few minutes earlier, but now I was too excited to think about food.

There really is an Abominable Snowman down there, I thought. I know there is. I felt a chill, despite a blast of hot air from the plane’s heater.

What if we find him? What will happen then?

What will happen if the Abominable Snowman doesn’t like to be photographed?

The plane flew very low now, getting ready to land. We touched down with a bump and taxied along the runway. The plane lurched as the pilot put on the brakes.

Something big loomed at the end of the runway. Something huge, white, and monstrous.

“Dad, look!” I cried. “I see him! The Abominable Snowman!”

The plane squealed to a stop right in front of the big monster.

Dad, Nicole, and the pilot all laughed—at me.

I hate that. But I couldn’t blame them. The big white monster was a polar bear.

A statue of a polar bear.

“The polar bear is the symbol of the town,” the pilot explained.

“Oh,” I murmured. I knew I was blushing. I turned away.

“Jordan knew that,” Dad said. “He was just playing one of his practical jokes.”

“Uh—yeah.” I went along with it. “I knew it was a statue all along.”

“You did not, Jordan,” Nicole said. “You were really scared!”

I punched Nicole in the arm. “I was not! It was a joke.”

Dad put an arm around each of us. “Isn’t it great the way these two kid each other?” he said to the pilot.

“If you say so,” the pilot replied.

We hopped out of the plane. The pilot opened the cargo hold. Nicole and I grabbed our backpacks.

Dad had brought a huge, airtight trunk for film, cameras, food, sleeping bags, and other supplies. The pilot helped him carry it off the airstrip.

The trunk was so big, Dad could fit inside it. It reminded me of a red plastic coffin.

Iknek Airport was like a tiny wooden house, just two rooms. Two pilots in leather jackets sat at a table playing cards.

A tall, brawny man with dark hair, a thick beard, and leathery skin stood up and crossed the room to greet us. His gray parka hung open over a flannel shirt and deerskin pants.

This must be our guide, I realized.

“Mr. Blake?” the man said to Dad. His voice was low and hoarse. “I’m Arthur Maxwell. Need some help there?” He grabbed one end of the trunk from the pilot.

“This is an awfully big trunk you brought,” Arthur added. “Do you really need all this stuff?”

Dad reddened. “I’ve got a lot of cameras, tripods and things…. Well, maybe I overpacked.”

Arthur frowned at me and Nicole. “I’d say so.”

“Call me Garry,” Dad said. “These are my kids, Jordan and Nicole.” He nodded toward us.

Nicole said “Hi,” and I added, “Nice to meet you.” I can be polite when I have to be.

Arthur stared at us. Then he grunted.

“You didn’t mention kids,” he mumbled to Dad after a minute.

“I’m sure I did,” Dad protested.

“I don’t remember it,” Arthur replied, frowning.

Everyone was silent. We pushed through the airport door and started down the muddy road.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “Let’s go into town and get some food.”

“How far is it to town, Arthur?” Dad asked.

“How far?” Arthur echoed. “You’re looking at it.”

I stared around in surprise. There was only one road. It began at the airport and ended in a pile of snow about two blocks away. A few wooden buildings were sprinkled along it.

“This is it?” I cried.

“It’s not Pasadena,” Arthur grumbled. “But we call it home.”

He led us down the muddy road to a diner called Betty’s.

“I guess you’re hungry,” he grumbled. “Might as well eat a hot meal before we set out.”

We settled into a booth by a window. Nicole and I ordered hamburgers, french fries, and Cokes. Dad and Arthur ordered coffee and beef stew.

“I’ve got a sled and four dogs ready to go,” Arthur announced. “The dogs can pull this trunk of yours and the other supplies. We’ll walk beside the sled.”

“That sounds fine,” Dad said.

“Whoa!!” I protested. “We’re walking? How far?”

“Ten miles or so,” Arthur replied.

“Ten miles!” I’d never walked that far before. “Why do we have to walk? Why can’t we take a helicopter or something?”

“Because I want to take photos along the way, Jordan,” Dad explained. “The landscape is fascinating. You never know what we’ll come across.”

Maybe we’ll come across the Abominable Snowman, I thought. That would be cool.

Our food arrived. We all ate in silence. Arthur wouldn’t look me in the eye. He wouldn’t look any of us in the eye. He stared out the window while he ate. Outside on the street, a Jeep drove by.

“Have you ever seen this snow creature we’re looking for?” Dad asked Arthur.

Arthur speared a piece of meat with his fork and popped it into his mouth. He chewed. He chewed some more. Dad, Nicole, and I all watched him, waiting for his answer.

Finally he swallowed. “Never seen it,” he said. “Heard about it, though. Lots of stories.”

I waited to hear one of the stories. But Arthur kept on eating.

I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. “What kind of stories?”

He swabbed at some gravy with his bread. He stuffed it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

“A couple of people in town,” he said. “They’ve seen the monster.”

“Where?” Dad asked.

“Out by the big snow ridge,” Arthur said. “Beyond the musher’s cabin. Where we’re staying.”

“What does he look like?” I asked.

“They say he’s big,” Arthur said. “Big and covered with brown fur. You might think he’s a bear. But he’s not. He walks on two feet like a man.”

I shuddered. The Abominable Snowman sounded a lot like a vicious cave monster I saw in a horror movie once.

Arthur shook his head. “Personally, I hope we never find him.”

Dad’s jaw dropped. “But that’s what we’re here for. It’s my job to find him—if he exists.”

“He exists all right,” Arthur declared. “Friend of mine—another musher—he was out in a blizzard one day. Ran smack into the snow monster.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.” Arthur stuffed more bread into his mouth.

“We certainly do want to know,” Dad persisted.

Arthur stroked his beard. “The monster picked up one of the dogs and made off with him. My friend chased after him, trying to get the dog back. Never found him. But he could hear the dog whining. Pitiful howls. Whatever happened to that dog—it sounded pretty bad.”

“He’s probably a carnivore,” Nicole said. “A meat-eater. Most animals around here are. There’s so little vegetation—”

I jabbed Nicole. “I want to hear about the snowman—not your stupid nature facts.”

Arthur flashed Nicole an annoyed glance. I figured he was thinking, What planet is she from? That’s what I’m usually thinking, anyway.

He cleared his throat and continued. “My friend came back to town. He and another guy went out to try and capture the snow monster. Darn foolish, if you ask me.”

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Arthur said. “They never came back.”

“Huh?” I gaped at the big guide. I swallowed hard. “Excuse me? Did you say they never came back?”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “They never came back.”

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