The Dark Place

'Looks like a dig,” Gideon said. “This is where they found the bodies?'

'Right,” said John, “and here are the tracks.” He went to the far edge of the clearing, with Gideon and Julie following, all three working their way carefully among the trenches. “The tracks apparently came from over there,” John continued, “skirted the edge of the clearing, and then left through here.'

'They're pretty well trampled over, aren't they?” Gideon said, frowning.

'Yeah, with the Sasquatch Society people and our own men making casts, I guess there isn't much left.'

Julie walked a few feet into the undergrowth in the direction from which the tracks had come. “Unless it's been messed up since yesterday, there should be at least one good print... Here it is.'

Cut crisply into the soft duff of the forest floor was a gigantic, splay-toed footprint, roughly human in form, but much elongated.

Gideon knelt and pulled out a tape measure.

'Eighteen and a quarter inches,” Julie said, “by eight at its widest point.'

Gideon quickly confirmed the measurements, then lay prone on the spongy, fragrant earth, supporting himself on his elbows and peering at the footprint, his nose a foot away from it. After a minute he got back to his knees and brushed himself off, still looking at the track.

'Sorry, folks,” he said. “Believe me, I'd love to say this looks like it's from a live creature.” He looked up at John and shook his head. “It's a fake.'

He expected an argument, but the big man merely dropped to his own knees to see better. “How can you tell?” he asked quietly.

'There's no sign of a stride, no dynamic. With a basically human foot like this, you'd expect a basically human stride that starts when the heel strikes the ground, runs down the lateral edge of the foot, swings to the ball, and then ends with a toe-off.” He rose to his feet and gestured at the track. “But this print was put down all at once, flat, and then picked up heel first in a clumsy attempt to imitate a stride. I imagine a horse or deer would leave that sort of print, but of course I don't know much about tracks—'

John, still on his knees, looked up. “You what?'

'More accurately, I don't know anything about tracks. I couldn't tell a bear print from a rabbit's.'

'Well, Jesus Christ, how can you be so godawful sure that this isn't real?'

'It's not a matter of footprints at all. It's a question of the biomechanics of locomotion—'

John was on his feet, his hands chopping the air. “Oh, boy, Doc, whenever you start talking like that I know you don't know what you're talking about.'

'That's not true at all,” Gideon said testily. “I can't help it if you can't follow perfectly direct scientific language for—'

'Now, boys,” Julie said, sitting on a fallen log and beginning to take off her shoes, “I do know something about tracks, and I think Gideon has a point. But let's test this empirically.'

Her feet were strong and brown, as Gideon thought they would be, with square little toes, and wide at the base. “Ooh,” she said, “this feels good; you guys ought to take your shoes off.” She wiggled her toes. “Okay, what should I do?'

'Go across to the other side of the clearing, then walk back across it as normally as you can,” Gideon said.

She did so and marched right up to Gideon. The top of her head was a little above his chin. “Now,” he said, “next to that right footprint you left over there, stamp down your right foot hard.'

They stood together looking at the prints. It was hardly necessary to explain anything, but Gideon explained anyway. “You will note,” he said professorially, “that the single footprint stamped into the ground is clear and sharply delineated all around the edges. But look at the tracks made while walking. Only the heel and toe portions have any depth to them; the outside margins, while generally visible, are indistinct and shallow. The inside margins, between the ball of the foot and the heel, haven't left any imprint.” He looked at Julie and leered, twirling an imaginary moustache. “You have lovely arches, m'dear, lovely.'

'Thank you,” she said.

'Most important,” Gideon went on, “the walking tracks have little ridges of earth just behind the toes. Those are thrown up when the toes push off on each step. Equally diagnostic, the toes make the deepest impression, the heel a shallower one, and the sole the shallowest of all. Whereas the stamped-in print—'

'Okay, okay, Doc,” John said with resigned good humor, “you're right. It's a fake.'

'It's obvious, really,” said Julie.

'Sure,” Gideon muttered, “as Watson was always telling Holmes—a posteriori.'

On the way back down the trail, a gray-white, lichen-spotted bone gleaming in the pearly light caught Gideon's eye. He bent and picked it up.

'Probably an elk,” Julie said. “There are plenty of them here.'

'Probably,” said Gideon. “It's a femur from one of the Cervidae.'

The three had continued walking while he turned the bone in his hand.

'What's special about it?” John asked.

'I'm not sure anything is. It's just...” He stopped, continuing to turn the bone, and the others stopped with him. “See how it's split, with this big dent right here at the start of the split?'