by Bill Russo
"Really Bill," an excited Mr. Markens interrupted. "I've never heard this before. Please go on."
"Well, I really don't know much. They simply refuse to tell me any more than I already have told you. My Uncle, walking in the High Tees, has seen a wild man at least twice. He talked to it. The more I asked him about it the less he wanted to discuss it. Finally he said that it was just an old drunk passing through that he spoke with and he made it a closed subject. The same thing happened when I talked to my Father. Clearly, they have seen something - Something that scared them into silence."
"I know your father and his brother a little bit," said the school teacher, "and I don't think there's too much on earth that could scare either one of them. Their spirit and bravery is well known around Southeastern Massachusetts. There's another reason why they will not talk about their experience."
"What could the reason be?" Bill asked.
Mr. Markens thought for a moment, cleared his throat, and moved his glasses back down to his nose before he spoke.
"They are both conservationists. Your Dad and Uncle have been against every building project that's ever been proposed for the Wild River area. Perhaps they fear that if it were known for certain that there are half-wild men living in the swamp; it would bring unwanted publicity that could lead to the capture and destruction of the primitive creatures."
"You could be right about that," I admitted, "The both of them are always rescuing turtles or injured animals and nursing them back to health before releasing them back into the wild. My Dad always says that the Wild River area should never be developed."
"He's right about that, of course", agreed Mr. Markens, "because the 60,000 acres of swampland around us, act as a Rhode Island-sized sponge. The swamp swabs up excess rain and moisture from storms and stores it, so that we never experience flooding or flood damage in our towns. If there's too much development, the sponge won't be big enough to stop the torrents of water during hurricanes and such. Massachusetts could literally sink into the Atlantic Ocean!"
The moon was more than half full and cast a decent amount of light on our camping spot. Mr. Markens threw some more wood on the fire while Freddy Simpson placed an old aluminum coffee pot on a patch of hot coals.
