It’s hard to tell exactly how large the creature was that made the prints. The indentions were easily 12 inches across. The “finger” sections, 3 to 4 feet long. And, of course, the obvious question is…

“Whatch00 reckon t’was?” asked Marcus, his thick southern drawl slobbering over every word.

“I’m sure if I knew, you would, too, Mr. Marcus. Now, quiet. These instruments are very sensitive,” said Gerald, his English accent sharply contrasting Marcus’ deep Alabama slang.

The thick humidity at The Wheeler Wildlife Refuge was easily viscous enough to make some kind of “sweat” soup. Marcus was contributing to that quite liberally.

“Miss’ah, you gon half ta harry up, nah. I gots dawgs ta feed,” exclaimed Marcus.

“Mr. Marcus, kindly go wait in the car. I’ll be done momentarily,” sighed Gerald. As if on cue, the device he was holding pinged sharply, a shrill tone emitted from its speaker. Gerald’s eyes widened. “Mr. Marcus, get the rifle. We’ve got another one.”