Amy winced and her eyes opened, just a slit. She looked at her mangled jeans and her eyes got big. âWhat do you think youâre doing?â She sounded like the old Amy.
âYou wonât need any jeans if we donât get you dry,â I snapped.
She grinned. Or maybe it was a wince. âMy favorite jeans,â she whispered.
I pulled out the spare clothes I always carry in case of emergency. But I had to cut one leg of my jeans to get them over her broken leg. â
My
favorite jeans,â I said as I ruined them forever.
When she had on dry jeans, and my dry sweatshirt and jacket, I climbed up to the bushes above the river. I came back with an armful of dry leaves, twigs and pieces of wood.
I grabbed my sketchbook and ripped out a few empty pages and one full one. âLook, Amy,â I said, âIâm getting rid of that letter to Sara. No one will ever see it.â
I scrunched up the papers and placed dry leaves and twigs on top. Using matches from the first-aid kit, I lit the paper on fire. Slowly I began feeding the little fire with more twigs. When it was big enough I put on one chunk of wood and then another.
Amy wriggled closer, trying to get warm.
chapter eleven
The temperature kept dropping. The fire was hot, but a breeze crept up from behind, and Amy couldnât stop shivering. I thought about the hot-water bottles on the boat. That gave me an idea.
The rocks near the fire were warm. I propped some against Amyâs back and gave her one to hold close against her stomach. She held it with her good arm and wrapped herself around it.
When they cooled I replaced them. âAre you warm now?â I asked.
She nodded.
âHungry?â
âNo.â
âI need to go for help.â
âNO!â she cried, and winced in pain. âDonât leave me!â
âI have to Amy. You need help. We canât wait until morning.â
âBut the bears will get me!â
Oh-oh.
Now I was sorry for what I had told her earlier. âLook,â I said, âbears hardly ever bother people unless you take them by surprise. And you wonât be going anywhere.â
But I will
,
I thought. And it would be dark before I got down.
âYou said they come down to the river at night.â
âI only said that to keep you going. Anyway, bears are afraid of fire. You just keep that fire burning and they wonât come anywhere near.â
âHonest?â
âHonest,â I said.
I hope.
I gathered enough wood to last all night and piled it beside Amy. I stuffed the trail mix and all the food wrappers in my pockets, so there would be no hint of food smell near Amy. I tucked my backpack under her head as a pillow. All I needed were the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing. I left everything else with Amy.
âI wonât be long,â I told her. âYouâll see.â
She looked up with tears in her eyes. âIâm scared,â she said.
âThereâs nothing to be scared of. Just keep that fire going so we can find you. Iâll be back soon. I promise.â
I saw her take a deep breath. She tried to smile but winced in pain. âDonât worry,â she whispered, âIâll be fine.â
My throat tightened. She didnât look fine at all. I patted her hand. âSee you soon.â I started downriver.
Without Amy I moved a lot faster. My legs were tired and my feet hurt with every step, but without my backpack I felt as light as a deer.
Above the big waterfall I stopped to look down. The light was dim and the river roared below, dark and scary. There was no time to lose. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage and lowered myself over the cliff. I followed the easy route I had checked out that morning when I went down for my backpack.
Halfway down, groping for a foothold, my toe touched a loose rock. It wobbled and shook loose. I held my breath as it bounced down the cliff and splashed into the river. I
Lightnin' Hopkins: His Life, Blues