“His leg is broken. Come on, Tim, get up. We must make a fire and get dry.”

He struggled up. “Help me carry this pack,” he said. “I don’t know what happened to the canoe.”

“It’s safe. I pulled it ashore.”

“Then we’re all right. We lost only the guns and the gear.”

“Don’t forget Father’s broken leg.”

“Lizzy,” he said, sitting down. “Lizzy, wait a minute, please.”

“What is it, Tim?”

He covered his face and began to cry.

“Oh, Tim,” I said. “There’s nothing to fear now. We’re all safe.”

“I know,” he choked. “Maybe that’s why I’m crying.”

“Well, you can cry later. We’ve got to get back to Father and get a fire going.”

I helped him carry the pack. We found father sitting against a tree, his face white and his forehead covered with sweat. He tried to get up, but it was too much for him, and he slid down the tree trunk again, gasping.

“Don’t move,” I called. “Tim is all right. And we found the pack.”

His voice shaky, my father said, “You’d better start a fire.”

“We will.” I began to pile some stones, and Tim was able to bring wood, although he moved slowly.

My father gave us a pack of the waxed matches from his pocket, and got the first one to light. Soon there was a warm fire blazing inside the pile of stones.

We sat close to it. Once my father had been warmed, his face took on some of its normal color again. I took spare clothes out of the pack. They were damp but soon dried spread over a rope Tim had tied over the fire. We helped my father change his shirt, and Tim and I got into dry things too.

My father examined his leg. “You did a good job under the circumstances, Miss Lizzy,” he said, “but I think we had better get a larger splint. Is the camp axe safe?”

“Yes,” said Tim.

“Well,” my father said, “we need a sturdy branch about two and a half feet long. You must pad it well with cloth so it will not be rough against the skin.” As Tim set out on that chore, my father went on. “Lizzy, there is a bar of brown soap somewhere in the pack. Take it and a soft cloth, and we’ll clean out any dirt we find in the wound.”

I located the soap, and rubbed it on a wet cloth and gave it to him. Wincing, he applied it to the raw edges where a bit of splintered bone protruded through his leg. When Tim came back with the wood for a splint, I turned away while my father and Tim tied it on. I heard my father groan once with the pain, and the sound shot through me like a knife.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be all right here near the fire. You two search for the paddles. But be careful, don’t fall in the water again.”