“I saw some pigweed near the water,” I said. “Isn’t that good to eat too?”

My father smiled weakly. “Yes,” he said, “particularly when you call it wild spinach rather than ‘pigweed.’ But there’s no need for it just now. What we need are foods with fat or sugar in them. The turtle will help our rations considerably.”

He took out his Hamilton, but of course it was filled with water and ruined. Sadly he put it back in his pocket and squinted up through the trees. “I’d say it is around two or three o’clock,” he said. “There’s no hope of our going on today. I have to carve a paddle before we can move. Lizzy, you’d better take the camp axe and cut branches for a browse bed.”

I jumped up. How stiff and uncomfortable he must have been, lying on the bare ground!

By the time I finished that chore, the water was boiling and, at my father’s request, I scooped up the turtle with two sticks and gave the steaming shell to him to clean out. The meat was cooked. To my surprise, it smelled like beef. Somehow I had thought turtle flesh would smell like fish.

Then he slid the snails out of their shells and tossed the dirty water away. I refilled the pot. Then, along with the bits of meat, I added a double handful of soaked pinto beans and a pinch of soggy salt. My father watched me with interest.

“Is it true, darling,” he said, “that you remember all you hear?”

“I can remember the words,” I said. “As Miss Pauline said, sometimes I don’t understand them.”

He sighed. I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind.

The blankets were damp too, but when I wrapped one around his shoulders it steamed in the heat of the fire, and he seemed to be comfortable enough.

Once, half asleep, he looked up and cried, “Damn it! Pete, I was a fool!”

I held his hand, which seemed to soothe him. He slept for about a half hour. By now I was concerned about Tim, who had been gone far too long. I wanted to call him, but that would have disturbed my father.

When I was sure he was sleeping soundly, I went down and examined the canoe. It had sprung some small leaks but didn’t seem badly damaged otherwise. I pulled it farther up onto the shore.

It was at that moment that I looked up and gasped. Someone had moved on the far bank of the creek. It was Tim. He saw me and waved, then held up something, and my heart leaped. It was one of the paddles! I wanted to call out but instead pointed at the fire and my sleeping father.