“I wanted to tell you we needed to do that before you started firin’ questions at me,” Floyd said. “A drag litter’ll be a job, but I’m sure ol’ bucky here kin get us the branches we need.” He patted his enormous knife. “He’s got enough sawteeth to do the job, ’n you got rope. Negotiatin’ yer friend down this hill may be another matter, but I would say we got a chance. We should get goin’, though. He’s lookin’ weaker by the second.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of them eased Cap onto a low-tech stretcher—A-shaped, with a hefty stick lashed across the head to use for lifting when dragging was too impractical or painful. For a time, pain prodded Cap into intermittent consciousness, but soon, he drifted off someplace Lou hoped was pleasant and peaceful, and stayed there. Almost six feet of solid muscle, Cap was heavy enough. But the added weight of the splint and the litter, combined with the difficult terrain, made transporting him a Herculean task. If they were going over level ground and not downhill, the task might have been close to impossible. But foot by foot, at times inch by inch, they kept moving, Lou slipping and stumbling until he thought to borrow Cap’s shoelaces, Floyd moving with surprising agility. Even though there was really nothing further he could do, Lou paused every few minutes or so for assurance that the most important man in his life had a pulse and was still breathing.

Floyd, whose last name, Lou learned, was Weems, was a beast—wiry, and at least equal to him in strength. For most of the trek, he remained silent. When hoisting the head of the litter he’d whistle softly—a tune that might have been a birdcall. A simple life, led simply. Even after just a short time, Lou sensed this gift of a man was the embodiment of the sort of serenity he had been working toward for ten years.

Lessons … everywhere lessons.

“Not far now,” Floyd said, hoisting the litter to his chest in order to negotiate a fallen tree.

Lou occupied his mind during the tough parts of the descent by wondering how he might thank him.

What do you give a man who wants for nothing?

Time was running out. Despite the rugged work, Lou was shivering uncontrollably. His strength was going. His best friend’s miserable situation had already driven him across an invisible line of stamina. Now it felt as if there were no place further to go. He was about to beg Floyd for an update, when the forest began to thin.

“Yer doin’ fine, Doc,” Floyd said, the first time he had felt the need to voice such encouragement. “Almost there.”