Lost on a Mountain in Maine Read Online Free PDF Page A

found my dungarees and threw them over my arm. I waded into the water, hugging the bank as much as I could. I did that because the ground there was not quite so hard on my feet. Every little while I would come across a sandy place where I could straighten up and walk fast.
    As I went along, I came to a big rock—a piece of granite, I guess, that had rolled down from the mountain. On the shore side of it was a patch of bushes so thick that I could not force my way through. On the stream side the water was so fast and deep that I knew I could not wade it. I had to crawl to the top of that boulder and then jump a big crack to another rock.
    I forgot to say that by now the brook had become quite a stream. I don’t know how many little brooks had run into it, but I know I crossed over quite a few.
    I got to the top of the boulder, all right, but I hurt my wrist doing it. I sat down on top to rest and that gave me a chance to watch the water rushing between the rock I was on and the one just beyond. That water gurgled and gurgled and churned and seemed to be trying to climb right up to me. I was pretty stiff, but I knew I had to jump; so I tossed my dungarees across ahead of me. In one of the pockets, I had a big piece of rock. 15 I was carrying it back to Mommy from the top of Katahdin. Maybe she’d use it as a paperweight or a doorstop. That rock was heavy, and I knew Mommy would like it; so I carried it along.
    Well, I didn’t have strength enough to toss my pants clear across onto the rock. The legs hit the top all right, but the pocket with the stone in it slapped onto the side with a dull thud. And there my dungarees hung for a second, slowly slipping, inch by inch, into the white water, racing below. All I could do was watch them slip. Why didn’t I jump across and save them? I don’t know, except that I must have had a feeling that the least touch or jar would shoot them into the stream. Maybe I was just paralyzed, looking at them. Boy, what a moment! What would I do, if they slipped into the water? How would I keep off the insects? How would I ever get into camp without being seen? Well, I figured that I could crawl into camp after dark, when everyone was in bed—maybe.
    While I was thinking such things, down slid the dungarees like a fat, blue snake into the water. One leg flapped up against the rock and they were gone. I couldn’t believe it. My pants were gone . There I was like a kewpie or something. It might be all right to run around in the woods like that, but what would I say when I came around a bend and found a camp? I couldn’t walk in like that and say, “I’m Donn Fendler. Please telephone my dad I’m here.” Everybody would die laughing.
    Well, maybe after that, anyone would expect me to hunt for my pants. I didn’t even look for them. I just jumped across to the other rock and went on. Maybe I could have found my pants—I don’t know—but by the time that day was done, I was glad I had lost them. I couldn’t slap blackflies and mosquitoes and mooseflies with heavy, wet dungarees over one arm.

    I kept pretty close to the stream the rest of that day. When the shadows darkened under the trees I began looking for a place to sleep. I was lucky. On a little bank, about a hundred feet away from the water, I found a beautiful patch of soft green moss under a pine tree. I was tired but I took the time to pull a lot more of the moss together and spread it out into a bed. I said my prayers and lay down. I couldn’t go to sleep right off, so I watched a bird with long legs fishing near the edge of the water. He would run a little and then stop and cock his head on one side and look and then run a little more. Then he would shoot his long bill into the water and spear a tiny fish. Boy, I wished I could feed myself as easily as that!
    Suddenly I heard footsteps right behind me. I didn’t move. Something snorted, then a deer stepped past me so