In The Forest Of Harm by Sallie Bissell Page A

trail that veered up to a place she hoped would be as she remembered—a broad but shallow cave that went about ten feet into the side of Big Fodderstack Mountain. Deep enough to accommodate a tent, the cave would give them shelter on three sides and a terrific view of the mountains below. Unless a bear had beaten them to it, it would be a perfect place to camp for the night.
    She tightened the pack on her shoulders, then led Joan and Alex up the final hundred feet of trail. At its end, she found it just as she had known it years before, a wide triangular hole gouged in the mountainside.
    â€œOkay.” She smiled at the others. “Here’s our room for the night.”
    â€œWe’re actually going to camp in there?” Joan peered dubiously into the cave.
    â€œWe are if nothing got here before us.” Mary dug her flashlight out of her pack and beamed it into the semi-darkness. She saw only stones and rubble, but to make sure she found a long pine branch and systematically poked along the back of the small fissure. Nothing pawed at her stick or rushed snarling out to attack.
    â€œNobody here but us chicks,” she reported, standing up straight and patting the cool, rough roof of the little cave with the palm of her hand.
    â€œWon’t it be cold?” Joan eyed the dusty rocks.
    â€œWith all the gear Charlie sent us, we could weather a blizzard on Mount McKinley.”
    Alex sniffed. “You can laugh now, but you’ll thank me in the morning, when you wake up all warm and toasty, with coffee brewing on my special stove.”
    They quickly set up their camp. Every piece of Alex’s equipment proved to be a marvel of space-age engineering. In twenty minutes the blue and white tent was up and functional, with three sleeping bags lying side by side on an insulated tarp. Just outside the cave Alex assembled the stove on which she swore she could both boil freeze-dried lasagna and bake brownies. While she cursed one reluctant leg of the stove, Mary went back down the trail to gather twigs for a traditional fire.
    â€œAre you going to start it with flint like they do in the movies?” Joan followed like a puppy as Mary carried an armful of small dead limbs to the far edge of the cave.
    â€œNot hardly.” Mary dusted off a circle on the ground and piled tiny pieces of dried leaves and twigs in the middle of it. She took a piece of chemical fire starter from her backpack, lit it, then shoved it beneath the tinder. Instantly, a small hot blaze swelled up. She added pine kindling, then the twigs she’d found—and the campfire began to crackle. “See? Cherokee woman’s fire burn all night. Alex’s stove’s just good for dessert.”
    Joan looked at her with awe. “I’ve always known you were cool, Mary Crow. But I had no idea you were
this
cool.”
    Her fire built, Mary moved to the edge of the cliff and dangled her legs over the vastness below. It felt good to be still. Already her thighs ached and her shoulders were sore. Tomorrow, she knew, they would each wake up with leaden feet and cracking knees, but they could spend the day soaking their aches away in the steamy waters of Atagahi. For a moment she watched as Joan filled a pan with bottled water and Alex stirred her brownie mix, then she turned back to the mountains.
    The Old Men have been kind today, she decided, remembering their names as her mother had taught her—
Dakwai, Ahaluna, Disgagistiyi
. They’d allowed her to guide her two best friends through the forest without harm.
Thank you
, she said silently, as a sudden gust of wind stroked her cheek. For once, you have made me feel welcome.

NINE
    Okay, Buster, just one more mile to go.” Brank shifted the sack on his shoulder. For the last hour he’d toiled up through an unending growth of slippery green thorn bushes, and even the almost empty canvas bag he carried lay heavy across the top of his left