Free My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George

that.
    The wooden props burned, and I could see that this wasn’t going to work either; so I went down the mountain to the site of the old Gribley farmhouse and looked around for some iron spikes or some sort of metal.
    I took the wooden shovel that I had carved from the board and dug around what I thought must have been the back door or possibly the woodhouse.
    I found a hinge, old handmade nails that would come in handy, and finally, treasure of treasures, the axle of an old wagon. It was much too big. I had no hacksaw to cut it into smaller pieces, and I was not strong enough to heat it and hammer it apart. Besides, I didn’t have anything but a small wooden mallet I had made.
    I carried my trophies home and sat down before my tree to fix dinner and feed Frightful. The evening was cooling down for a frost. I looked at Frightful’s warm feathers. I didn’t even have a deer hide for a blanket. I had used the two I had for a door and a pair of pants. I wished that I might grow feathers.
    I tossed Frightful off my fist and she flashed through the trees and out over the meadow. She went with a determination strange to her. “She is going to leave,” I cried. “I have never seen her fly so wildly.” I pushed the smoked fish aside and ran to the meadow. I whistled and whistled and whistled until my mouth was dry and no more whistle came.
    I ran onto the big boulder. I could not see her. Wildly I waved the lure. I licked my lips and whistled again. The sun was a cold steely color as it dipped below the mountain. The air was now brisk, and Frightful was gone. I was sure that she had suddenly taken off on the migration; my heart was sore and pounding. I had enough food, I was sure. Frightful was not absolutely necessary for my survival; but I was now so fond of her. She was more than a bird. I knew I must have her back to talk to and play with if I was going to make it through the winter.
    I whistled. Then I heard a cry in the grasses up near the white birches.
    In the gathering darkness I saw movement. I think I flew to the spot. And there she was; she had caught herself a bird. I rolled into the grass beside her and clutched her jesses. She didn’t intend to leave, but I was going to make sure that she didn’t. I grabbed so swiftly that my hand hit a rock and I bruised my knuckles.
    The rock was flat and narrow and long; it was the answer to my fireplace. I picked up Frightful in one hand and the stone in the other; and I laughed at the cold steely sun as it slipped out of sight, because I knew I was going to be warm. This flat stone was what I needed to hold up the funnel and finish my fireplace.
    And that’s what I did with it. I broke it into two pieces, set one on each side under the funnel, lit the fire, closed the flap of the door and listened to the wind bring the first frost to the mountain. I was warm.
    Then I noticed something dreadful. Frightful was sitting on the bedpost, her head under her wings. She was toppling. She jerked her head out of her feathers. Her eyes looked glassy. She is sick, I said. I picked her up and stroked her, and we both might have died there if I had not opened the tent flap to get her some water. The cold night air revived her. “Air,” I said. “The fireplace used up all the oxygen. I’ve got to ventilate this place.”
    We sat out in the cold for a long time because I was more than a little afraid of what our end might have been.
    I put out the fire, took the door down and wrapped up in it. Frightful and I slept with the good frost nipping our faces.
    “NOTES:
    “I cut out several more knotholes to let air in and out of the tree room. I tried it today. I have Frightful on my fist watching her. It’s been about two hours and she hasn’t fainted and I haven’t gone numb. I can still write and see clearly.
    “Test: Frightful’s healthy face.”

IN WHICH
    We All Learn About Halloween

    “October 28
    “I have been up and down the mountain every day for a week, watching to