Free Cartboy Goes to Camp by L. A. Campbell Page A

pearls are five hundred feet west of a bald eagle’s nest,” Vinny said, “how would we ever find it? There are a million trees here that could have had a bald eagle’s nest at the top.”
    â€œMaybe we can figure it out.”
    â€œThe bonfire is almost over. There’s no time left…”
    â€œI know. Let’s think. Quickly. Where would a bald eagle’s nest have been?”
    â€œWell…”
    CRUNCH CRUNCH.
    â€œShhh. I hear footsteps,” I said. “Someone’s coming.”
    â€œShhh? Why shhh? What are you guys talking about?”
    It was Cora. She walked right up to us and dropped the butter churner at my feet.

    â€œWhat bald eagle nest?” she said.
    Vinny and I stood there, staring at Cora, not sure of what to say.
    â€œWhat nest? What are you guys talking about?”
    â€œMaybe we should tell her, Vinny,” I said. “Maybe she can help.”
    Vinny nodded, so I took that as a yes.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Here’s the thing. Since the day camp started, we’ve been looking for a buried treasure. Vinny and I found some clues. But we need to figure out where a bald eagle’s nest would have been in the 1600s.”
    Unfortunately, Cora looked completely stumped.
    â€œWe figured the nest would have been at the top of a tall pine tree,” I said.
    â€œThey’re all tall,” said Cora.
    â€œTrue.”
    Cora, Vinny, and I stood there in silence. Mystified. Beyond any chance of figuring it out.
    From where we were standing behind the tree, you could hear the camp singing songs around the bonfire. After a few more songs, the bonfire would be over. Our last chance to search would come to an end.
    â€œYou know what?” I said. “This is too hard. It’s a needle in a haystack. A wild goose chase. A million-to-one—”
    â€œHold on,” said Cora. “I just thought of something. When I was little, my great-grandmother was always telling me stories about the Powhatans. Stories that had been handed down for generations.”
    Cora looked up at the trees all around us. “There was this one story. About a bald eagle who had built a nest at the top of the tallest tree in Jamestown. Legend had it, Chief Powhatan would put gifts for the bald eagle at the bottom of the tree.”
    â€œOkay. But how can we know which tree was the tallest back in 1607?”
    â€œMy great-grandmother said the tree was next to a square-shaped rock.”
    â€œIn all your digging over the years, Vinny, you didn’t happen to come across a square-shaped rock, did you?” I asked.
    â€œNo. Wait. Yes! There’s a square rock right outside our cabin!”
    â€œThanks, Cora,” I said. “You saved us. We gotta go, now. We have to dig.”
    â€œWait. I’ll go with you. We’ll find the pearls faster together.”
    I may not have become an expert pioneer at Camp Jamestown. But at least I learned something in the past two weeks:
    You don’t say no to Cora.

    I ran inside Cabin 2, grabbed my shovel, and headed toward the door. Just before I stepped outside, I noticed something standing in the corner, by my bed.
    My dad’s old ax.
    It was rusty. Heavy as a boulder. And as old as dirt.
    But still, I grabbed it. Which if you think about it, was a pretty dumb thing to do. Why would I need an ax to dig?
    There was no reason. Except that maybe I just wanted something from home.
    I caught up with Vinny and Cora about five hundred feet west of the square rock. It was just past the back of the museum. Just past where we had been searching all along.
    The three of us dug as fast as our arms could move.
    â€œHurry!” I said.
    We dug to the left. We dug to the right. We dug up, down, and everywhere, but—nothing.
    Even Cora looked exhausted.
    We could hear the whole camp singing the last song of the night. It was a good-bye song. About how much “we’re all gonna miss each