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  “Looks like you’re making quite a difference already,” Petra told him.

  “So what happened to the other guys?” asked Craig. “The bozos with the ATVs?”

  Colin’s eyes crinkled with wry amusement. “The judge assigned them to a different work detail— they’re replanting trees over the entire burn site. They should be finished in another year or so.”

  “Sweet,” said Craig with a wicked grin. “I hope the mosquitoes and blackflies are out in full force.”

  “Count on it,” said Colin with a knowing smile. “Those Hillsborough hills are famous for breeding the most bloodthirsty insects for miles around.”

  Shawn cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn’t get a chance to thank you after the fire,” he said awkwardly. “We probably wouldn’t have gotten out of those woods without you.”

  But Colin waved this off. “Naw,” he said, “if I hadn’t shown you the White Caves, I get the feeling that you would have just done something else…like build a hang-glider out of bubblegum and shoelaces or something.”

  Petra’s laughter pealed through the barn. “Yep, that would be Shawn, all right!”

  Shawn felt himself blushing scarlet, but before he could say anything in his own defence, Petra had hooked her arm through his elbow and was towing him back out into the sunshine.

  “Come on, Colin,” she called over her shoulder. “Give us the grand tour…then tell us what we can do to help.”

  “Yeah, great idea!” exclaimed Craig. “I want a closer look at that owl—he’s got claws like a velociraptor!” He hurried out after Petra and his brother.

  “You…you guys want to help me?” asked Colin, looking at Tony uncertainly. “Really?”

  “Sure,” said Tony, clapping a surprised Colin on the back. “That’s what real friends do, you know. Just one thing, though…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t ask me to clean up any porcupine poo,” said Tony, shuddering. “Blech!”

  “Fair enough,” laughed Colin. “I’ve got a better job for you, anyway,” he added, looking at his watch.

  “Really? What?” asked Tony.

  “It’s time to feed Big Bertha.”

  “Big Bertha?” gulped Tony.

  “Bertha…our black bear,” said Colin, with a wicked grin.

  Tony went rigid. “B-b-b-b-b…?” he stammered.

  “Buddy,” said Colin, throwing a friendly arm around his shoulder, “after all we’ve been through, this will be a walk in the park. I promise.”

  And whistling happily, Colin picked up a bucket and strolled outside…where his friends were waiting for him.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  The places in this book really do exist. As a child, I spent much time exploring the beautiful woods and trails of Hillsborough, New Brunswick. The old gypsum quarries were an awesome (albeit dangerous) playground. My friends and I played hide-and-seek among the piles of white boulders, and rode our bikes and ponies through the abandoned gravel pits. We ranged along the rugged clifftops and slid down their white, scree-covered slopes. Today, these hills and quarries are known as the White Rock Recreation Area.

  The White Caves were formed at the end of the ice age when melting glaciers washed away large deposits of gypsum. They are part of a delicate ecosystem and should be treated with care and respect. Never go into a cave without permission and always seek the advice and guidance of a knowledgeable caving expert. Professional guides keep both visitors and the caves safe from harm. NEVER, EVER draw or write on cave walls. This is called graffiti, and it is a very damaging form of vandalism. In this book, I also use some creative licence when describing the interior layout and features of the cave. The “White Cave” in this story is really a composite of different caves found in the Hillsborough and Albert County area.

  Happy adventuring!

  —Jennifer McGrath Kent

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am deeply indebted to the following people for their contributions to the creative processes that went into the writing of this book: Richard and Kathy Faulkner of Baymount Outdoor Adventures for guiding me so expertly through the White Caves and for being a wealth of information; Harold McQuade and Orienteering New Brunswick for providing me with detailed maps of the White Rock area of Hillsborough and for giving me the opportunity to become well and thoroughly lost in those same woods; Deborah Carr, who cheerfully volunteered to wander around with me in the Pits of Despair; Will Lawrence, friend, fellow X-Grad, and volunteer firefighter, for recounting his experiences of forest fires with the Maitland Fire Department; Kimberly Bauer, for her unflagging support of local authors and literacy in New Brunswick schools; the Canada Council of the Arts for their ongoing support of Canadian artists and authors; my wonderful and witty editor, Penelope Jackson, for her eternal patience and encouragement; and, of course, my family and friends for their support, patience, and enthusiasm.

  Thank you, all!