What could you do if you saw a guy clinging to a rock in the middle of the rapids in a roaring river? Oh, and you had a rope that was long enough to reach him.

Here’s what Zan did to help save Lazelle in my eBook, Can Do, Zan.

Zan scrambled over rocks and tree limbs toward Luat.

“Hey! Yo! Hurry up. I’m getting tired.” Lazelle called.

Zan grabbed a hunk of driftwood the size of a baseball bat and handed it to Luat. The counselor stared at him—how had he got down so soon without a rope?

“Water ski,” Zan said.

Luat stared. Then his eyes widened and he nodded. He tied the end of the rope around the middle of the stick, swung it around his head twice then launched it far out into the current. The rope and log floated toward Lazelle the way a water-skiing rope circles a fallen skier. When the rope hit his legs, Luat slowly retrieved it till the wood snagged up against the camper who carefully reached down to grab the stick, lifted it over his head and jammed it under his armpit before clamping his arms back around the rock. Luat pulled in the rope until it made a straight line.

Ready?” he shouted.

Lazelle bobbed his head.

“On the count of three, I’ll pull and you jump. Okay?”

Lazelle nodded.

The counselor sat, bracing his feet against a large rock. “One! Two! Three!” he shouted and tugged hard on the rope. Lazelle jumped toward the near shore, went under and popped back up spitting water. The rope tightened and Lazelle swung in an arc like a water skier behind a circling boat. Luat pulled with all his might trying to retrieve the camper. “Help me!” he called to Zan as he struggled against the full force of the current.

Zan shrugged. “Just let him go. He’s safe now. He’ll wash into the quiet water down there.”

Again, Luat stared, nodded and let the rope go. Lazelle rolled over backwards and came up spluttering in the shallow water.

“How come you know so much?” the counselor asked Zan. “And how come your shorts are wet?”

“Maybe I wet my pants worrying about poor Lazelle.”

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