One was that Captain Hakes was being relieved of duty, and Major Garrett was going to come back to take his place until a new commander could be assigned.

And something else that happened was that the sheriff came around questioning guys about supplies and inventories. Rumors flew fast, especially after the Monroe Herald ran a front-page headline saying ‘Local Man Investigated in Camp Scandal.’”

“Do you think Schieling will go to jail?” Apple asked.

“Whatever happens, he’s gotten his last government contract,” Sam said.

“And I guess he’s finished in Monroe,” Apple added.

“I don’t know about that,” Nate said. “Maggie says bad apples have a way of turning up. No offense.”

“None taken,” Apple said. “Maggie wasn’t meaning me.”

Because it was the last night of our hitches, everybody had things to say to each other—foolishness mostly. “I better not see you on the fed’s Most Wanted list.” And, “Romeo, you going to invite me home to meet all those sisters?”

We signed each other’s Cold Day Camp yearbooks, which had come back from the printer that day.

You could tell Sam was right proud of them.

Hal had got great photos of all the guys, as well as of scenes around camp and on the work site. There I was, next to Bill Compton, just after the staff pictures.

Sam had tied the whole thing together with a narrative of our six months, and like he’d said he would, he’d included events from the world outside camp.

“It’s a fine yearbook,” I told him and meant it.

We were interrupted by Sketch, who came over with a folder he gave me. “I thought you might like to have these,” he said.

I opened it and saw a drawing of Apple, Nate, Sam, and me in our CCC denims. Sketch had got every single one of our expressions better than any camera could.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s great.”

“I’m glad you got your armband back,” he told me. “It adds a certain something to the picture.”

“Just like Apple’s,” I said.

Because Apple was a junior leader now, too. Major Garrett had offered the job to him the same day he’d returned my armband to me. Apple would be taking over A Barracks when our new hitches started.

Compton had chosen not to reenroll.

“Hey,” Apple said, looking over my shoulder, “what’s the other picture?”

I pulled it out. This one, instead of being a pencil drawing, was a watercolor picture of the prettiest little lake, stopped up by a low, earthen dam at one end.

Sketch had shown it in springtime, with full-grown willow trees on its banks, leafing out above black-eyed Susans. He’d painted a red-winged blackbird perched on a cattail, and a meadowlark on a fence post off to one side. You could just see a farm field in the distance.