“Welcome to the CCC, son,” the army officer said. “Your timing’s good. A new group of enrollees starts conditioning camp at Fort Missoula this week.”

I looked wildly at the paper I’d already handed back. Had I just joined the military?

The officer chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re still a civilian. The army just trains the CCC’s enrollees and runs its camps.”

“I didn’t know,” I said.

“Now you do.” He turned back to Mr. Schieling. “I stopped in to tell you the agreement’s almost complete on that land where the new camp will go, and my staff will be getting in touch about buying provisions. I imagine you’ll want to put in a bid to supply them?”

“For anything you need,” Mr. Schieling said. “And meanwhile, I’ve been giving construction materials some thought.” He reached for a file folder and then stopped himself.

“Almost forgot you, Moss!” Quickly filling in some lines on a voucher, he said, “This will get you a train ticket to Missoula. You can catch the 7:00 A.M. tomorrow.” He gave me a leaflet. “And you might want to read this over.”

“Thank you,” I said and then added, addressing the officer, “and you, sir.”

“I’m Major Garrett,” he said. “I’m glad you signed on. I hope you’ll make the most of the opportunities the CCC will give you.”

Mr. Schieling followed me outside. “You have a place to stay tonight?” he asked.

“I’ll find something,” I told him.

He sorted through pocket change and handed me four bits. “This will get you a room,” he said. “You’ll see the hotel—the Monroe House—little two-story place down the street and around the corner from the Feed & Grain.”

Chapter 5

I tossed and turned through the night, sick over how I’d betrayed my pa, and hoping the help I’d be giving Ma would make up for it.

Because it was a betrayal: throwing my lot in with an outfit he’d as good as ordered me to steer clear of.

Even if he didn’t know. I hated thinking how, when he woke up, he must have wondered where I’d got to. It wouldn’t have hurt to leave a note on him, saying.

As to worrying over what I’d got myself into, I did a fair amount of that, too. A six-month hitch seemed an endless stretch not to be able to return to Texas, no matter how much I got to missing Muddy Springs.

But sense returned with the dawn. My hitch would let me stop fretting over what to do with myself for the next half year, anyway, and it would mean steady money for Ma. Not a lot, but more than Pa would likely be sending her.

And Beatty would still be there when I got back.