Apple was all for dealing with Compton as a group. “That’s the only way,” he said. “Hit him with an overwhelming force! We could . . . could . . .”

He laughed at himself. “When I think of something good, I’ll let you know.”

Sam said, “We’re only here another week and a half. The prudent course will be to avoid crossing him.”

“Amen to that,” I said.

Chapter 9

I should have tried harder to take Sam’s advice, which exactly matched what I’d decided for myself, anyway. I meant to avoid crossing Compton, and I would have, if Klein and Lukowski had played fair with Apple when the three of them got assigned to work together.

After the first night, mess hall duties were rotated among the guys in our barracks. Each day some of us got put on one of the details there: table setting, serving, or cleaning up. On the Thursday of that first long hike, Apple drew evening cleanup, along with Klein and Lukowski.

Thursday was movie night in the camp, and most of the rest of us went to see a film about the national parks. The National Park Service used a lot of CCC’ers.

It didn’t last long, and the newsreel that followed—mainly about the new Social Security Act to take care of old people—didn’t either. When the lights came back on I was surprised to see Klein and Lukowski there. I wouldn’t have thought they could finish the kitchen work so fast.

Apple wasn’t in sight, though, and he wasn’t in the barracks, either, when we went back there.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Sam said.

“Probably found tomorrow’s desserts and started eating,” Nate guessed.

Apple tore in after taps, with bare seconds to spare before Compton and Reese would do a bed check.

“Where have you been?” I whispered, but Apple didn’t answer.

It wasn’t till calisthenics the next morning that we got the story out of him, told in huffs and puffs between sit-ups and jumping jacks.

Klein and Lukowski had stayed on cleanup with him only until the last of the kitchen staff had left. Then they’d taken off, leaving him with a mound of pots and pans still to do.

“And you didn’t stop them?” Nate asked, sounding disbelieving.

“I started after them. But then I got to thinking: what if the mess hall sergeant came back and found us all gone? He’d think I’d skipped out, too.” Apple groaned his relief as the last sit-up was counted.

“They had no business leaving you to do your work and theirs both,” Nate said. “You should have reported them.”

“I almost did,” Apple said. “But then I got thinking that if I was taken advantage of, it was my own fault for letting it happen. And, besides, telling on them . . . it wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?” Nate demanded.