Riley’s group opted for A Barracks, which had the advantage of being a shorter walk to the rec hall.

We stored away our gear, reveling in the extra space. Maybe the long rows of double bunks, twenty to a side, would have seemed crowded to us a couple of months earlier. But after bumping knees in the tents for six weeks, we were grateful for the room.

Cal set up his phonograph, and a couple of fellows tacked up pictures of their girls. Nate set a harmonica on a shelf, next to Sam’s stack of library books.

“I didn’t know you played that,” I said.

“Yeah, well,” he said.

Then along about eleven—1100—Pops stuck his head in the door. “Time to meet the rest of CCC Company 597,” he said. “The trucks are pulling in. Moss, you better get out to help the major. We just got a call that the car bringing his staff broke down. They won’t make it in before tonight.”

My stomach did a flip-flop. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go into the junior leadership business quite so soon.

“And better move that armband to your coat,” Pops said. “Guys will need to know who to look to.”

A convoy of six trucks on loan from the Forest Service was already parking alongside the central field when I got to Major Garrett.

“We’re going to have to play things by ear,” he said. “The roster of names is with the company sergeant. Pops told you he’s been delayed?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. “So . . . we don’t know who all the enrollees are?”

“We know where they’re from. District headquarters telegraphed me their companies of origin so we wouldn’t be in the total dark. Close to fifty have come from Fort Missoula, another fifty are up from a Colorado camp that didn’t get winterized, and the rest are overflow from conditioning camps back east. Most all are in their first hitches.

“Oh! And I almost forgot to tell you,” he added. “District did send the name of the other junior leader. It’s . . .”

He didn’t need to tell me. The cab of the first truck had already opened, and Bill Compton had got out from the passenger side.

Chapter 21

Striding up to Major Garrett, looking like he was itching to salute, he said, “Junior Leader William Compton reporting, sir.”

“Welcome,” the major said. “Have a good trip out?”

“It was all right, sir,” Compton answered. “At least until we got to the Monroe station, and the two dozen of us from Missoula found the other hundred milling around. Their train had come in early, and they didn’t have anybody in charge.”

He paused as though expecting to hear who was to blame for that.