by Gary Paulsen
FROM THE LIBRARY OF
AUDREY GREEN
OTHER YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:
THE CASE OF THE DIRTY BIRD, Gary Paulsen
DUNC’S DOLL, Gary Paulsen
THE VOYAGE OF THE FROG, Gary Paulsen
HOW TO EAT FRIED WORMS, Thomas Rockwell
HOW TO FIGHT A GIRL, Thomas Rockwell
HOW TO GET FABULOUSLY RICH, Thomas Rockwell
MAKE LIKE A TREE AND LEAVE, Paula Danziger
EVERYONE ELSE’S PARENTS SAID YES, Paula Danziger
RAT TEETH, Patricia Reilly Giff
MATTHEW JACKSON MEETS THE WALL, Patricia Reilly Giff
YEARLING BOOKS/YOUNG YEARLINGS/YEARLING CLASSICS are designed especially to [entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor’s degree from Marymount College and a master’s degree in history from St. John’s University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.
For a complete listing of all Yearling titles,
write to Dell Readers Service,
P.O. Box 1045, South Holland, IL 60473.
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
666 Fifth Avenue
New York, New York 10103
Copyright © 1992 by Gary Paulsen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
The trademark Yearling® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
eISBN: 978-0-307-80370-2
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
•1
Duncan—Dunc—Culpepper sat on the ground with his back against the one good wheel of the cannon that stood in front of the county courthouse. He was watching Amos Binder, his best friend—from the day they were born to the day they died, his best friend for life. Amos was sitting on the ground in front of him and rubbing his forehead.
“What did you do this time?” Dunc asked.
“I bumped my head.”
“I can see that. What I meant was, what did you do to bump your head?”
“I was riding my bike down Cross Street, and I saw Melissa. She saw me and waved.”
“She waved at you?”
“I swear. If my mother was dead, I’d swear on her grave. She waved at me.”
Dunc didn’t believe him. Maybe she looked as if she had waved, maybe she was trying to frighten a mosquito away and Amos thought she had waved, but Melissa Hansen would not have waved. Amos had been in love with Melissa for life—from the day he was born to the day he died, in love with her for life. Melissa Hansen didn’t even know Amos existed, probably never would know, and probably never would care.
“So what happened?” he asked.
“Well, I turned to wave back, trying to be real cool, but when I turned I forgot I was riding my bike, and I turned the handlebars with me. I hit the curb and bounced across the street right into the bed of a pickup. I was going so fast, I flew off my bike over the bed and ran my face into the back of the cab.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I just hope the owner of the pickup doesn’t want me to pay for it.”
“Why, did he see you?”
“He didn’t have to. He’ll be able to recognize me from the face imprint in the back of his cab.” He rubbed his forehead again.
Dunc stood up and stretched. It was early March and the first warm Saturday of the year. He and Amos were going to go to the library, but as soon as they stepped outside, they had both realized that the sun was too warm to spend the afternoon there. Amos stretched and smiled at the sun on his face.
“So what are you going to write your paper on?” Dunc asked. Amos had Mr. Trasky for American history. Mr. Trasky loved assigning papers. Students hated getting Mr. Trasky.
“I don’t know. I just don’t want to think about it. I hate writing papers.” Amos quit rubbing his forehead and buried his face in his hands.
“What’s it have to be about?”
“The Civil War. I hate the Civil War.”
“Why?”
“Because I can never remember anything about it. It goes through my head like water through a funnel.”
“For a paper on the Civil War, we’re at the perfect place. This cannon was in the Civil War.”
Amos looked up. “You mean that thing is real? I always thought it was made out of plaster of Paris or something. You know, a decoration.”
“Don’t you ever read?”
“Sure I read. I just finished a book about how to attract girls. It gave me some pointers for Melissa. You see, if I—”
“I mean this plaque.” He pointed with his thumb toward the other side of the cannon. “Haven’t you ever read this plaque about the cannon?”
“No.”
“Come here.” Dunc stood and waited for Amos to climb groaning to his feet. He was still sore from his adventure with the pickup. Dunc led him to the other side of the cannon.
The wooden wheel was broken on that side, and a concrete block with a plaque on it supported the axle. “ ‘This cannon was part of the arsenal during the battle between the Merrimack and the Monitor, March 9, 1862,” ’ Dunc read aloud. “ ‘Dedicated in memory of the men who served there.’ ”
“Wow,” Amos said. “And I always thought it was a fake.”
“It isn’t. You should read more.”
Amos leaned over and looked at the wooden axle that ran under the cannon. “I wonder what happened to its wheel?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Amos’s face brightened up. He got that look that came when he found an idea that was great. Or at least an idea that he thought was great. “Hey, do you suppose I could do my paper on this cannon?”
“On this cannon?”
“Yeah, you know, its history. Like how it broke its wheel.”
“I don’t know. Where would you find something like that out?”
“I don’t know.” The brightness left his face, and he looked like he usually looked again.
Dunc looked at him and then at the cannon. He wanted to help Amos, to brighten him up again. After all, they were best friends for life.
“Why don’t you write your paper about cannons? You know, all cannons. You could write about how the were made and how they were used and what kind of cannonballs they fired. You could use this one as an example.”
It worked. When Amos looked up, his face was bright again. “I could do that, couldn’t I?” He reached out and touched the cannon with his hand. “I could write about all that and other things, too, like the tactics used with them. Old Trasky would like that, wouldn’t he?” He walked around the cannon, examining it. Dunc followed him. On the other side was a stack of cannonballs.
“Say,” Amos said. “How much do you suppose one of these things weighs?” He reached over and tried t
o pick one of them up. It wouldn’t budge. He planted his feet more firmly and put all the muscles in his back and legs into it. It still wouldn’t budge.
“I’ve never seen anything so little and so heavy in my whole life,” he said.
Dunc shook his head. “It’s cemented down, you dummy.”
Amos examined the cannonball and saw the mortar holding it to the balls it was stacked on. He looked up sheepishly. “Gee, I guess you’re right. Why do you suppose they do that?”
“Probably to keep people from blowing up McPhereson’s department store,” Dunc said. McPhereson’s was across the street.
“I guess you’re right.” He walked back to the front of the cannon and tried to stuff his fist in the end of the barrel. “Do you suppose this thing would still work? Can it work with a broken wheel? I wonder—hey, check this out.”
“What’s the matter?”
Amos looked at Dunc. His eyes flashed with excitement. “There’s something in here.”
•2
Dunc watched Amos dangling from the cannon, his forearm crammed down the barrel. “What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Amos was trying to stick his arm farther down the barrel.
“Be careful,” Dunc said. “If your fist gets stuck, I might have to use a cannonball to blow it out. You could end up across the street at McPhereson’s.”
“Funny.”
“If whatever it is is furry and moves by itself, you’d better leave it alone. I saw on the news last night that a great fanged wombat had escaped from the zoo.”
“A great fanged wombat?”
“It’s the nastiest animal I could come up with on such short notice.”
“Oh, another funny. I almost believed you.” Amos began to carefully pull his arm back out of the barrel. “I’ve got it. It’s a piece of paper.” He had his arm out now, and his sleeve was covered with dirt and rust. A yellowed piece of paper was in his hand. He tried to unfold it, and a corner broke off in his fingers. The wind grabbed at the corner and carried it away.
Dunc took the paper from him. “Be careful—you don’t want to ruin it.” They sat down on the lawn.
“What do you suppose it is?” Amos asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Dunc unfolded it carefully. Little bits and pieces broke off and blew away in the breeze. “There’s writing on it.”
“What’s it say?”
“I’m not sure. It’s pretty faded.” They both leaned over it. The writing was thin and gray and just barely visible.
“Maybe it tells where some money is,” Amos said, “or maybe it describes a murderer. Maybe—”
“Shush. Let me read this.” Dunc bent over the paper farther until his nose was almost touching it. “ ‘Look out for Bremish,” ’ he read aloud. “ ‘He’ll kill us if he gets a chance. The time portal is at the southwest corner of the plaza. When you go through, don’t forget “gazebo.” I think you only get one chance, and if it closes on you, you’re stuck here forever.” ’ He looked up at Amos. “That’s it.”
“Time portal?”
“That’s what it says.”
“I wonder what it means?”
“A time portal might be like a hole in time.”
“A time hole?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s crazy. This must be some kind of a joke.”
“I don’t know,” Dunc said. “This paper’s awfully old. When this was written, they probably didn’t know about time portals.”
“They must have. The guy who wrote this did, anyway.”
“Maybe that’s because the guy who wrote this came from the future.”
“No way. I don’t believe it.” Amos rubbed his forehead again. “Is it signed?”
Dunc looked down at the paper. “There’s a D, but the rest of the signature was on the corner you broke off.”
“Who’s Bremish?”
“You got me.”
“Why do you suppose he was after whoever wrote the note?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they stole something from him. Maybe they stole something valuable.”
“What do you suppose it was?”
“I don’t know.”
Amos rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “If there is a time hole, where do you suppose it is? Where was this plaza?”
Dunc looked up at Amos. His eyes were gleaming. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Amos leaned back away from Dunc. “You’ve got that look,” he said.
“What look?”
“Come on, Dunc, don’t do this to me. I’ve got to write a paper.”
“It won’t take long. We’ll just go down to the library and find out where this plaza was, then we’ll go to whatever is there now. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
“Then you do it yourself. I’ve got to write a paper.”
“Maybe what they took from Bremish will still be at the plaza. Maybe it will help you with your paper.”
“I don’t care. Every time we do something like this, I get into trouble.”
“Maybe it’s something valuable. Maybe it’s treasure. There’s no better way to impress a girl than with treasure.”
Amos looked at him, suddenly interested. “Really?”
“Really.” Dunc leaned back and studied Amos carefully, the way a cobra might study a bird just before it struck. “I wonder what kind of treasure a girl like Melissa would be impressed by?”
But it was overkill. Amos was already on his feet. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Let’s go find this plaza.”
•3
“No. Absolutely not. I will not go in there.” Amos was standing in front of La Petite, a women’s clothing store. He looked at Dunc.
“Come on, Amos,” Dunc said. “The old maps at the library said this is where the southwest corner of the plaza was. We have to go in there.”
“I thought it said southeast. If it said southeast, maybe it’s in the sporting goods store across the street.”
“No. It was southwest. You can never remember directions. We have to go in here.”
“No, we don’t. This is all somebody’s idea of a sick joke. I’m not going in there.”
“Why not? What’s so bad about a women’s clothing store?”
“This isn’t just a women’s clothing store. This is Melissa’s favorite women’s clothing store. What if she sees me in there? She’ll think I’m weird or something.”
“Why is that weird?”
“A guy buying women’s clothing isn’t weird?”
“Look, if she sees you, just tell her you’re buying something for your mother.”
“No.”
“Then tell her you’re buying something for her.”
“Why would I be buying something for her?”
“Tell her you thought it was her birthday, and you’re getting her a sweater. She’ll like that.”
Amos looked through the front window of the store. An older woman was looking at stockings, and a sales clerk was helping her. He looked back at Dunc. “You really think so?”
“Do you know anyone who isn’t impressed by presents?”
“You might be right, but I can’t afford a sweater.”
“Buy it with the treasure we find.”
Amos looked through the window again and was silent for a moment. “All right. But just a couple of minutes. If we don’t find this hole right away, we’re leaving.”
“Portal. The word is portal.”
“I like hole. It’s more descriptive. And if we don’t find it right away, we’re leaving.”
“All right.” Dunc held the door open, and Amos went in in front of him.
The air in the store was air-conditioned cool and had a thick, scented smell that caught in Amos’s throat. He looked around the store. There were dresses and skirts and blouses and underthings he felt embarrassed looking at. He didn’t see any holes. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Not yet,” Dunc said. “It should be in the
back corner. Let’s go have a look.”
Dunc led Amos to the back of the store. There was a rack of women’s jeans and a table covered with thick sweaters. Dunc pointed. “There,” he said. “It has to be in there.”
“No. If it’s in there, I want to forget the whole thing.” Dunc was pointing at a women’s changing room.
“We have to,” Dunc said. “We’ve come this far.” He looked around the store. When he looked back at him, Amos could see that gleam in his eye again. “You’re going to have to try something on.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you look more like someone who would try on women’s clothing than I do.”
Amos looked at Dunc. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t mean anything bad. I mean you look more sensitive, like you would go to greater lengths to make sure a sweater fit a girl right before you bought it. Melissa is closer to your size than she is to mine.”
“Oh. That’s what I thought you meant.” He sighed deeply. “All right, I’ll do it, but don’t let anyone see me.”
“I won’t.” Dunc tried to open the dressing-room door. It was locked. “We’ll have to get help from the clerk. Grab a sweater. Make sure it’s one Melissa would like.” Amos took a pink one, then decided against it. He reached for a thick green one with a collar and followed Dunc up to the checkout counter.
The clerk had finished with the older woman and was standing at the counter writing something on a piece of paper. When Dunc and Amos approached him he looked up. He was a tall, thin man with a name tag that said Ramone and a nose that hooked down almost to his chin. His hair was so heavily hairsprayed, it looked hard enough to play a good game of basketball on.
“Can I help you?” His voice was high and whiny, and when he spoke, his Adam’s apple jumped up at least two inches.
“My friend here would like to try on this sweater,” Dunc said.
“Your friend would like to try on this sweater?” Ramone looked coldly at Amos, and Amos felt his face turn red. “Why would your friend like to try on a women’s sweater?”
“It’s a gift,” Dunc said.
“A gift for a girl?” Ramone asked.
“Of course it’s for a girl,” Amos said.
