Free Camp X by Eric Walters Page A

of them protested.
    The largest of the three staggered to his feet. “He hit me!” he cried, pointing at my brother while still clutching his nose with the other hand. Blood continued to flow through his fingers.
    Jack was going to be in trouble now. Maybe I could explain how he had to do it because—
    â€œIf he did hit you, then you probably deserved it!” Chief Smith said.
    I couldn’t believe my ears.
    He turned to my brother and me. “Were these three bothering you boys?”
    â€œThey were trying to—”
    â€œThey weren’t doing anything,” my brother said, cutting me off. “At least, nothing that we need any help with. We’re okay.”
    The Chief snorted. “It looks like things were going okay. You three, beat it!” he bellowed.
    â€œBut he hit me!”
    â€œGet out of here before I hit you too!” the Chief roared.
    The three boys didn’t need to be told again. They all turned and scampered away.
    â€œI don’t know you boys,” Chief Smith said.
    â€œWe haven’t lived here that long,” Jack explained.
    â€œLong enough to get a job delivering papers. Where do you live?”
    â€œChambers Avenue . . . one-ninety,” I answered.
    â€œAnd your names?”
    This was the second time in two days that somebody in a uniform had asked us the exact same questions.
    â€œI’m Jack Braun, and this is my brother George.”
    â€œBraun?” he said nodding his head. “The name is German, but you two don’t look German.”
    People often told us that because they expected Germans to have blond hair and blue eyes. Our hair was sandy brown, and we had our mother’s dark eyes.
    â€œThat’s because we’re not German,” Jack said. “We’re Canadian.”
    â€œI meant your heritage,” Chief Smith said. “Don’t take offence. I’m of German blood too.”
    â€œWe know,” I said.
    â€œDo you?” His voice became deeper and his brow furrowed. “And how would you know that?” “Well . . . Mr. Krum told us,” I explained.
    He smiled, and I suddenly felt better. “Those boys weren’t bothering you because you have a German name, were they?” “They don’t even know our name,” I said.
    â€œGood, because nobody is going to be doing that in my town. Anybody bothers you, then you let me know, okay?”
    â€œThanks,” I said.
    â€œYou’re welcome. Now, do you boys need a ride home?” he asked.
    Jack shook his head. “We have to finish my paper route.”
    â€œI’ll let you get on your way then. I don’t think those boys will be bothering you again today.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” my brother said.
    The Chief looked a little bit shocked and then smiled. “If those three boys are half smart—and that might be a stretch—they’ll never bother the two of you again. I’ll see you boys around. And remember . . . us Krauts have to stick together.”
    Chief Smith walked back to his car as we started back down the street. He passed by, honked his horn and waved. I waved back.
    â€œHe seems like a nice guy,” I said, feeling relieved.
    â€œYou think everybody’s a nice guy,” Jack replied.
    â€œNot everybody. Not those kids.”
    â€œBesides those kids. You think Mr. Krum is a nice guy, and Chief Smith is a nice guy.”
    â€œThey seem nice to me,” I answered with a shrug.
    â€œThey both make me nervous,” Jack said. “And what did he mean ‘us Krauts have to stick together’?”
    â€œI think he was just making a joke.”
    â€œIt wasn’t funny,” Jack muttered. “And another thing . . . the next time somebody bothers you, just pop ’em in the nose. I can’t be around to rescue you your whole life.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    WE DRIFTED AROUND ANOTHER bend in the creek, and up ahead I could see the