Free Culpepper's Cannon by Gary Paulsen Page A

over and looked at the wooden axle that ran under the cannon. “I wonder what happened to its wheel?” he asked.
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œOn this cannon?”
    â€œYeah, you know, its history. Like how it broke its wheel.”
    â€œI don’t know. Where would you find something like that out?”
    â€œI don’t know.” The brightness left hisface, 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.
    â€œWhy 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.
    â€œSay,” Amos said. “How much do you suppose one of these things weighs?” He reached over and tried to pick one of them up. It wouldn’t budge. He planted his feetmore firmly and put all the muscles in his back and legs into it. It still wouldn’t budge.
    â€œI’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?”
    â€œProbably to keep people from blowing up McPhereson’s department store,” Dunc said. McPhereson’s was across the street.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    Amos looked at Dunc. His eyes flashed with excitement. “There’s something in here.”

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    Dunc watched Amos dangling from the cannon, his forearm crammed down the barrel. “What is it?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know.” Amos was trying to stick his arm farther down the barrel.
    â€œBe 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.”
    â€œFunny.”
    â€œIf 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.”
    â€œA great fanged wombat?”
    â€œIt’s the nastiest animal I could come up with on such short notice.”
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œWhat do you suppose it is?” Amos asked.
    â€œI don’t know yet.” Dunc unfolded it carefully. Little bits and pieces broke off and blew away