Free Wanderville by Wendy McClure Page B

coming. . . .”
    â€œHarold, are you all right?” Frances asked suddenly. Jack followed her line of sight to see Harold standing by the water trough, looking cold and listless. “Harold, what did you do?”
    The seven-year-old had been floating bits of straw on top of the water in the horse trough and had gotten his coat sleeves wet. Now he was nearly shivering in the spring wind. “Water’s cold,” he said.
    â€œWe’d better go back,” Alexander said. “We’ll dry his coat off by the campfire.” He went to the stable entrance and leaned out to see if the alley was clear. “Come on,” he said, motioning to Jack and Frances and Harold.
    â€œWhat about the supplies?” Jack asked.
    Alexander ignored him and ducked back into the stable for just a moment. Then he came back out. “Let’s go!” he said, and took off running for the footbridge. Frances grabbed Harold’s hand and ran, too.
    Jack kept behind them all, scanning the alley to make sure nobody had seen them. He’d have to wait another day to see how it felt to swipe things from the mercantile, but he hardly minded—except that they still needed food and supplies if they were going to stay out in the ravine.
    He reached the footbridge, where Frances and Harold and Alexander were waiting for him, and then they made their way down the creek bank.
    As Jack walked, he couldn’t help but notice something strange about Alexander’s left arm, which hung in an odd way. “Is your arm all right?” he whispered.
    Alexander smiled and shook his coat a bit until some straw fell out of his left coat sleeve. And then Jack saw his friend’s left arm wasn’t in the sleeve at all but was holding a bundle against his side. Alexander was pulling the very tricks he’d just taught them in the stable.
    â€œArm’s just fine,” Alexander whispered back. “Couldn’t be better.”

14.
B ecoming Real
    â€œW here did all that stuff come from?”
    Frances couldn’t believe it. There was a coil of rope, a horse blanket, a small hammer, three horseshoes, and two muslin sheets. All of it laid out on the rock by the creek bank. Somehow it had all appeared in Alexander’s arms the moment they’d come back to the ravine.
    â€œNo, really,” Frances demanded. “Where did it all
come
from?”
    â€œI told you,” Alexander said. “I just liberated a few things from that stable in Whitmore. Plus some sheets from a clothesline.”
    Jack was laughing. “This fellow is
fast
 . . . ,” he tried to explain to Frances. “I saw him pop back in the stable for just a second, and then—”
    â€œHe ‘liberated’ some stuff,” Frances finished for him. Then she turned to Alexander. “You sure are clever,” she said sarcastically.
    â€œI suppose I am,” said Alexander with a smirk.
    â€œYour mug won’t look too clever once I’ve liberated a few teeth from your head,” Frances snarled. “With my
fist
.”
    Alexander’s smirk vanished. His eyes got wide.
    Frances burst out laughing. “Kidding,” she said. Jack and Harold joined in, and then finally Alexander shook his head and grinned.
    â€œOkay, you got me,” he said sheepishly. “And, look, I know you don’t approve of the . . . you know . . .”
    â€œThe stealing,” Frances said.
    â€œBut these are things we can
use
here in our town as we build it,” Alexander said.
    â€œHe’s just following the second law of Wanderville,” Harold pointed out. He’d picked up the horse blanket and wrapped himself in it.
    â€œBesides, you asked me to show you everything I know about surviving,” Alexander said. “And this is one of them.”
    â€œHe’s right, Frances,” said Jack. He’d only just now stopped glancing over his shoulder