Sports Camp Read Online Free PDF

eaten all week.
    “Take the last one,” Patrick said. “You had the smallest piece.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah. We’re tired of Jersey Chicken anyway. We’ve had it five nights in a row.”
    “A man can only eat so much chicken,” Barry said. “And so many hot dogs.”
    So Riley ate the last thigh and Patrick dumped the bucket and the bones into the barrel.
    Though they weren’t very good at basketball, the Monahans had proven to be the nucleus of the Cabin 3 softball team. Barry—he seemed to be cool with having the guys refer to him as Fat Barry, though Riley wouldn’t dare—was a good first baseman and a power hitter. And Patrick was quick and wiry and could hit anything thrown at him. The brothers were the main reason they’d won their first two games.
    A few other kids had wandered over and the moon was up in the sky, so Barry launched into one of his horrorstories. “This one happened right in these woods,” he began, speaking slowly and staring at the fire, “oh, about sixty years ago. Way before this was a camp. Before there was even a paved road through these parts of the county …”
    The chicken bucket ignited, and the orange glow lit up the other faces. Eldon and Kirby. Riley looked around. He could see the Big Dipper low in the sky over to the west. There were lights on in most of the cabins.
    “There’d been a fight,” Barry was saying. “You guys might have seen that old run-down barn on the left about a mile south of here; we passed it on the way in. That farm’s been out of business for decades. Anyway, they say one of the hands—Maynard, they called him—got in an argument with the farmer about his wages….”
    Riley’s eyes met Eldon’s straight across the barrel, and Eldon looked away. Somebody shouted way over near the latrine. Just a name. Arnie or Harvey, something like that.
    “The farmer heard a noise in the kitchen that night and rushed down the stairs to see Maynard slipping out the door. It seemed obvious that he’d been there to steal what he thought was rightfully his. So the farmer and his son took off after him. Maynard ran into the woods.”
    Riley felt a surge of energy. And maybe fear. Those woods were dark. Must have been a whole lot darker back then.
    “It was a pitch-black night; you could barely see the ground in front of you. Maynard’s all scratched up from branches hitting his face, but he keeps running like his life is on the line. The farmer’s got a torch, so Maynard knows he’s getting closer. He also knows the farmer’s got a gun!”
    Kirby let out a nervous laugh. Patrick picked up another piece of punky wood and dropped it into the barrel. More sparks shot up. And smoky warmth.
    “Maynard’s sense of smell was vivid, so he knew he was approaching the lake.
Our
lake. Lake Surprise. He could smell the algae and the mud and even the fish beneath the water. This guy’s sense of smell was like a hunting dog’s!
    “He dives into the lake and starts swimming. He’s puffing so hard from running through the woods that he’s swallowing water with every stroke, but he presses on. The farmer and his son stop when they reach the water and fire a few shots, but they’ve lost sight of Maynard. They can’t swim. He’s getting away.”
    Riley licked his lips and tasted chicken grease. Everyone around the fire was wide-eyed. Barry rocked slowly back and forth as he spoke, never taking his eyes off the flames.
    “After twenty minutes of swimming, Maynard’s approaching the far end of the lake, that
deep
cold area that leads into the cove. He’s got barely enough strength left to hold on, but in two hundred yards he’ll be out of the waterand on his way. In daylight he can make his way through the forest, all the way over to the Delaware River and Narrowsburg, and he’ll catch a ride and be in New York City by the following afternoon with a couple of hundred stolen dollars in his pocket.”
    Barry’s hand darted out and grabbed Riley’s arm,