Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool Page B

earlier to lessen their scent and hung them from a tree to dry. Jinx was exhausted, but knew he should get moving. He’d hop the next train and head wherever it took him. Still, he reasoned, it might be a while before the next train came by. And he was close enough to the tracks to listen for the chug of an engine. So he eased himself intothe cool creek, letting the dust and grime from there to here wash away.
    His uncle Finn had suggested they split up in Joplin. They’d be harder to track if they were separate. Maybe that was the best thing to come out of the whole mess. Even on the run, Jinx felt a sense of freedom, and for the first time, he felt like he could make a fresh start. Still, it was hard to make a fresh start when there was a dead body in your past. It had been an accident. But Finn had said no sheriff would believe that, and his dogs wouldn’t care.
    Jinx leaned back in the water, letting the creek flow through his hair and between his fingers. The current gently pulled him and he gave in to it. Maybe he’d go to Denver or San Francisco. Someplace where no one would notice a kid on the run. Someplace even his uncle Finn couldn’t find him. But the blissful thought vanished as a figure splashed nearby. Cussing and muttering, someone was frantically scrubbing his hair and face.
    It was that fellow Ned. Uh-oh, Jinx thought, noticing that Ned’s build was strong and tall compared to his own shorter, wiry one. Jinx knew he should have moved on long before then. Unfortunately, Ned spotted him.
    “Why, you little … Arctic glacial water, you said. Makes a polar bear smell good, does it? It smells, all right, and I’m sure Pearl Ann would agree.”
    Before Jinx could retreat, Ned had him by the arm and looked about to drown him or punch him, or both. Then a gunshot went off. Both boys froze.
    “Get your clothes and come with me,” Ned said.
    To his own surprise, Jinx obeyed. But when he wentback to the tree where he’d hung his clothes, they were gone. Only his shoes and the socks stuffed in them were left. He ran back to catch up with Ned, who was also dressed in dripping shorts and holding only his shoes.
    “They must’ve taken our clothes,” said Ned. “Come on.”
    Whoops and hollers filled the night air. Jinx followed Ned about thirty yards up the creek. The two crouched low to the creek bed, still dripping and bare. As they peeked over the bank, heat from a bonfire struck them like a train. They saw greetings being passed from one man to the next. Hands were shaken and backs were slapped. Everything was Brother this and Brother that. It could have been a church meeting if not for the white hoods and cloaks. The scene made Jinx shiver.
    “They’re using our clothes for kindling.” Ned pointed to the bonfire. A hooded figure tossed their shirts into the crackling blaze while another laughed.
    “Why would they want to burn our clothes?”
    “They’re drunk and they’re mean. That’s a dangerous combination.” Ned pulled Jinx away from the bank. “Let’s get out of here. Besides, I still have a debt to settle with you.”
    “But who are they? And why do they wear sheets and hoods?” Jinx whispered. He’d already caught a whiff of Ned’s glacial scent and was in no hurry to settle that debt. The so-called glacier water smelled one way in the bottle and a lot different once it hit a person’s skin. But usually, Jinx was long gone by then.
    Ned looked at Jinx like he was born yesterday. “Geez, kid. You’ve been in Alaska too long. They call themselves the Ku Klux Klan and they hate pretty much everyone whoisn’t like them. If you have the wrong color, religion, or birthplace, they don’t like you. Around here it’s mostly foreigners they hate.” Ned’s face flushed with anger.
    “They wear hoods because they don’t want anyone to know who they are. Like that one with the crooked arm who threw the clothes in the fire. That’s Buster Holt. He’s a knacker. A fella who carts