Secret Signs Read Online Free

couple of sturdy pieces, then dragged the tarp and the wood into the trees. Wrestling with the posts, he wedged them into the ground a few feet apart and hung the tarp across. It wasn’t like the teepees he’d seen in books, but it would do.
    Crawling inside, Henry wrinkled his nose at the moldy smell. He rummagedin his book bag for the bread, meat and cheese he’d brought. Tearing off a small portion of each, he carefully wrapped up the rest and put it back in his bag. Since there was no telling how long it would be until he could get more food, he would have to ration the little he had left.
    When Henry finished his meager meal, he plumped up the lumpy book bag to use as a pillow. He wished he’d brought a blanket with him. The temperature was dropping and the ground felt damp.
    This was not how he’d imagined today would go, but at least wild animals wouldn’t eat him while he slept. He was tired, scared, cold, hungry and thirsty. Henry curled up into a ball, pulled his coat around him against the night chill and fell asleep.

C HAPTER 5

    In his dream, Henry was stuffing himself with huge piles of freshly fried fish, bowls of fluffy mashed potatoes and basket-loads of biscuits and gravy.
    With a jolt, he awoke and took a deep sniff. It wasn’t a dream. He could smell fish frying.
    Scrambling out of his makeshift tent, Henry blinked as the morning sunlight blinded him. When his watering eyes cleared, he looked around in amazement. Everything looked different. Instead of gangs of dangerous characters huddled over smoky campfires, the hobo jungle was filled with bustling men, laughingand cooking or shaking out blankets as they straightened the camp.
    â€œFeel like a little breakfast?”
    Henry spun around. A tall skinny man with a bushy beard grinned at him.
    â€œI saw you building your campsite last night and wondered why you never came to join us for a cup of joe. I thought the neighborly thing to do would be to invite you to share the morning fry-up.”
    Henry didn’t know whether to run or accept the hobo’s offer. Then his stomach made a loud growling sound, and he decided he would eat now, run later. “I am a tiny bit hungry. I’ll join you for breakfast, mister.”
    â€œThe name’s Fred Glass,” the man said as he stuck out his hand.
    Henry gingerly shook hands with Fred, whose clothes were more than a little shabby. “Mine’s Henry Dafoe.”
    They sat around the fire, and Henry watched as several other men came by, holding out bowls or plates into which one of the golden fish was placed. Finally,Fred held one up for Henry. “Courtesy of Light Fingers Flynn.”
    â€œAh, I seem to have misplaced my plate.” Henry pretended to search in his book bag. “And my fork, knife and spoon are gone too.”
    Fred smiled knowingly. “Well, lad, today’s your lucky day. I happen to have a couple of extras. You keep ‘em.” He handed Henry a spoon and then expertly flipped the fish into a wooden bowl.
    Maybe it was because he was so hungry or maybe it was because of Fred’s cooking skills, but Henry had never tasted anything so delicious as that fish. He ate it down to the bones.
    After breakfast, Henry thought it was a good time to show Fred his father’s picture. “I’m looking for my pa. Have you seen him?” He held up the snapshot.
    Fred shook his head. “You should talk to Clickety Clack.” He pointed at a lean-to on the far side of the site. “Sooner or later, every man on the road comes through this camp. If your pa’s a traveler, he’d have bunked here a night or two and Clickety Clack would know. Heck, he knows everyone and everything that happens in the jungle, but be warned, that old cuss doesn’t like youngsters—or anyone else for that matter.” He chuckled.

    Henry nodded his thanks and started across the camp.
    Clickety Clack turned out to be an old man