Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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®{£ j torg of ro By LEE WALKER (Fourth Award.) HE GREAT shining orb of the sun hung its last rays over Sonoma Mountain, and the padres at Mission Sonoma welcomed with relief the long twilight and the banks of cool fog that settled silently in from the bay. All the hills were brown and dirty and the air even tasted dusty, and the friars longed for the autumn rains, which would make the verdure grow quickly green. The long piazza was cool now and the day was nearly done, when a man on a jaded horse rode up to the mission gates and was promptly received by the hospitable monks. When he had removed the signs of travel and had dined, he joined the others on the porch and introduced himeslf as Pedro Villa, from the town of Yerba Buena. In that land of little travel news spread slowly, and it w 7 as usually gained by listening to some traveler who recompensed his hosts for his entertainment by telling them all the news. The moon by this time was up and casting its light on the mountains that guarded “The Valley of the Moon.” The monks had had no recent company, and, hungry for news, plied their guest with many questions, which he answered as best he could. This story he told just before retiring, when the moon was high in the heavens and the crickets had ceased to chirrup. It was the story of old Mendez, a story that had made him the laughing stock of California. Old Mendez, unlike his sons, who would lose their last “cen¬ tavo” on a cock fight, was the biggest tightwad in California. He was so tight that he even kept a herd of milk cows and sold milk, and selling milk in those days was looked upon as fit only for Indiars and Gringoes. One day as Mendez was leisurely awakening from his si¬ esta a Yankee skipper was announced to him, who wanted three hundred hides at an early date—in fact, too early to enable Mendez to go inland for his cattle. However, he jumped at the alluring figure, hoping to get the hides by hook or crook,, and ransacked his brain for means of procuring the hides, for his cattle within reach were lacking by twenty. A happy thought struck him. He would resort to the sim-

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what mattered it all now? Their lives of suffering would soon be over and their soults would know no pain. The day dragged on. The Juggernaut progressed slowly, but a sultry gust occasionally brought them the wild shouting that heralded the demon’s approach. When at last the moving temple came within sight and the deafening clamor of the mad multitude arose, toiling as they sang, praying as they pulled, dragging their burden inch by inch, another vulture flew to Rudraya, bowed in the dust, circled above her head and soared up, up in the heavens. Again Rudraya arose and prayed, and again fell upon the earth insensible beside the other outcasts. As the night fell the bodies of the faithful paved the road of Sidra. Side by side lay the white-haired Rudraya and her outcast son, Rajanava. Their souls lay at rest with Brahma. I h,ad sat on a hill o’erlooking a vale, My hands clasped ’round my knees; In my primer I’d read my first fairy tale, I had mastered my ABC’s. In my hand was a pencil, in my lap lay a pad, On the paper stretched a straggly line; A vision I s,aw, a dream I had — ’Twas of a land that I thought to be mine. There were Goblins’ caves where cross witches dwell, There ran rivers the color of gold; There were fairies and sprites for each vale and each dell, And knights of the days of old. There were voices which sang and thunder that rolled, And stood mystery castles of stone; ’Twas a wonderful story my third primer told; And to think that it all was my own! But now it is past ,and the years have slipped by, And I am leaving my boyhood days; Without faltering step I’ll soon have to try The world and its dallying ways. So I thought I’d just try to remember once more When I sat on that hill o’er the vale, And lived as I dreamed in the good days of yore, When I finished my first fairy tale. —Don I. Walker, ’20.

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pie trick of annexing some of his neighbor’s cattle that ranged on the hills above the town. But who would do this little job ? He couldn’t, for Senor Mendez had too much dignity to be seen in the wee small hours of the night with some of his neighbor’s hides dangling over the saddle. Again he solved that problem, for in Yerba Buena there lived a happy-go-lucky vaquero who had done several small jobs for Senor Mendez of the same order. Next day Mendez ' summoned the vaquero to his house, and after talking weather and the price of hides for a few minutes, asked the rider if he would like a new silver saddle. “Surely,” he replied, “but how am I to get one without money!” “Well,” said the crafty Mendez, “take your lasso tonight, and, no matter on whose cattle it falls, bring me twenty hides, and a silver saddle will be yours. Do you understand!” “Si, Senor.” And the vaquero rode off whistling . The next night when all was still he rode out on the range and separated twenty cattle, roped, and, with the ease of long practice, bad them killed and skinned before the sky had paled, and was riding to the house of Mendez. All was well and good. Mendez, true to his promise, gave the vaquero his saddle with silver trimmings and l ' eceived the hides, which were then placed in the storeroom. That morning Mendez’s cows did not come home. His rid¬ ers failed to locate them, until, driven to desperation, Mendez looked high and low. Still no cows could be found. When evening arrived and the missing cows did not show up a flood of light dawned upon Mendez, and he rushed from the house to find the vaquero. He found him in front of the store, showing his new saddle to several envious ones, and rushed at him in a towering rage. “Where are my cows?” de¬ manded the old Don. A rather shame-faced grin came upon the face of the rider as he replied: “Their hides are in the storeroom, Senor Mendez.” It didn’t seem as if Mendez could get madder, but somehow he managed to do so. He raved, ranted and raged and poured blasphemies upon the rider’s head. The little group had soon grown to a crowd, they, soon learning of the fate of the Don’s cows, roared in laughter at the joke. At length, unable to stand the laughter, Mendez ' turned and stalked homeward with all the dignity lie could summon.