Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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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.

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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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He had gone but a short way when the vaquero rode by, his silver saddle gleaming in the sun. The old Don could not fore¬ bear shaking his fist at him, and, seeing this, the vaquero turned and said: “But, Senor, did you not say no matter whose cattle the lasso fell on?” And with a hearty laugh he rode swiftly on. “That is the story, my friends, of old Mendez, the tightest man in California.” There was silence for a few minutes after Don Pedro had finished his story. The fog had enveloped everything in sight, and the moon shone through, piercing the haze only in spots. Then, as if suddenly recalled from the dream of Mendez, the little group arose, and, with murmured “buenas noches,” went to their beds, the traveler to his well-earned rest, the monks to dream of future conquests of heathen, little dreaming that within half a decade a new race would conquer this fair land, leaving their conquests and civilization only a memory of the past. 3ln garths of JUar Somewhere the night wind calls, Somewhere a comrade falls Deep in the reeking walls Of trenches—yonder. Somewhere fond prayers arise; Welling mother eyes; Tears melt with longing sighs From hearts that wander. Somewhere a nation’s guide, Pilot on wild seas wide, Peers from the calmer tide Through loud waves gleaming. Somewhere a kindly shrine With brother-light divine Shall soothe the broken line Victorious streaming. Rise, then, thou land of gold, Laden with might they hold, Forget greed’s gain untold; Love’s call is grander! —Laurence E. Dayton, ’ 18 .