Austin High School - Castilleja Yearbook (Austin, NV)

Page 30 text:

THE AXE SWINGS But I didn't do it! said the boy to the judge. Son, how do I know that?” Can’t you see, I'm innocent. I didn't kill nobody. I ain't the kind of guy who would do that, the boy sulked. Take him to the guardhouse. Three large men obeyed the order and carried the hysterical boy away. As he was going out ot the door he could hear the judge saying, Two days from now he will be beheaded. The boy was thinking to himself, Why am I in this rat infested place? I didn't do a damn thing wrong and they all know it. I'm going to prove it. The boy started screaming, Let me alone. Get me outa' here. I'll kill all of you niggers, you black suckers. The guards shrugged and hit him a few times. Time was getting short. He had one day to live. Soon he would be putting his head upon the chopping block to be cut off. He had half a day to live. Soon it was time to put his head down on the block. His hands were tied around his back. He had to kneel down. When they asked him if he had anything to say, he said, Yea, let me talk. I didn't hurt no one rather than kill 'um. I just pray for one thing—that your souls all rot in hell. With that the axe fell. It fell slowly at first but picked up speed. Soon a sickening crunch was heard when the axe hit the bone. Blood splattered all over. When the executors looked they were amazed at what they saw. The axe missed the mark and had cut about half down the face. The man was still alive. He lived long enough to give one long, high pitched scream. —Warren Woods 8th Grade Spring, 1971

Page 29 text:

UNTITLED I went into the war fresh and new and bright as a summer day Full of spirit, and courage, and faith, my hopes were there to stay Or so I believed Like the summer the war drug on and right before my eyes I grew hard and cold and killed numbers untold Like clay that someone buys Into it Autumn of the war I went: my hopes, my dreams all gone This wasn’t what I had waited for! A child's voice in the night screaming Mom And where was she? From the winter of the war I emerged with a storm within my own sea From orders on high I shouted a cry, Oh, please someone save me ! But did they ? Now I am out, out of the war and perhaps just half of me left And like a wilted flower I go I devour like they taught me to in war I'm a person yet sometimes I'd much rather be a rock with no feeling or grace The war has left me a thing without soul A soul that cannot be replaced —Sabrina Gandolfo 8th Grade Spring, 1971 HIGH You go into the Army Stars along the way Selling pure grade Getting higher as you go You're on a cloud You're about to fall off Then you go somewhere You're lying in a bed With a sheet over your head You get put into a box And put into a hole —Melville Easton 7th Grade Spring, 1971

Page 31 text:

THE RAT Joe Bob Braley drove his 47 Willys up the steep, rockey road, averaging 25 mph. He pulled up in front of the cabin. It was chilly but he wanted a good week of relaxation. He had no family so there was no one to worry about. Joe carried his supplies into the house checking them as he went. Sleeping bag-cot-weeks food supply-matches-. 45 caliber pistol- traps-snowshoes-clothes. It was O. K. He noticed a storm was coming so he quickly got the cabin arranged, grabbed his fishing pole and went for some trout. An hour later he came back with seven trout and a better outlook on the world. As he stepped through the door a large gray rat scampered across the cabin floor. Then it struck him, Dammit! I forgot rat traps. Joe cooked the trout. Taking the smallest one he thought, Oh well. I'll need company anyway. He pitched it by the large rat hole. In an instant it was gone; within the hole he heard a sickening crunching sound. That night as he rolled into bed the worst blizzard in over 13 years set in. The blizzard continued for over three days and three nights. Joe, using his head, rationed his food supply on the second day. As the days wore on Joe got more haggard and thin and the rat got fatter and lazier. As the seventh day wore by he decided he had food for only four more days. Joe had tried to get out to the Jeep the day before but he hadn't been able to more than crack the door. Two more long freezing days passed. At the end of the ninth day Joe made his plans. Rolling a Ritz cracker toward the rat's hole he cocked his .45 and made ready. Within seconds a fat, undisturbed rat scampered out to the cracker. Joe took careful aim and fired. Thunderous noise shattered the silence but as the smoke cleared he saw A1 (he named it himself) scampering for his hole. Three more days passed and he had one tin can of beans left. He had already eaten his toothpaste. As he awoke from a mid-afternoon sleep he walked over to the cupboard and found the can on its side. A large hole had been made in it and most of the beans were eaten. What was left was scattered across the floor. Emptying four rounds of the .45 into the rathole he raged, You bastard ! I'll kill you. He prepared to kill and eat the rat. Laying on his cot he got the .45 ready and waited. In less than a minute the rat scampered over to pick up a spilled bean. He again took careful aim but before he could pull the trigger he passed into a deep semiconsciousness. The world flew past him. Everything whirled around and around. Suddenly there was a deep, sharp pain in his arm. He grasped and felt the furry body and the sharp teeth sunk into his hand. Now fighting for his life he squeezed as hard as he could. Kicking and squealing the rat fought. Then the furry body went limp. There lay his food before him but he was too weak to eat it. He again passed into semiconsciousness. Joe felt himself rise. He thought that he must be dieing. What seemed like an eternity he woke up and saw blue around but only for an instant. Then he passed out. To be precise he woke up 78 hours later. All around him was white. He turned to his left and there on a table in a plastic container was the dead, crushed body of THE RAT. Above him he heard, Hell, son! You're hard to kill. You know in that rat's nest there was enough food for a week. He looked up and saw an old man smiling being led out the door by a young, bright looking nurse. —Dwight Bennett 8th Grade Spring, 1971 27