Berkeley High School - Olla Podrida Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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downcast, I ' d rather have a Greaser ' s skull any day than a dirty ole Digger Injun ' s. Well s ' long. I ' ll see ye again. I ' ve got to git to Garrote sometime tonight, and away up the dusty road lurched Dave, leaving me to figure the rest out for myself. A Mexican Skull! When I got home that niglit took that skull and put a black mark on its shiny dome and put it up on a ])ine stump where I used it for a revolver target. It made an excellent one and I was able to make a fine study of the effects of modern fire-arms on the human skull. JACK DRON. Sprynge Weathere A longe hairedde artiste, ane Maie morne, Sette forthe fyne pyctures foe to seeke ; Under hys arme hys padde he held To sketche faire hylle and mountaine peeke. Puffynge and pantynge uppe clombe he, Awhyle ye toppe drewe neere. Thenne dyde thys strange manne laffe wythe glee, And dance and caper lyke a deere. Ye skies were bryghte, bryghte shone ye sunne, Fulle sweete Nature ' s smyle. But ' lackaday, a day lyke thys In Sprynge myghte laste bot lyttle whyle. Darke grewe ye skie a nd overcaste Ye wynde made dol ' rous moane ; And ve unluckie longe haredde manne Made haste to gette hym hoame. But lang or ere ye towne he reachedde. Ye fierie sunne dyde ljurne. Ye drie wynde of AVeste dyde blcwe, Theye ' ve done liym to a turne. And nexte, to hys mysfortune came A storme of ye snawie flake. Fulle harde blewe ye wynde from ye frozen Xorthe, Loud laffed he to see hym shake. So Nature, ane l)r} ' ghtc sunnie morne. Invited hym to sketche her. And when wythe hym ye el ' ments fynyshedde, Sore neededde he a strctchere. R. G. M. 19

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hollers out. Queek I Dead Mans I Then the fellers all run up and I bet ye a shot o ' that there gun you couldn ' t guess what we saw. Well, sure as I ' m a sittin ' here there was a barlev-sack full o ' bones all soft an crumbling like punky wood, all piled in a kind o thrown down there when thev was ■ m nil fr}-in ' I WAS ALMOST HALF WAY THERE WHEN I MET DAVE HALL Then when the ' cept what they holler in the rocks jest as if they ' d been half-dead and covered with a pile o ' slate rock. Them poor Greasers — here I gave a disappointed grunt — Yeh I them were Greasers, I know, ' cause there was a couple o bateas ' that the lexicans use for pannin ' an ' pieces o ' old boots, like what they used ter use in fifty-nine, ' and all kinds o pots an ' pans, and heaps o ' other relicts : ind I tell ye — here he looked up and e} ' ed me. them poor Greasers must ha ' died pretty pronto ' cause there was a couple or perhaps a half a dozen big stone pestles like what Injuns use now for poimdin ' acorns, an ' what ' s more a big, black, flint spear-head, the size o ' my arm here, was stickin ' in I ine o ' them skulls. But, I said, you don ' t mean to tell me that a party of Mexicans had lieen killed at the bridge, do you? Sure, continued Dave, the Greas- ers had camped jest below where the bridge is, before ever you or me was thought of an while they was a sittin ' aroun ' their campfiire cookin ' their ' frijoles, ' they ' d been all hit over the head with them pestles, or p ' rhaps peppered with arrers from the brush, all their grub and guns and things to use they dumped all them dead Injuns had swiped didn ' t know how Greasers into a hole an ' covered them with rocks so ' s the cayotes wouldn t get them, for the Greasers spirit might ha ' haunted them if they did ' . Arter the boss had picked out the big spear-head we throws the whole pile out at the side o ' the road, an ' a sort o ' funny feller what worked on the scraper gang took one o ' them skulls, and I guess that s the one you got hoi of. Don t be cut up any. he added consolingly as he noticed I seemed 18

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Spring Song The wind laughs over the hills, - The wind from far awa}-. O come with me, it sings in glee, AA ' e ' ll laugh and sing to-dav. The birds sing high in the trees A s they flit from bough to bough. O come, they sing, For ' tis the Spring; O come and l e happy now. The flowers swing low in the breeze, Like fairy bells they ring. O hark, O hear, ring, soft and clear, O come, O come, ' tis Spring. The trees bend softly down Whispering soft and low. O come, they croon, O come, for soon Youth and Spring must go. Then come, all Xature calls, Forget all sorow and pain — For though each year new Spring will bear. Youth ne -er comes again. ELANORE HOLLAXD 12. 20