Eureka High School - Sequoia Yearbook (Eureka, CA)

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PAGE SEVENTEEN KNICICLANIJ I'R.uRI1c AS SEEN FROM ICIYRHKA

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A more beautiful country I had never seen. There were large park-like meadows, each nestled in a small valley of its own and surrounded by hills covered with thickets and forests. Through this most promising deer country I made my way that evening for miles, and though I used every art of woodcraft that I possessed, I failed to secure any game. The big red sun that had been a torture during the day slowly descended and left behind shadows which I realized would soon change to dark- nessg therefore upon reaching the source of the stream, I at once started on my return journey. The different parts of the country were just distinguishable. The sharp outline of the western hills, the darker splashes of brush and trees that lay checkered over the land, and the large shallow valley trailing its way towards camp, gave me sufficient landmarks with which to pick my difficult course. I was progressing very well and was passing one of those numerous open glades when I saw something about thirty feet away that was vaguely different from the tree life about me and which at first was indistinct but, as I looked, took the mighty form of a bear staring straight at me. I realized, as the monster stood there calmly eyeing me, that here was my opportunity--an opportunity that even a president would not sneer at. I immediately took advantage of the short distance by taking deliberate aim at the animal's neck, hoping luck would favor me, and pulled the trigger. Hill after hill took up the crashing, thundering detonation of my shot as it broke the stillness. The bear, instead of charging toward me as I had expected, fell in a heap. It was with a throb of joy that I comprehended the fact that I had killed a bear. But this soon proved false for the biting and clawing, followed by vicious grunts and growls, showed only too well that the animal was still alive. Even after I had sent several more bullets through the animal's head I still remained somewhat nervous for, in the fast falling darkness, a bear seemed behind every bush and tree. Was that the revengeful mate creeping through yonder brush? What made that noise behind those trees? Wfhy did everything else seemed so intolerably quiet? These and similar questions thronged through my brain. . As soon as possible I built a large fire and signalled, by firing two quick shots between timed intervals, for one of my companions If I should base my beliefs on that one experience I would say that a bear like a snake does not die till sundown. VVith the help of my partner, who came a short time after dark, the hide was duly dressedg and about eleven o'clock the stars, the moon and all the remaining bears that were interested beheld two weary hunters feeling their way camp-wards to be welcomed at the end of their rough walk with a hot supper and a roaring fire. ni: :qc 5'2 u'.:.g's 'cf w-X M1 NM n- 5 :Ar X55 ffl! ,wr rl ' ' ,ir 'hi fl, 199' il PAGE SIXTEEN

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An Expvrirnrv with 7.8225 fl.-XRRY SPINDLER, 'l2. HARLEY was a born bee-keeper. He said so, and I guess he ought to have known. But he has changed his mind. One day a 1 neighbor gave him a colony of bees in a box-hive on condition 1 I 1 that he get it home by himself. Y That evening he took a wheelbarrow and a large square of canvas and started for his bees. He wrapped the hive in the canvas, put it in the wheelbarrow and started. When he was about half-way home. the canvas became loose. While he was fixing it, he looked up and saw a man running after a cow. He was crying, K'Stop her! stop her ! UGO to blazes! I've got troubles of my own,'l retorted Charley. He did have troubles He had the stings of ten or twelve bees in his lingers, a couple of bees in his hair, and four or five crawling up his trousers' legs. Finally the canvas was fixed. At this place the road runs along the side of a steep hill. I don't know how it happened. Charley says it was an accident. Perhaps it was. Accidents often happen when one's eyes are swelled almost shut. Anyway, as he was pushing the wheelbarrow along, close to the edge of the road, the wheel hit a rock and the bees went Flying down into the brush twenty feet below. They are there yet, waiting to prove to all coiners that apiculture is not the cinch some people think it is. -it -11.- 1 1 'f ' R' L' -t .r 'v. ,7- : l ' Y ,ff - -In mi ff' , . . , . .stigm- 'P ' PAGE EIGHTEEN