Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

Page 12 text:

4 The Spqctatcr leveling at the bunch of us. By his narrowed eyes and square jaw it wasn't hard to surmise that he meant business. He began in his Western drawl: Now, gentlemen, hands high above your heads. That's right. The one that has my key in his pocket will please nod his head. Quick! That's right, sir. I'll take it if you don't care. Deftly he changed both pistols into his right hand and dived into my pocket with his left, withdrawing the key, which he threw on the couch. Now, see here, you. It's a pipe that the cards are in my hands, so don't start anything. You may leave this room, one by one. When the body of one has disappeared, it's the next fellow's turn. He backed over to the window. Without taking his eye oi? us, he drew the rope up, hooking it on a wooden pin in the sill. Then standing aside, he grinned. Covering Bantum with one gun, he half drawled, half hissed, Do you get me? Now git! , Well, fellows, Bantum took the first crack at the rope. He was shaking like a leaf when he crawled through and reached for the rope. He caught it, for his head shot below the sill. As Smith, at the motion of the cowpuncher's gun, walked towards the exit we distinctly heard the thud of Bantum's avoirdu- pois meeting the ground. When I rapidly calculated the dis- tance between the end of that rope and the gravel walk, I began to realize there is more than one point to some jokes. By that time Smith had landed and there was a duet of groans outside the window. We five within stood with pale faces and shaking knees, looking down the barrels of two colts. Bates was streak- ing across the room. Before I realized it, the chorus outside wasa trio and it was my turn. I could scarcely lift mly feet when I tried to walk, but got to the sill in some way and crawled over. The rope burned my hands like fire as I slid, while my body struck every projecting stone. My first aero- nautic journey was not at an end, however, when I discovered the end of the rope. The next second I hit, striking someone's foot and landing square on Bantum, who let out an Indian whoop. My three other companions joined us by jolts, las you might say. The 'air see1ned'fuIl'of Flying feet and 'hands while

Page 11 text:

The Spectator' 3 that led by a circular .straicase to the second floor. There our party held its council of war. Do you know where you are running in? asked Smith, who was somewhat of a diplomat. i Sure, hissed Bates, who never had much to say, It's that cowpuncher from Nevada, the kid with the permanent grin. Yes, hesitated Smith, and I'll bet hels as tough as raw- hide. Oh, you're a baked-bean boy. Cameron, be a man, put in Fulton. What do you say, kid? Smith questioned me. I guess we might as well go through with it, I answered, not knowing anything else to say. So we all filed over to the Fresh's room and Fulton rapped. Somebody inside let out a Come inf' and in we all piled. The cowboy was sitting over at his study table, his eyes on the group of us. just for my part I didn't like the set of his jaw worth a snap. As we entered, Bates hung around the door and, after quietly locking it, stuck the key in my coat pocket. We just dropped in to pay our regards, spoke up Ban- tum, who generally did the spieling. Indeed, you are welcome, came from across the table. Glad to have you call. Won't you all be seated P Now don't get gay, Fresh. Bantum was trying to scare him. We're going to take you out for a time. Understand? It's the custom here and you'll have to take yours just like we did when we were green. Do you get me ? I believe I do, came in a drawl from the cowpuncher. That's all right, fellows, I'm willing to take mine with the rest. just a minute, till I slip on a pair of trousers over these pa- jamasf' Before Bantum could object he had slipped from his chair and disappeared behind a screen. We were all standing there like gawks. Bantum lookedfover, saying by a wink, We'll have some sport with this cowpuncher. I turned toward Smith to see why he was so quiet, and nearly dropped through the floor to find myself gazing into the barrels of two colts the Fresh was

Page 13 text:

The Spectator 5 numerous suggestions rose above the rumpus. Soon we were disentangled and started across the campus like whipped pups. VVe seven wiser Sophs did not even become angry when we looked up and saw our cowpuncher Fresh laughing himself sick. Then he yelled something at us and drew down the blind, casting that end of the Dorm in pitchlike darkness. Military Men as Writers By J. Lewis Evans ,II ' ILITARY men are, as a whole, very rough and ready characters, this being the cause, in many cases, for their success in military life and in their military careers. Although they are of somewhat rough character, they are among the fm- est writers on political or social questions. I will give a brief account of five of the most important military myen who became well known in the literary world as writers on subjects that oc- cupied the minds of the people of their particular day. The five men I have chosen are Moltke and Frederick The Great of Germany, and Ulysses S. Grant, Robley D. Evans and Theodore Roosevelt of the United States. The first military man ,whom I will dwell on is Count Karl Von Moltke, of the great Franco-Prussian War. He was born at Parchim, Prussia, in 18oo, and died in 1891. He entered the Prussian army very young. Count Von Moltke wrote one of the finest accounts of the Franco-Prussian Vtfar ever published. It was printed in book form in 1870 and 1871. He spent about three hours each morning on this line history until it was lin- ished. He did not write memoirs, for he hated them, and he once said: If I have any memoirs, I hope they may be buried with my body. In the year 1888 Moltke wrote a book describ- ing very accurately the famous Russian-Turkish 'campaigns oi 1828-1829 in European Turkey. Not long afterwards he wrote Letters on the Affairsiin Turkey in the Years 1835-I83Q.i, In 1892 were published Letters, and The Italian War of 1866. Another military man who became well known for his writings was Frederick The Great. He was born ine Berlin,