Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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14 SPECTATOR J of Senor Felepi and the solution of the vexing murder. The Senor had been found, and, as Brandon told his story, the villagers stood aghast, moving only to faintly comment on the weird tale. Senor Felepi had been found in the thickest part of the forest, slowly dying from wounds and exposure, having been dragged from his home by the now dead panther, at his side. The panther had been killed after a violent strug- gle with Senor Felepi. It was the panther that had been responsible for the deaths of Senora and Senorita Romano, and now Felepi Castillo. Contrary to the supposition of the villagers, Felepi's name was cleared because of his brave struggle in trying to defend his mother and sister. The blacksheep of the Castillo family had been proved a hero and, though dead, he was honored by his fellowmen. As years Went on, the Castillos were never more heard of, save in stories told by the villagers and carried by travel- ers and strangers to the outer World. The old Manor still stands as a Warning against evil and as a ratification of the Weird, and often false, tales current in that locality. 4 l 4:13. Xi a Cliff Il' 1: x si -

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SPECTATOR lit Mystery Manor Anna Swanson, 22 Between the Fletcher and Fleur-de-lis mountains, in the valley that God had forsaken, nestled the little town of Shadow City, inhabited by an ignorant and superstitious class of people-knowing little and caring to know less! Here also stood the old villa known as Mystery Man- or, rising majestically above its surroundings, with Black Pine Forest as a background. The gray outline of the old mansion, with its overhanging vines and long grasses, com- bined with the weird tales of the superstitious villagers, gave one a feeling of fear, while the strange noises made by imprisoned bats, creaking shutters, and crackling under- brush, added horror and dread. lt was here, tradition holds that the ghosts of dead men appear to frighten in- habitants and suppress evil doings. Many years ago this mansion had marked the dwell- ing place of a proud old Spanish family of Castillo, superior over all, paying homage to none. Felepi Castillo was the black sheep of the fold. It was he who had mingled with the inferior villagers, and he, too, had squandered the Castillo fortune. One night news ran like wild fire through the village that the Senora Castillo had been killed and that the Senorita Momano was dying. That same night Felepi disappeared and no trace of him could be found save a pair of blood stained gloves said to have been worn by the Senor on the previous day. ' Several weeks passed, yet the strange occurrence had not been forgotten and opinions ran high. There were those who were sure that the Senora had been foully mur- dered by her worthless son, while still others believed that Fate had brought down vengeance upon this family to re- duce its pride, yet each villager agreed that it was his duty to find the Senor, dead or alive, at any cost. Continuous searches were made, each searcher returning, weary and discouraged, from a fruitless hunt. At last, the party under Hans Brandon, a man who would not give up nor lose hope, and who was called the fire-cat of the village, returned. With him, came the body

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SPECTATOR 15 Smokestacks George Mozgo, '22 BQ Isat dreaming near an open window overlooking a small manufacturing city. I had sat there before but this time the scene took on a new meaning for me. An air of enchantment crept over me. The spell was soon broken, however, by the-shrill whistle of the distant mills and I awoke from my revery with a start. My glance wandered to those mills attracted by its high towering smokestacks, which shot upward and hindered the sky and earth from grasping friendly hands. They stood there like guards, but what were they guarding? My mind traversed a familiar road of thought, for you cannot think hard in a manufacturing city, yet you can- not stop thinking. I looked down into the valley where those tall sentinel stacks threw their long black shadows and my eyes met a scene of squalor. In the shadows of the stack nestled a little town where the mill hands lived with their families. The children romped joyfully in the nar- row streets. Suddenly those stacks poured forth volumes of black smoke. Then I realized the destruction for which they were responsible. A feeling of rebellion entered my heart. I knew that the stacks were robbing those tiny chil- dren of their right to pure air. Old Mother Nature is also injured. By many ages of toil Mother Nature had beautified the surrounding hills with giant trees, dainty vines, and wild flowers so that they had the appearance of being covered with a massive carpet of intricate patterns interwoven as no human hand could weave them. Yet Mother Nature and her children enjoyed this beauty only until men whose hearts and souls were en- grossed by business came and built these offensive smoke- stacks. The trees and flowers bowed down before the puffs of smoke. They withered and died because they were rob- bedof the pure air upon which their lives depended. The birds that made these groves of trees ring with their joy- ous hymns departed to a land where smokestacks had not intruded. Year after year, I must go farther away from my pres-