Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

Page 12 text:

10 THE ORACLE With a Gun and a Dog (As told by Dorothy Roberts—Honorable Mention, Babcock Prize) As the alarm clock rang, I leaned over and mechanically pushed the alarm release, rolled back into place and closed my eyes. “Then I sat up with a start; jumped out of bed; dashed some cold water—and it was cold—over my face and woke up. I then fully realized that I was to be the game warden for the day, which meant that I would have to patrol the pond and the trout brook. By four o’clock I had eaten a bowl of blueberries and milk, three slices of bread and butter, and a leg of cold roast chicken. | Caesar had the bones and two dog-biscuits broken up in milk. He seemed satisfied, although judg- ing from his size you would think he could eat indefinitely. He had come from the Bide-A-Wee Home; price, thirty-five cents; value, infinite; size, huge —and growing daily—color, mustard; by nature, a trouble-seeker and finder. I could not call him just a dog for he was too much of a comrade. Since he was ready, I stuffed some matches into one pocket ; some cartridges into another; picked up my Winchester .22 and started down the road toward the trout pond. The gray, early morning light was paling slowly. Caesar, lumbering in front of me seemed to ask, ‘““What on earth are you out so early for?” If he had, I would have told the truth. ‘The game warden had gone to town, and his friend had telephoned that he was resting nicely, but would be unable to return until tomorrow. Meanwhile the trout brook would go un- patroled, so I offered my services which were accepted. In half an hour we came to the boat house, selected a canoe, and were on our way, I paddling, and Caesar in the bottom sniffing the fresh air of the Berkshires. On my way down I had crossed a field, and picked three ears of sweet corn and taken two large potatoes out of a hill. These I had thrown into the canoe before starting. The trout pond is a mile long, and half a mile wide. At the lower end is a dam. Below this the best fish are found, as they like the cool black pools of the brook. I first looked very carefully around the pond, but saw no one, and as Caesar, too, seemed satisfied that everything was all right, I paddled rapidly to the dam, landed, unloaded my canoe, pulled it up on shore, dragged it under some bushes, and turned it over. It was five o’clock now and quite light, but still very wet under foot. Some crows were quarrelling noisily in a dead tree a li ttle way up the pond, and a flock of wild ducks were returning from the lake, the source of the trout stream. A Kingfisher swooped down and caught a five-inch fish. I then noticed that Caesar was not waiting for me so I hurried on. A little farther down the path, a clump of cardinal flowers flamed scarlet, in contrast to the dark green of the ferns and the gray of the lichened boulders. By six o'clock, Caesar stood waiting for me on the bridge that marks the boundary of the preserve. We returned more slowly, Caesar’s excitement run-

Page 11 text:

THE ORACLE 9 it was! Men, I have a story to tell.”” And strangely enough, those rough and ready men of the soil listened like little children to the cultured voice of the son of the city’s despised rich. “It was back in September, 1918,” he began, “in the Argonne Forest. We had had a hard day’s fight, and toward night I found myself in a shell- hole with another fellow about my own age. ‘The Germans began a heavy barrage about that time, so we gave each other our names and addresses, think- ing that maybe one of us would get out all right. It was about eight o’clock when we both got ours at the same time. |My comrade was hit badly enough, but I got mine for sure. My wound drove me out of my head, and the last thing I remember before I woke up in the hospital was being carried out of the shell-hole by my companion. Later on an American soldier, who was captured at that time, told me of that trip, or rather of what he saw of it as, wounded, he lay helpless on the ground. According to him I was being dragged along by another soldier, who was walking backward, strange to say. Once this soldier stopped, turned around, and began going forward, but at that I, out of my head, began to fight him and scream that I would never turn my back on the enemy. My rescuer stopped, seemed to ask himself a question, and then resumed his painful backward march. “The stretcher-bearers found us lying together. He was dead, and I almost so. [hey took me to the rear, but his body was never seen again. He could have let me go, easily enough, and saved himself. It would have been better if he had, for the finer man of the two of us, the finest man I know, should have lived that night. I could not find the paper he gave me, nor even remember his name, until tonight when hearing it has brought it back to me. “That man was Jim Ranford. And you, sir,” turning to old Jim, “I salute you as I would my highest officer.” There was a long pause. ‘No, don’t touch the star,” the city man went on, “let it be gold for the sacrifice he made, for the man he was, and blue for the courage and loyalty he displayed.” “All was still. They made a picture, those men. ‘There in the center stood the stranger, alight again with patriotism and the heat of fight, ranged around him the farmers on the boxes, barrels, and old chairs, their pipes forgotten in their excitement and astonishment, Jim with a new light dawning in his tired face, and little Tom, his only son now, who had just come in, standing open- mouthed behind the counter. ‘The last light of the afterglow, so bright in these mountains, came through the open window, touched the star, and turned the blue into a royal glow, the gold into a glory. Jim turned, looked at the flag, then at Tom behind the counter. “Tom,” he said, and there was pride, joy, and re-birth in the homely words,, ‘“T'om, the fire needs a leetle more wood.” |

Page 13 text:

THE ORACLE 11 ning high over fresh deer tracks in the mud. As there is a large bounty on crows, I tried to creep up to a flock, but the sentinel saw me, gave two loud “caws” and they were gone. Crows are unlike ducks in that ducks have no sentry, while every flock of crows is well guarded by one in a tree-top. As I crossed the dam, about a dozen wild Mallards were breakfasting close by shore. Caesar was exploring so I watched them searching for food with heads under water, and feet paddling vaguely. A head would come up to swallow the food it had found, and would go down—dry and gleaming as it had come up. So intent were they, that they saw nothing until Caesar charged for them, then they ran through the water, flapping wings and sending sprays in all directions. The sun was now too high for fishing and I knew there was no one around, so we got into the canoe and paddled around lazily. By twelve o’clock I had shot seven large frogs, cut off the legs and started a fire. After I had a good bed of coals, I pushed corn and potatoes in the ashes, and broiled the frogs’ legs on a stick. Caesar relished these, and I the corn and potatoes. “Then we found a patch of enormous wild strawberries, which we both enjoyed. He loved strawberries. The fire was going out and we lay stretched out under a pine—or at least I did. | Caesar seemed very uneasy and sniffed at everything. “Then he looked up and jumped as though released by a spring—for there above us, stretched to its six feet of sinuous length, a blacksnake looked down at us with green-eyed impassability. | Caesar stayed to bark—at a distance. I was in the canoe, feeling as though my blood had turned to ice. At five o’clock I had forgotten—almost, and started to walk wearily down the brook path again. When we had covered half the distance to the bridge, Caesar stopped so sharply that I nearly stumbled over him. “Twenty feet ahead of us a man, a total stranger, was catching a trout. From the fight it was putting up, I judged it to be a big one! I dropped down beside Caesar, forced him down and put a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t bark. “The man had caught it in his net and struck it mercifully on the head, then I stood up with one hand on Caesar’s collar, and my rifle tucked through my arm. By the time I had moistened my lips and cleared my throat he had cast twice. “This is absolutely private property.’ At my first words the man looked around wildly for a moment and stuttered ““W-What ?” “This is absolutely—” I began again. “Never mind, I heard the first time, but—” “Very well then, hand over that trout and get out!” I ordered as gruffly as I could, loosening my hold on the collar, and shifting my gun. He looked at Caesar, then coolly emptied four big trout out of his basket. The largest was perhaps a pound and a half; the smallest, three-quarters of a pound. I followed him to the end of our line, watched him get into his car and drive off. We reached home about seven o’clock, famished, but perfectly happy, for we had brought proof with us that we had driven off a real poacher while serving as game warden. ‘The largest fish the man caught is stuffed and mounted, and hangs in the living room of our bungalow.