Vernonia High School - Memolog Yearbook (Vernonia, OR)

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The Trail PETER gazed from the door of his hut on the hillside upon the green valley below basking in rays of golden sunshine. “Well, Boy,” he said to the large brown and white collie by his side, “it’s been four wonderful weeks; hasn’t it? And just think, two months more!” Boy wagged his tail and looked up adoringly at his master. Peter was a tall, straight man of about twenty. 11 is skin was a healthy tan; his eyes, deep and clear. 1 le was dressed in light hiking clothes and his black curly hair was covered by a tan felt hat. l ie always talked to Boy as if he were a person, and the collie seemed to understand him. The two had left the town, which was filled with hot, tired people, to spend their vacation on God’s glorious hills. As they explored the territory about them, it was Boy’s great delight to dash ahead of his master after some straying rabbit and then to come running back to rub his nose in Peter’s hand to let him know that he would not go far. This morning, however, Peter had a different plan in mind. He would take food enough to last Boy and him for several days and follow the trail that led from the old mine shaft far down in an uninhabited valley on the other side of the mountain. It was to be very exciting and very different from anything which they had done before. They would not return to the cabin for, perhaps, a week. Boy sensed the excitement in the air and followed Peter from place to place so that he would not miss anything. The lunch was put into packs and the smaller pack was strapped onto Boy’s back. Peter carried the other, and the several blankets which they were to sleep on. Peter fastened the revolver which his uncle had given him securely by his side, and when all was ready, “To the old mine. Boy,” he said, and Boy, with a yelp of delight, started off. It did not take them lung, for they had been there often and had worn down a fairly good path. When they reached the mine. Boy stopped and waited for Peter to catch up with him. They stood there together gazing down upon the desolate valley below. “Pretty lonely looking, isn't it, Boy?” said Peter. In another instant they had plunged down the difficult, rocky trail. They traveled on for several hours, stopping now and then to rest or to take a sip of water to quench their craving thirst. The sun seemed unusually warm that morning. Beads of perspiration stood out upon Peter’s forehead, and Boy let his tongue swing out of his mouth. Once when they had walked for several miles without seeing even a tiny brook, they rounded a corner and heard the grateful gurgling of water upon the rocks. It did not take them long to cover the few hundred feet between them and the stream, and soon they were drinking as much of the cool water as they dared. Peter, throwing back his curly locks, spoke to the dog, which was panting by his side. “Well, Boy, how does it seem to stop once more? Pretty much tuckered out, aren’t you? But it’s worth it down here. I'd walk across the United States to see this, the water splashing over the rocks, the sun a beautiful golden ball throwing its rays on every object no matter how small, and then just enough breeze to make the trees seem alive. It’s a beautiful sight, Boy. I’m glad we’ve found it.” NOVEMBER II—ARMISTICE DAY PROGRAM Pagt Sixtrsn

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Senior Class Will WE, 1 HE SENIOR CLASS OF '30. feeling slightly bewildered after having employed ourselves diligently for four years in the mill of education, yet being of sane mind, and realizing that our work here is nearly done, do, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred thirty, ordain our last will and testament. To Professor Wilkerson and the faculty members we solemnly bequeath our thanks and appreciation. We will to the Juniors our Senior room and trophies, and our willingness to work; to the Sophomores our brilliant records; to the I reshmen our knowledge of good behavior, our loyalty to V. H. S. and our pull with the faculty. I, Irene Anderson, do bequeath my quietness to Edna Mitcham. I. Norma Anderson, do will my literary ability to Donald Northrup. I, Dorothy Balcom, do give my curly hair to Grace Condit. I. lord Berg, do give my position as athletic manager to Everett Rundell. I, Neal Bush, do give my executive powers to Bruce Cummings. I, Dorothy Carmichael, do impart my Timber Line Bromides to Cleo Hall. I, Grace Carmichael, do leave my serious thoughts to Donald Holtham. 1, William Culver, do present my deviltry to Hannah and Gertrude Gk. 1, Alberta De Rock, do leave my place on the honor roll to Velda Mellinger. I, Alice Dubendorf, do transfer my vocal capacity to Lee Engen. I, Lois Engen, do commend my bright sayings to Joy Ball. I, Wilma Earrin, do grant my part of the Senior noise to Lawrence Jesclard. I, Morris Graves, do will my manly stature to Annie Cechmanek. I, Charlotte Green, do bestow my “Timber Line’’ experience to Marvin Porterfield. I, Leonard Hall, do bequeath my will-power to Georgia Van Doren. I, Mildred Hawkins, do impart to Ralph George my temper. I, Bodie llieber, do award my office as Senior Class president to anyone who will take it. I, Catherine Hoffman, do render my dramatic talent to Jack Christiansen. I, Dorothy Holtham, do offer my red hair to Bob Holcomb. I, Mary Laramore, do bestow upon John Kirk my keen sense of humor. I, Howard Lee, do bequeath my copious vocabulary to Mayo Pettijohn. I, Edith Mae Lindsley, do deliver my four years’ experience with foreign language to Faith Hiatt. I, Zelma New, do will my ability to talk to Verna Ray. I, Violet Phelps, do impart my modesty and good looks to Joe Magoff. I, Gwendolyn Poynter, do leave my Caesar knowledge to Richard Melis. 1, Dwight Strong, do offer my mathematical mind to Gloyd Adams and Junior Bennett. I, Dorothy Throop, do bestow my cheerfulness upon Allie Simmons. I, Mildred Tousley, do present my general knowledge and good behavior to Helen Bergerson. In witness whereof, the parties to these presents have hereunto set their hands and seals this eighteenth day of February, in the year of our Lord, 1930. Sealed and delivered in the presence of: —Neal Bush, —Norma Anderson, —Catherine Hoffman. NOVEMBER 8—SCHOOL PROGRAM Pag Fiji n

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They lay there a while longer, drinking in the scene, before Peter, with a “We’d better get going, Boy, or it’ll be sundown before we cover half the trail, rose to his feet and once more adjusted their packs and set out down the trail with a whistle on his lips. Boy, as they continued on. began to act strangely, sniffing and growling. Peter was puzzled, so he decided to investigate. The trail at this point ran down by the water, and the ground was reasonably soft. After a few minutes of observation, Peter found what he was looking for, fresh tracks made by a bear. At this instant Boy gave another low, throaty growl. “Quiet, Boy, quiet,” whispered Peter. “There’s something near here, and it looks as if we might be intruding.” With that, Peter took out his revolver, examined it to be sure that it was loaded, took off their packs and hid them in the bushes. Then he and Boy crept slowly down the trail. Peter was stooped over so that his head would not show above the underbrush among the trees, lie heard Boy give a vicious growl and saw him start for the bushes behind him. I le turned just in time to sec a large bear ready to strike him with his great paw. but Boy grabbed the furry foot nearest him. making the bear forget Peter and start for Boy. Peter immediately began emptying his revolver into the bear, but it was with difficulty, for Boy was constantly in the way. Peter shot the last shell from his revolver, and at the same time. Boy crumpled up. The bear was a mother fighting for her young, but she would fight no more. “Boy! Boy! Oh, what have I done?” cried agonized Peter, throwing himself beside the dog. Boy gave a low whine and weakly thumped his tail. Examination proved that a bullet had entered the dog’s right tore leg. Peter tore up his shirt, and bandaged the wound, saying as he did so, “Boy, you saved my life. Now its my turn to help you.” Boy licked Peter’s hand and then closed his eyes. It took several weeks of careful nursing before Boy was able to use his leg again. When he was, the two campers returned to the cabin on the hill. At the end of the three months’ vacation, Peter stood in the doorway of his hut gazing down into the valley. “Well, Boy,” he said, “our vacation is over this year, but next year we’ll come back and go down to camp again by our stream, but we’ll be more careful of bears; won’t we?” Boy answered with an affirmative wag of his long, graceful tail. —Charlotte Green. The End NOVEMBER 18—ANNUAL PICTURES TAKEN Pag 1 Srz'tnHfn