Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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Kidnapped T was about two years ago that some gypsies were camping nearly one half mile from our claim. Their camping ground was very picturesque and pretty. They kept their horses in a nearby field, while they themselves lived mostly out of doors. We were visiting their camp and noticing their won- derful jewelry but at that time there happened to be a beautiful American girl, whom the gypsies had kid- napped, with them. Of course it took very close scru- tiny to see that she was not of the same race. She Hushed as we went over and began to talk to her. Of course she displayed ignorance. She had been told to do so. About two days later we accidentally saw this girl sitting beneath a large oak tree crying bitterly. My sister, who had recognized her. went up to see what was the matter. The girl had evidently run away from camp for she was very startled as my sister touched her. She jumped to her feet in alarm but my sister stopped her and asked what was the matter. The girl broke down and told us the whole story of her life. To begin with my name is Kathryn Goodlow and my father is a very well known and wealthy man. I had always lived a free and happy life. But one day my beloved and only sister was hurt in an automobile ac- cident. The skilled surgeons were there and one even went so far as to say she couldn't live, frightening me terribly. The next night the house next door was robbed. The man staying there had all his jewels and money in the house in his safe. We heard cries and my folks, rushing over to see what was the matter, left me alone with my sister. She was unconscious. 1 was facing the bed and there was a window opening into the balcony just behind me. I didn’t seem to notice or hear someone stealing up behind me, until suddenly a dirty hand was clapped over my mouth and a hissing voice sounded in my ears, telling me not to scream but come with them. There was nothing for me to do but go. I was absolutely powerless. 1 was then gagged, my hands and feet tied and I was carried through the window and down into a waiting automobile. Almost before 1 could realize where 1 was, I was taken away. 1 have been with the gypsies for three years now. I was fifteen when they carried me off. Last summer my father and mother passed through our camp, examining every one of the girls but before they had come 1 was taken away from camp and they threatened to kill me if I even so much as showed my face to the strangers. “My father and mother were getting reconciled t» being without me. But they were very lonesome. “I have gone to the gypsies and begged to have them send me home but they wouldn't. I have at last decided to run away. “Will you help me?” My sister and I were almost stricken dumb but finally the look on her beautiful face was too much for my sister, so she said, “Y'es.” That night she came to us and we helped her to escape to her home. Her father and mother were over- joyed to see her. My sister and I were re enfly visiting her at her sunt mer home at Long Beach, California. There may be a happier girl in the United Sta’es. 1 ut 1 hardly think so. 16 MINA CONTRYMAN.

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The Only Chance LAST summer Jack and 1 were sitting in the assay office. We heard a “dash—pop—rattle dash— bang, and an old delapidated heap of “junk,” bearing on the radiator a “Ford stopped before the door. Two boys about fifteen and sixteen years old stepped, or rather jumped, out for the locks on the doors had long ago been broken and two big ten penny spikes held the doors in place. They hauled out two large sample sacks, entered the office, seated themselves on the table and motioned toward the sacks. I studied the two before doing as they hade me. They both were rather tall and slender, but strong and healthy. Their clothes showed the sort of work they had teen doing, so dirty and grimy were they. Jack stepped to the sacks and drew out a large piece of rock. It was certainly good ore. It must have run 90 per cent copper. The boys smiled and said. “How much will it run? 20 per cent?” I said nothing but turned on the pulverizer and tossed in the rock, took out the powered ore and started to test it. After forty- five minutes, I turned and said, “It runs 891copper, $8 gold and $3 silver.” Hoth boys sprang up and said. “In that other room where we can talk. I led them into the private office and we all sat down. They then told by turns a startl- ing story. They were boys from Ohio, who had come to California to hunt for gold during their summer vaca- tion. The claims, six in number, were located in their father’s name, and they had been working them. They had gotten out the samples that I have mentioned, when four armed men came, tied them up and relocated the claims themselves, saying that their papers had not been filed right. The men then started for the county seat on horseback. They asked me to help them get back their mines, saying that we might go 50-50 with them. We de- cided to do this and signed an agreement at once with the boys, whose names were Ernest and William Thomp- son. Soon we were tearing along the road to the county seat in a big Packard twin-six. at forty-five miles an hour. What was our dismay on reaching a steep rocky canyon, about eight miles from the county seat, to find the bridge blown away by dynamite, and that we were shut off and our chances apparently lost. Here we sat. stunned for a few minutes. Then a plan suddenly occurred to me. After ten minutes dis- cussion we decided to try it. We ran along the top of the canyon to where logs were being taken across on cables. There was still sixty pounds of pressure in the boiler, and we soon had a hot fire under the boiler and the steam gauge steadily climbing. We then at- tached the chokers around each of the car’s wheels and out across the river we swung, with the exception of Jack, who had to stay on the other side to run the engine. Then over he came, hand over hand, as soon as we were safely on the other side. A run of twenty miles brought us to the county seat in time to register and save the claims. Today the mine is making a thousand dollars a day, and all is lovely. But oh. the cussing we got from the claim jumpers and the engineer who ran the donkey engine. FLETCHER WALKER. Jr. 15

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This is a noontime view of one of our many losing camps located in the timber adjacent to Westwood.