Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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[30] TIIE CHIPMUNK WHEN IT PAID TO MAKE A FRIEND It was about eight o’clock one morning as my brother and I were sitting by the stove in the back room of the small building that we had fitted up as an Assay office. We were discussing the different ores we had assayed that day and were trying to guess from what localities they had come. The talk finally drifted to the subject of how rich we were going to get at the business. “Let’s see,” my brother said thoughtfully, “it was July n, 1890, that we put all our savings into this assay office, wasn’t it?” “Yes,” I responded, “you have the date O. K. We surely are not making much money at this business, but I guess that we will be able to make quite a bit if we stay at it long enough. I guess—”. At this point we heard a horse gallop- ing madly towards the office. As we ran out the door, we met a very old man. “Fur the love of six-bits, boys, test this ore and test it quick!” he said, look- ing nervously over his shoulder into the darkness from which he had come. “I know it’s after hours, but I can’t help it. I gotta have this tested mighty sudden like, u see, it’s this away. I’ve been prospecting since I was a young- ster your age. Never struck a thing till day before yesterday. Then I struck a goodly sized vein of this kind of ore. I could’a taken me time in coming, but that crazy hick sheep-herder that camps near my diggin’ had to go shoot his face off to a bunch of city fellers what’s up my way studying geology. That is, they say that s what they’re doin’. They’re all ruff-necks except one who is a dude. He—” “ es, yes, I know all about it,” I said, breaking into his lengthy talk, “I know all about it.” I supposed that it was just a common case of “bats in the belfry,” due to his long period of solitude in the mountains. “Listen here, young man, I’m no nut. I’m as sane as you are. Test that ore and then talk afterwards.” Controlling my anger as best I could, I went into the office and started the blast furnace. Going back to the stranger, I apologized for my hasty judgment and begged to hear more. “This here young man, the dudish fella I told you about, looks like an angel, but he ain’t. His looks are skin deep. He’s so crooked he could sleep on a cork screw with comfort. Why he’s so mean he’d cheat his mother out of a nickel. Somehow this fool sheep-herder, who knew of my find, tells the dude about it. I saw the feller snoopin’ about my shaft and took a shot at him, but missed. Then

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TUE CII I I’M INK r 29 ] The next morning the detective reported at the Walton-Moore office to learn his duties. While Moore and the detective were talking the office boy brought in the mail. Among the letters was another card similar to the one he had received the day before. It said, “Only two days left. We mean business.” “Have you any idea wTho could have written this, Keane?” inquired Moore. “I have talked with several around the plant, but I don’t want to accuse anyone before 1 have evidence,” replied Keane. “I think it must be the work of some I. W. W. whom I have discharged from the plant,” said Moore. The next day Moore decided to stay at the office all day to see what hap- pened. That night he thought it best to stay on the premises, for if there was any treachery on foot he wished to be there. About two o clock that night Moore dropped to sleep. He was awakened by a slight noise. He sprang to his feet and looked around. To his surprise, he noted that the sun was shining and the mill was in operation. His secretary opened the door and looked in. When he saw that his employer was awake, he brought his mail. Moore glanced through the letters hurriedly to see if there were any more cards. There was one, but this time the printing was in black ink. This was what it said: “Today E. Arnold, our traveling salesman, will show you the ad- vantages of our “RED HAND SAW.” We hope to do business. “Yours truly, “W'estern Machinery Co.” —M. D., ’21.

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THE CHIPMUNK [31] I hits the trail for here to find out how this ore is. If it’s worth a tinker’s durn I’m goin’ to register my claim before it gets jumped. That’s all I’m sayin’ now, but I reckon as how you’d better run that test and let me mosey along.” “All right,” I replied, “I’ll get to work pronto and see if I can make a good test on it.” In about half an hour I handed a report slip to the stranger. It read: Gold...................... 32.40 per ton. Silver.................... 10.00 per ton. Copper...................Eight per cent. “Ye gods and little codfish!” was the first thing the stranger said. “Give me that slip, I’m leaving for that claim. Pay you later. So-long!” He hurriedly grabbed his hat as he ran for the door. “So-long—see you later,” he flung over his shoulder as he made a flying leap on his horse. “Well, if that don’t beat me!” my brother said. “What do you make of it?” “It looks as if he’s either made a lucky hit or else he’s trying to slip one over on us. Listen!” After a little pause we heard what seemed to be fire horses coming down the road. “Guess it’s the gang he told us about. Give them the steer,” I whispered cautiously; “Kill all the time possible. The door was suddenly opened and in hurried a man of about five foot six in height. Did I say a man? At least he passed for one. He was slight of build and had a quick, nervous manner. His hair was a sandy yellow; his eyes were covered with large glasses and his face was long and slim. He must have weighed about 130 pounds. “Are you the assayer, my good man?” he asked in a shrill voice. “If so, do me the favor of testing this bit of stone that I think might contain mineral.” “Quit ‘good manning’ me, and let’s see your ore,” I said fiercely—that is, as fiercely as I could. After looking at the ore carefully for about five minutes, I replied as slowly as I could speak: “Well, it may contain mineral, but I don’t think so.” “You will test the ore, will you not?” he inquired.