Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The Last Ride of the Last Clansman r OLONEL ROBERT SAVILLE, though gray with years, lived alone on his old Southern plantation, with just enough negroes to keep the place looking respectable. He held aloof from the villagers, and seemed to live in memories of days gone by. As a youth, he had fought fearlessly under Lee, throughout the Civil War, from the glorifying early battles, to the dismal battles of the Wilderness. Returning home from the war, he sought to peaceably rebuild his father ' s plantation. However, the newly-freed negroes, under the leader- ship of unscrupulous white men, had control of the legislation, and made life unbearable for their former masters. So the former masters formed a secret organization called the Klu Klux Klan, for the purpose of mak- ing life unbearable for their former slaves. Robert Saville was a leader of one of these bands of night-riders and many a deed of atrocity was performed in order that the masters might be freed from the rule of their former slaves. Finally, the band dissolved, partly because of the opposition of the government and party because their purpose had been accomplished. Robert Saville retained in his possession the records and names of the clan. As the years rolled by and the members of the clan died, Saville placed a cross next to their names, until finally each name had a cross next to it excepting the name of Robert Saville. The year nineteen-twenty found him old, but still able to ride a horse well, and fire still flashed from his eyes. Another band of Klu Klux Klan had formed, for what purpose no one knew. Robert Saville sat, one evening, thinking of his comrades who had passed away, when an old servant came running in and excitedly informed him that he had just seen a large band of clansmen by the lone oak, the meeting place of the former clansmen. He had lived in the memories of the past, but now he lived in the past. His mind lapsed and went back fifty years. He was young, his band was waiting for him. He sprang from his chair with his former agility, and drew his clan uniform from where he had carefully preserved it. He put on the white robe with the crimson cross. He placed on his head the cone-shaped hat. The horse snorted with fright at the strange sight when he at- tempted to mount it, for the horse which had originally carried the clans- man had long since died.

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One Good Turn Deserves Another BILL was a guide. He had lived in the Rocky Mountains nearly all his life. As the Civil War started, he immediately left his home to enlist under General Grant. Bill was feared and hated by all the sur- rounding Indian tribes. Once he had rescued a little lion cub as it was about to drown. He raised it and trained him in the arts of hunting, as he was Bill ' s only friend except his faithful pony. After three years of army life, Bill began to grow tired of the strict army discipline and he longed for his mountain home. One night he secured a horse and left for his home. He rode for several days and reached the town of Independence just as a prairie tram was about to leave for Santa Fe. He succeeded in getting a position as a guide. The next few days the train traveled through the prairie and when the moun- tains were reached Bill left the tram. He was home once more! A few years later, as Bill stood on a high ridge scanning the prairie, he saw below him a large band of Sioux Indians. He followed them. They made camp at sundown. About midnight a large fire was started and a war dance ensued. Bill then remembered that a company of sol- diers was coming to Santa Fe. Bill judged that that was the reason for the uprising of the Indians. He then made his way to the Santa Fe trail. Midday brought him to the company of soldiers. He told what he had seen to the officer in charge. While Bill was talking, the officer recognized him as a deserter. He knew that to send Bill to prison would imperil the soldiers. He therefore hired him as a guide. They reached the mountains about sundown. They made a camp in a canyon. At midnight the small band of soldiers were attacked by the Indians. As the fight started, three Indians entered the tent which Bill and the officer occupied. One of them seemed to be a leader. He announced in very poor English that the palefaces were captives. Bill started whistling some of his favorite pieces. The officer noted that in each piece a high shrill note rang out. Suddenly the tent flap moved and the lion that Bill had raised entered. He stood there looking at the terrified Indians, his eyes gleaming like two fire brands. With a quick lunge one of the Indians fell. Two more rapid death strokes brought down the other two. Then the lion left as quickly as he had entered. The officer stared in bewilderment and finally spoke, One good turn deserves an- other. One evening, later, Bill watched the sun set. He was free! and he gazed upon the only home he had ever known. PHILIP JOHNSON.

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He galloped to the lone oak, where about two hundred and fifty men, mounted and robed in white, were assembled. He shouted, Follow! and, half by impulse and half in spirit of adventure, they followed their unknown leader. They galloped through the village. The villagers, awakened from their dreams, rushed out crying, Fire, murder, help, naming about every calamity which could befall a village. It was a wonderful and ghostly sight, two hundred and fifty white- robed men galloping after a mad leader, and the full moon shining upon them. They galloped along the road until looming up in front of them, a hundred soldiers, called by the frightened villagers, stood ready to oppose them. The would-be clansmen scattered in all directions, excepting the mad leader, who charged at the thin line of troops. In his mind his former clansmen were charging behind him, and what could that thin line before him do against the impact of a cavalry charge of the Flower of the South? The soldiers stood amazed at such a strange sight ; the moon shining over the scene, the village lights flashing on behind, clansmen disappear- ing in the distance, and one lone clansman, charging straight at them. One soldier alone fired, and the clansman fell from his horse — dead. They were surprised, indeed, when, lifting the hood, the stately face of Colonel Saville was revealed. The next day, the mayor, in going over the belongings of Colonel Saville, came across the records and names of the clan, and being a loyal Southerner, he placed a cross next to the name of Robert Saville, and then threw the records into the fire. WILLARD COWARD. TO-MORROW Don ' t put off ' till to-morrow What you can do to-day, Because the very next time It will be the same way; If some one offered a present, I ' m sure you wouldn ' t say : I ' ll get it some other time; I can ' t to-day. LOUIS MOMYER.