Arcata High School - Advance Yearbook (Arcata, CA)

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A big snow-covered log loomed up before her, offering a resting-place at its side. With a tired sigh she sank into the wsnow, clasping the child close, as though she would impart to it the warmth of her body. The babe awoke, stroked its mother's face tenderly with its tiny hand, and settled back into its nest. V II. They found 'them there, half covered by fallen snow, the babe clasped close in the mother's arms, its tiny blue lips close against her cheek. One man in the party, choking back a sob, turned abruptly away. He alone could have explained the tragedy, but he did not. Blindly he made his way back to Arcata. And the next day George Haskings, gentleman adventurer, left for parts unknown. ELLA ERICSON. AN INDIAN TRAGEDY On the brow of the Trinity a man stood solhouetted against the western skyg a tall bronze figure, lithe and muscular, glistening with oil and paint, and be- decked with beads. ln one hand he held a repeating rifle. The other was tightly clenched by his side. His strong brown face was seared with pain. His eyes. brightly alert, held at times a look pathetic in its sadness. but oftener they gleamed with a baleful fire. For Walama, chief of the Chocatins. outcast and fugitive, had at last reached the end of his rope. And he realized the fact. His enemies the Pale-faces, guided by Indian spies, were surrounding him. He could flee no further. Before him raged a majestic mountain torrent, which fell a frothing, foaming mass, sheer down over the edge of the precipice. Behind him, unseen but seeing,'crouched his pursuers. Walania experienced no fear as he stood there, straight and silent-a fine target for any rifleman. He knew that they were trying to capture him alive-that they might the better torment and persecute him. He would not be shot but as a last resort. ' Deep down in his heart a plan formed. which soon became a fixed resolve. Strong and brave, death held no fear for him. 'The thought of it caused neither heart nor pulse to beat the faster. Dispassionately, he reviewed the past. Scarcely a week ago, young, hopeful, the idol of his people, he had been happy. But now- His quick ears detected the crackling of brush a short distance away. But he did not move. Again came the crackling of a twig, this time nearer. Walama with a quick gesture threw his arms toward heaven. Then, still tight- ly grasping his rifle, with a war-cry whose martial strains echoed over the moun- tains, he plunged headlong into the torrent. A cry of surprise and horror broke from his pursuers. With one accord they rushed to the precipice. Nothing could be seen. The turbulent stream, gleaming and flashing in the sun's rays, rushed onward. Once, far down below, a black speck appeared for a moment, but it quickly disappeared- The deep roar of falling water, like a solemn requiem alone broke the silence. Walama, Chief of the Chocatins, had been gathered home to his fathers. ' VERNA HANSON.

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