Arcata High School - Advance Yearbook (Arcata, CA)

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got our guns leveled square ahead and I gave Pinto Pete a nudge and he flashed his lantern right onto 'em. Again there was an expressive pause. With dilated eyes and sagging jaws the miners stared at the knot hole. The old man sat straight in his chair. Do you know what they was? They was woodratsf' With a muffled I-Iell! Pedro limped out of the room into the black night. . n the Munn. Oh moon, that shinest o'er the haunts of men, So cold and pale, When thou hast gone what dost thou then, ' Cans't tell? There is no life in thee with splendor rife, But rather deathg And so, oh moon, tho' grand and bright you hue, I'd rather be myself, in life, than you. Marie Dodge, '14, 6 Eighteen

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who held first hand in the game, who leered at hisecomrades through his small black fiendish eyes when he saw them make a miss-play, and twisted his long, curling mustaches till they were almost torn from his pocket- marked face when he thought that he was going to lose, had now forgotten the game entirely. He tried his best to conceal his intense interest behind the leathern mask of his face, but in vain. Go on, you old blow-hard, he yelled impatiently, and thus admon- ished the settler began: For the last two weeks I've heard a noise there-kind of er knockin'-- just a little, you know. I ne'er thought much on it at first, 'lowin' it might be that thar loose dirt a cavin' in agin like it did before when I was a. work- in' up on the hind shaft. But, blast my buttons, boys, I turned in early this evenin' becuz I got pretty well fagged out tryin' to dig that thar slough up the gully. Befor'en I got half-way snoozed off, bang! went a muffled blast, right under my bunk, -sounded about ten feet down. The first thing that popped into my head was 'Merino's Gang.' They've been hangin' out up on Split Ridge for some time back and rememberin' the dust they kicked up for me last fall, I knew sure it were them. He said he'd come back, and sure enough thar he were. Me, not wantin' to be caught single-handed by a gang of murderin' cut-throats, I jest tell yu' what, it didn't take me long to get to Sam Pike's lay-out. I went up the side of that thar canyon like a streak of greased lightnin' and down the other like as if I was shot out,of a sixteen inch cannon. Sam, he was in bed and all was still ex- cept for that thar durned ornery dog o' his'ng he set up a howl fitten to bust the canyon,'and Sam he yelled at him. I went in, and when Sam heard who it was and found out the trouble, he got his men together with their guns quicker'n no time and the seven of us made our way up the hill jest like sneakin' bob-cats, each one of us thinkin' of the swag of government money we could play with I if we fetched the gang out alive. At the mouth of the shaft all was quiet, we got out our darkened lan- tems to look fur tracks, but thar warn't any. Them thar fellers knew their biz and had left no tracks. Well, we went up a ways-'bout fifty rods, --when we heard a noise, as if they'd got out a hunk of dirt. I can swar now I heard 'em talk. We all stopped, all but that thar dare-devil, half- breed Cock-Eyed Bob, he said he'd fetch 'em. They'd played him dirt onct and he didn't furgit it, nor 'the reward neither, he didn't. Well, in he went, and the rest of us, We jest waited, holding our breathsg I just thought I'd bust, I was that strung up. We didn't hear much except that thar knockin', but that was enough. All of 'er sudden out comes Cock-Eyed Bob, lookin' as if he'd been pulled through a hole in a bad quarter. He never said a single word, just sat down on an old rail and hung his head, jest like as if he was bereft of reason. - The rest of us, thinkin' that the scare had crazed him, left him sittin' thar and crept on up the back holeg I tell you what, we didn't make a rum- pus, we didn't. The old settler lowered his voice to a husky whisper and leaned far over in his chair, pointing to a knot hole in the floor. That thar noise was right in front of us now, and we Seventeen

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TFT AN AT Laura Campbell, '14. It came back again last night, that was the second time I have even seen it: the next time will be the last. They have none of them ever seen the black cat three times-and lived. My grandfather, my uncle, my father, all died in the same manner, . and now I, too, must die. ' I think I must be going mad. Such a thing can not be. But I am de- termined to write down the whole story. Then if I am found dead in the morning that hideous statute may be destroyed. My grandfather, John Williams, after whom I am named, was a col- lector of curios. He had travelled in many lands but had never visited Egypt until the last of June, 1897. He remained for three months and then brought back to America a small statue of a black cat. Three years later he died. His last words were, The black catlf' My uncle took the small figure, and three months later he was found dead in his home. The small image came into my father's possession. That was three weeks ago. To-night he is lying dead, and yesterday for the second time I saw the black cat. Not the image, for even as I write it stands on the table before me, but a cat, a real cat, black as night, with horrible glaring eyes. My grand- father saw this cat. My uncle saw it. My father saw it. And the third time they died. Today is the third day I have owned that image. I have tried to get rid of it, but I can't. It is nearly twelve. Near me my lawyer sits snoring-soft, strangling snores. My light is nearly out, but I sit waiting, listening. I hear the sound of padded feet on the stair and the golden eyes of the image before me seem alive with hatred. I can write no more. N inetecn