Astoria High School - Zephyrus Yearbook (Astoria, OR)

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Swenson, seventeen, Nick nine, and I eleven. That was fifty-nine in all. Averaging about twenty pounds a fish the total weight would be close to the one thousand twenty-seven pounds. Ah! Why had I not recognized the fish-warden’s voice before? But I knew it now. The fish-warden of Satur¬ day night was “Big John” and his two companions had been Indian seiners. Everything was not clear yet, so I approached “Big John” at the first opportunity and asked, “How did you get those two Indians to help arrest us Saturday night?” Naturally this question startled him and he gave himself away by saying, “How did you know that they were”—he checked himself but it was too late and he told me everything when I promised to keep silent. When we had left “Big John” at number 10 buoy, we had not noticed the launch in the small slough running between, the jetty and jetty sands. But when we had passed, “Big John” had found the launch, which had been left there by the Indians, who had gone clam digging across the sands. When the Indians returned, “Big John” had hired them to help him. Leaving his boat-puller in his own boat to keep the fire going, he had commanded the Indian captain towards the part of the river where he knew he should find us. When we had given up our fish he had gone back after his boat and boat-puller and started for Sand Island, thus giving me my first idea that anything was wrong. He had delivered his fish at the scow immediately after six o’cock Sunday evening. At the end of the season, pocketed the money w r hich really belonged to us. No one was any the wiser, save “Big John,” myself and the Indians. So much for my first and last experience at illegal fishing on the Columbia or elsewhere. R. A. W., ’ll. My pony is out in the hall; If somebody don’t bring in my pony I’m going to flunk—that is all. Oh, how I should chance to forget it, I’m sure that I never will see. I can’t answer one single question— Oh, bring back my pony to me! —Ex.

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river, leaving “Big John” at the No. 10 buoy, cursing his luck and hoping we might each get a “skunk” or caught by the fish-warden. When our nets were out, everything was still; the full moon shone on the river, I looked toward the number 10 buoy; where I saw a blaze streaming over the top of a boat stove. I knew that “Big John” was keeping his word, to attract the attention of the fish-warden if he might be near. I looked towards the other boats that lay in the moon-light and saw that the occupants were stirring. Then I heard the “pat-pat” of a launch coming from the Oregon side. I started in a hurry to pick up my net, but it was too late, for the boat was upon us almost before we got started. Swenson had his net up first, and the launch turned tow r ard his boat. A line was passed from the launch to his boat and he was taken in tow. “Green” was next to be arrested, then I and “Russian Nick,” the man with the green letters on his boat and “Curly” had escaped because they were farther down the river. “You understand the circumstances don’t you?” asked the big man in the bow of the launch, who seemed to be the fish-warden himself. We did not answer immediately, but during the pause I stared at the launch, thinking I had seen it before, but I could not place it. When we answered his question the fish-warden spoke again. “This is the last arrest I’ll make this season and I hate court proceedings, so I’ll let you go if you turn your fish over to me and go home.” This we gladly consented to do. When all my fish were in the launch, I noticed that there were tw’o other persons aboard besides the fish-warden, one of whom came aft to let go my line. When were clear, the launch started its “pat-pat” swinging to- towards number 10 buoy, where a light w as still burning . ' It set sail for home and as I neared number 10 buoy, the launch passed between my boat and the moon, headed for the Washington side. It w as then that I recognized the launch—it was the seining launch that the Indians used at Sand Island, but why did they have • “Big John’s” boat in tow ? He had a right on the river even if it was Saturday night, so long as he was only boiling coffee at anchor. Something seemed wrong and I became suspicious, but I kept the sus¬ picion to myself. When I delivered my fish of Monday’s catch to the scow at Sand Island, I made a discovery. I was looking over the list of fish taken in since Sunday night and I saw that “John” Edwards had de¬ livered one thousand and twenty-seven pounds. Then I began to straighten things out. “Green” forfeited fourteen; a

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THE FACULTY. There’s Schmidtke, grim and silent, He’s boss of all the rest. The Freshies, they all fear him, The Seniors call him blest (?), Next comes Miss Dora Badollet, A first rate teacher, she, She teaches “Geom” and Algebra, And Trigonometry. And there’s Miss Gertrude Hulse. In English and “Lit” rules she, A.nd then comes Mr. Johnston, Who rules the Sophomore rooms And teaches all the Freshmen About the Babylonia’s doom. And yonder is our artist, Miss Loucks now is her name. We fear that in the future It will not be the same. And here is Classic Merrick, Who shines in the Roman tongue. And there is sweet Miss Moncrief, Of sports she is Al. The “Dutch” and then some English From our Miss Woodward comes, But the new arrival, he is Ford Who makes the tools to hum. All this is our Faculty— The pride of all the school, The joy of all the learned kids, The terror of the fool.