Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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The word Pennsylvania” means Penn’s Woods”. Ours has always been a densely wooded state and today forty-five per cent of Pennsylvania is still forest, in the midst of which arc many beautiful lakes such as we find in the mountains at Eaglesmere.More and more attention is being paid to reforestration and to the prevention of forest fires, as we now realize the importance of forests in the conservation of our water supply.

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Walter C» Stewart “Duke” An honest fellow, this lad named Walt; In him we’ve never found a fault. Wayne Chalmer Stoner “Stoner” Lots of pep and out for fun; Always in a hurry and on the run. Beatrice Irene Todd “Beattie” Brown Avenue is proud of their “Bea”— So slim, so sweet, so good to see. Clifford Earl Weeter “Cliff” He grabs his trusty, twelve-gauge gun; And tramps to the woods to have some fun. • Charles Burton Whitmire “Chuck” In civics class, an opponent of worth! Your paltry statements move him to mirth. Andrew Cyril Yellenik “Andy” A merry fellow is our Andy, With a happy smile and hair that’s sandy. Charles F. Stirling “Chuck” Strong and athletic, admired for his skill; Whatever he tackles, he does with a will. Warren A Thompson “Skins” An honest good sport with plenty of pals, He can always be found where’er there are “gals”. Thomas Walsh “Woody” Woody” is a whiz at tennis; To all opponents he’s a menace. Richard Paul Werth “Dick” With his nice red hair, and prosperous name, He ought to land in the “Hall of Fame”. Barbara Yacubovsky “Bobby” Who could describe her sweetness and smile, Her scholarship, comradeship—all so worthwhile. Mathilda L. Zmijowski “Matty” She is not witty, but she’s loads of fun; She’s as sweet and modest and shy as a nun. Page Twenty-two

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Justice Forrest Foster It was bitterly cold. The blizzard that had howled and raged for three days had abated, and again the stars could be seen glittering in the frosty sky. The northern lights shone with intense brilliancy, the colors ever changing, as in a giant kaleidoscope. Occasionally, from far off, the howl of a wolf was borne across the deserted expanse of gleaming whiteness by the moaning wind. A little cabin nestled in a shallow depression amid a few stunted pine trees. Within the cabin was warmth and cheerfulness. A great log fire roared up the chimney, ever gathering its resources to resist the chill which was always attempting to clutch the inhabitants with its icy fingers. A young man, perhaps thirty, sat calmly by the fire, contentedly smoking •his pipe. He was not a large man, but his lithe body, resting comfortably in the chair, gave the impression of hidden power, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. He was dressed roughly, but warmly, in the characteristic dress of the northern woodsman—high boots, buckskin pants, and a woolen shirt. His twinkling eyes and smiling lips were framed by his deeply tanned, handsome face. Nearby his wife sat, busily knitting. She seemed somewhat younger than he, with her laughing eyes, dimpled cheeks, and her graceful, softly formed body. Her nose was turned up just enough to make it interesting, and at times, when she smiled, it wrinkled adorably. Far from civilization, this couple had made a home in the wilderness. The silence was broken suddenly by the barking of their dogs outside and a knock on the door. Jim Manley arose and walked to the door to admit the visitor. Howdy, Jack, he said, as the tall newcomer was ushered in amid a swirl of snow. Come on in and warm up the old toes. And how, Jim! It sure is chilly.'' Corporal Jack Preston of the Royal Mounted Police strode over to the fire and sat down. A broad grin spread across his battered, heavily lined face. Well, how are Jim and Maureen? It must be six months anyhow since I was here last. We're still going strong, Jack, replied Jim, but we're not rich yet. The warm friendship between these three—the old constable, the young woodsman, and his pretty little wife—a friendship strengthened by their solitude, was soon evidenced by their merry laughter and talking. By the way, Jack,' Jim finally happened to ask, what brings you to these parts in this kind of weather? I’m looking for o young doctor who killed o man down in the States several years ago. I got a report that he's in this section. I guess the fellow’s a bad one. Oh, do be coreful, Jack, cried Maureen. I wish you didn't have to hunt him. I—I wouldn't have you hurt for anything. What's this doctor's name? She glanced at Jim with frightened eyes. Shucks! said the policeman good naturedly, I won't get hurt. Let me see— here in my notebook—yes, here's the name. Robert E. Curts. We have this clue, too, he added. Curts' initials are engraved on his surgical case, which he had with him at last report. If he still has it, that's one sure way to identify him. And Jack shut his notebook and put it away, not noticing that Jim said nothing, but that Page Twenty-four