Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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his face went suddenly white as he glanced at Maureen. Jim quickly recovered himself however; the three people soon retired, and all was dark and silent in the little cabin. Silent, that is, until about four o'clock the next morning, when Jack suddenly awake in the kind of agony that strikes terror into the hearts of the bravest in the north woods. Just a little pain in my side. Guess I'm getting old, Maureen, he tried to say jokingly, as she straightened the covers and sheets on his bed. But the perspiration stood in big beads on his forehead, and his breath came in thick gasps. Maureen made him as comfortable as possible; then out in the other room, she and Jim faced each other. It's acute appendicitis, Maureen, said Jim quietly. I can't get a doctor in time, but I still have my instruments, and maybe— No, Jim. You can't. You can't. He'll take you back, and you'll go to prison. You know that it wasn't your fault that you killed that man. But you can't prove it to a jury now any more than you could when we first came up here. Go for a doctor. Oh, please—then if he dies it won't be your fault . . . Oh, yes, I know he'll die if you wait—and I can't bear to see him die—Oh, what shall we do, Jim? What? Maureen tried to stifle her sobbing. Jim stared at her, his face white and drawn; then suddenly, there before the fire, he kneeled down. Oh, dear God, help us to do what we ought. Forgive my weakness and give me strength. Guide my hand as I relieve the suffering of this man. Restore in me my forgotten skill . . . He rose, called Maureen to help him, and suddenly became the calm, cool surgeon of other years. They used the table for the operation, lifting Jim up on it tenderly. Maureen brought a pan of boiling water for sterilizing purposes. Then Jim brought out his black case of surgical instruments, with the unmistakable R. E. C. on the front. As Corporal Jack Preston s eyes rested on those condemning letters, Jim nodded his head slowly. Yes, Jack, I m your man. But we have to take care of you first. I—! I! do my best for you, Jack. Mercifully, Preston lapsed then into unconsciousness. For many days after the operation, Jack hung between life and death. He needed constant attention, and either Maureen or Jim was with him all the time. Finally, one morning he woke and acted normally. The crisis was past. With the tender care of Maureen and the careful guidance of Jim, he was nursed back to health at last. Jim and Maureen often talked together during this time, wondering whether Jim should stay or should escape. He always decided to remain. They never discussed the matter with Preston, and he never mentioned it to them. At last the day came when Jack prepared to leave. Maureen was sorrowful; Jim, silent, as Jack came out into the living room of the cabin. As he paused, a little uncertainly, both knew that the terrible moment was at hand. Jim, he said unsteadily, may I see that surgical case? As he held it up, the initials R. E. C. gleamed in the cold morning light filtering through the snow on the window pane. Jim, said the corporal quietly, why couldn't you have left this thing in the States? It would have saved so much trouble and anxiety and sorrow. Jim, nervous and embarrassed, was silent for a moment, then a wry smile spread over his face. I suppose it seems funny to you, but I just couldn't leave it behind. It just seems a part of me. I knew when I brought it I was doing a crazy thing, but, Page Twenty-five

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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

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well— He hesitated a moment, and then went on in a husky voice, You see, this belonged to Dad. He always wanted to be o surgeon, but he couldn't make it. Didn't finish school. He died when I was just about through high school, and he gave this cose to me. I knew then what he wonted me to do, so I did it—did what he had tried so hard to do, but couldn't—become a surgeon. That black box has been on inspiration to me when I was discouraged, and it seems to hold all my ideals. So—he stopped suddenly and with a despairing gesture turned and strode across to the fireplace. I-I'll go with you now, Jack. The Corporal looked from Jim to Maureen with shining eyes, and then backed to the doorway. Jim, he said, you can't tell me that a man like you ever voluntarily killed a man. Guess I’ll be mushing. I should make headquarters by tomorrow night, if the weather holds. And don't forget —Jim and Maureen listened breathlessly,— Robert E. Curts is dead, at least officially so. Isn't he, Dr. Manley? He turned to go, then added with a grin, Good-bye, and good luck! But he did not get away before Maureen, tears welling in her blue eyes, had kissed the blushing Corporal right on the cheek; and Jim, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, had gripped the Corporal's hand firmly with a hoarse Good-bye, and God bless you! Then together they watched him disappear through the softly falling snow. The Fish That Got Away Elmer Honenberger I went a-fishing at Oneida And I'll betcha that I tried a Million times to get my bearing So I could land a pickled herring. He ate my bait and then the sap Just went below to take a nap. Suddenly I got a hunch Maybe he'd like a midnight lunch; So I stuck around till twelve o'clock, Determined to make that herring talk. Even the hook began to squirm When I baited it with a half a worm; But after all, the fish wasn't hungry; He just had downed a chocolate sundae. I plunged my sinker into the deep, To wake that fish from his beauty sleep. I felt a tug but jerked in vain— He came out of the water and in again; You should have seen the size of that fish! Twas all any fisherman could wish. Tho' I didn't catch him, there is no question, That he later died of indigestion. Page Twenty-six