Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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C. .1. FHEW, The Florist, State. St. Phone 1281 i me money.” “You'll have to fight for it.” cried Shorty, who had edged to a right angle where Bill stood. As Shorty uttered his last exclamation the red skin turned in his direction and Will lunged toward him, grasping the rifle as he did so. The Indian shrieked out a cry of rage and a fight for dear life commenced. Shorty would have assisted his friend but another cry came from behind and he wheeled into another foe. Will's combatant was less powerful than himself but he clung to the rifle with a grip like iron, now trying to get the muzzle toward his foe, now trying to wrench it from his grasp. Three times shots went into the air but found no marks except the trunks of nearby trees. Shorty was having ‘‘quite a lively time” as he put it. His foe was armed but not with a gun, a knife. When Shorty had turned on him, it was so unexpected that the weapon had only grazed hi6 shoulder, and he grabbed the wielder’s wrist. The latter was not an Indian, however, but a lumberman from Wolf River Camp. Both men were six-footers and it was an even struggle until by a dextrous movement Shorty tripped his combatant and both went heavily to the ground with the trapper on top. Shorty shot a glance to where he had last seen his friend and the Indian, but where were they? There was no sign of either anywhere about. In their place were two other combatants, two strong sinewy forms, snarling, snapping, swaying back and forth like demons. It was a wolf and a powerful mastiff dog. Then another form shot out of the underbrush and another. The two men now saw the new danger and Shorty’s enemy begged to be freed. “N'ow if you'll beat it,” cried Shorty, “and not try any more o’ your funny work. I’ll excuse you this time. Now promise me.” “I’ll -promise you nothing,” snarled the lumberman, but let me up. ’ “Well, I guess if you kin stan’ it to be chewed, 1 can.” “Eff you’ll let me go, I’ll let you be,” cried the lumberman, finally submitting rather than to be “chewed up” as Shorty had termed it. But there w-as no time left for conversation for a lithe form darted toward them. Shorty sprang to his feet and struck the beast with one of his heavy boots, for his snow shoes had fallen off during the struggle. The boot caught the beast just below- the jaw and sent him snarling backw-ards. By this time the lumberman had gained his feet. Sho-ty elt a tap on his shoulder and made ready to spring again on his foe, but his intentions were interrupted by,—“You an’ me’ve had it out an’ you licked an’ 'we’ll call it square if you’re willin’. If we have to die let's die fighting side by side like men.” “That we’ll do, you bet,” cried Shorty, “but look out, here comes that beast back again.” As he uttered the latter words he grasped h 's until now forgotten revolver, drew it and fired almost into the mouth of the animal. A howl of pain followed and a dead wolf lay at the trapper’s feet. “Quick, cr the dcg’ll be giving out! Head right straight into that bunch,” he yelled, as he started tow-ard a group of snapping wolves with a powerful mastiff in their midst who had already laid out two of his enemies. But the dog w-as getting tired now and this the men saw. The faithful beast had saved their lives and now it was their turn to save his. The wohes scattered and seeing the bodies of their dead comrades began feasting.

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6 THE TATTLER THE MASTIFF FROM WOLF RIVER CAME. “Git up, Bill. Git up. It’s half past four now and we gotta be gitten' out of here.” It was Tom Shortman, or, to get acquainted with him it was “Shorty,” William Klamn’s partner, a veteran trapper, who spoke. Klam.i was also a trapper, hut, although he had been in the wilds of Canada only about a year, he was nearly as skilled as Shorty. Nothing but slight movement from the slumberer rewarded Shorty’s efforts, however. “By gum, you’ll open those lamps o’ yours now, I’ll bechu.” With that he grasped a pitcher of water from the table and emptied the fluid over the innocent sleeper. “Galloping grasshoppers,” Bill exploded. “I thought I was being massacred.” “You otta be fer 6noozing at this late hour. Pile out o’ there an help git breakfast. It snowed a lot last night an’ even our snow shoes’ll sink in quite a bit cus it hasn’t had time to form a crust and Wolf Hollow Camp is a long way off. It sure was some lucky we reached this shack las’ night fer altho’ we have weathered worse storms than this, I’ll own up though I’d rather be snowed in here than out in that blizzard. But the bye’s at the camp ’ll want their cash just as soon as they can get it. I’ll— ouch! Consarn it, what’s on that chair!” “O. nothing but an exchange for your kindness. Why didn’t you give me a gentle touch? I would have awakened instantly, and you call this late? Why didn't you stay up all night so as to be up early enough in the morning?” “Well, I think when you git there you’ll see why we got up before noon.” This last statement proved to be only too true. “Well, your grub’s ready, so sit down and pitch in.” An hour later the small outfit was packed. Snowshoes were fastened and the two set out for Wolf Hollow Camp. What a world it was! Great banks of white fluffy snow piled everywhere! The trees were topped with it and scattered flakes come floating down, for it had nearly stopped snowing now. The two trudged along at a lively gait, now stopping to rest, now traveling swiftly along. They had spoken little except when stops were made to get “wind” as Shorty put it. During one of those stops the peculiar howl of the timber wolf came quiveringly through the forest. It caused no little concern to the trappers; but as time wore on and the cry was not again detected by their ears, the matter was forgotten to all outward appearances until after awhile the silence was broken by,—“Well, I cal’ate we’re half way there but we’ve been about six hours a’ready an we’ve only got about five more to wind up in before dark. Now if a wolf’ll holler in plain daylight it suie means he’s some hungry, but still they haven’t hollerd but once. What tha—” Bang! bang! bang! Three shots in rapid succession came from underbrush to their left. As they turned Bill felt a cold steel gun barrel thrust over his shoulder, then followed a “Hands up!” Bill wheeled around to see an Indian confronting him, his Winchester ready for action and a wicked smile on his face. “Heap Running Beaver get heap cash and go. If he not get it he shoot heap palefaces. Now give

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8 THE TATTLER This gave the three a chance of escape and they made the best of it. Running through the snow without snow shoes is hard work but they reached a tall tree and began scaling it. The last man 'had just reached the bottom limb when the wolf, diverted from his meal, made a spring for him. It was a close call for the wolf missed his mark only by a hair’s breadth. “Jumping geese quills, but that was a close one,” yelled Shorty, but where’s that dog?’’ “I’ll bet he’s gone to camp,” cried the lumberman. “Hell git a bunch o’ the byes out here but’ll take quite a spell,—say, did you see that?” This last exclamation was caused by a form coming toward them at top speed. “Hey, Shorty, where are you?” the form cried. “Right here Bill,” answered Shorty, “but for the love of Mike climb a tree. There is wolves here by the barrel. Where did you beat it? we’ve needed you.” “Well,” answered his breathless comrade, “that Indian got away from me and I chased him until he finally shook me. I was a fool leaving you all alone with that ruffian,” pointing towards the big lumberman in the branches with Shorty. “Well, I guess I’m high enough to be out of reach now. I heard those wolves and 'was desperate and started back at full speed, and here I am.” “By gum. I b'lieve we owe our lives to that dorg—” “What dog?” asked Will. “Why,” exclaimed Shorty, “a big dorg blew in from somewhere an’ fit all of them wolves while we strolled to this tree.” “That dog,” exclaimed the lumberman, “came with that bloomin’ Injun an’ me—by gar,” he exploded. “A bunch of those wolves must o’ followed him away from here because there is only about half of them here now. It will sure be some race to camp fer that dog, but I gues6 he can outrun ’em.” Darkness had set'in and the tree occupants were fast asleep when suddenly a loud bark broke the stillness and a powerful dog leaped into view. Then a half dozen lumbermen came running behind. The lumberman’s guilt was not exposed, at Shorty’s request, and so it is that, when enemies meet in a death grapple, new danger will make them friends. HARRISON ANDREWS, ’17. A MEXICAN TALE. For many years Pedro Lopes had farmed a few rugged acres on the slopes of the Sierre Madre. His claim had been undisturbed until a rich mining prospector came along and discovered gold along the foot hills. Soon Pedro was ousted from his farm and rather than leave the straw thatched hut which he called home, he consented to work in the mines as an ordinary peon for two pesos a week. On this he hardly lived, as besides his wife there was a son, Juan, and food was scarce and hard to get. The years passed until Juan was ten years old. Then the wife sickened and died and Pedro, heart broken, buried her at the foot of the mountain with a stately palm standing sentinel over her grave.