Ferndale Union High School - Tomahawk Yearbook (Ferndale, CA)

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Indians are never emotional and neither the girl nor her mother uttered a word of thanks, but both adored him till the end of time for them. In a few short weeks there was a simp e we 1 ,, self in daisies and buttercups and to Gilbert she was more beautiful and sweet than any white girl. Even in later years when people flocked in in great numbers, and he was despised by men and dubbed the Usquaw ma Z4 f?x fat... . - ,M l dd'nU in the old cabin. The Indian girl decked her- n,', he at least remained faithful to his Indian wife to the end.-M. Ring '08.

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' ' K - .. Qt ,fl AF New W 5 - Q ' s A K U 0 xx K .ifgl 9 T ,, 'A' 5 A V T p 2222.663 - . The Squaw 1VIan's Romance Men said that Gilbert was honest and just, so Gilbert's word was law. All had been disorder, murders and robberies before Gilbert came. Then somehow things changedg if a 1113.I1,S horse was stolen he came to Gilbert and the thief was caught and punished. Gilbert saw that murderers were lynched. And so it was with everything. Here was a man, rough and uncouth, but a born leader of men. lt was a hot day in September and Gilbert was following a party of slave hunters who had left thc little village early that morning. It was noon and still the man kept plodding on. The heat was intense but he did not even stop for food or rest, though the perspiration streamed from his face and his light cotton shirt was saturated. No, it was not Gilbert's way to think of rest as long as he had work before him. Now and then as he rounded a turn in the path the sound of the horse's hoofs and the loud, coarse talk of the men more plainly assailed his ears. Then he would scowl and touch the handle of the six-shooter in his belt. On a11d on he went, weary but determined. His thoughts wandered back to the time when he had first come to the little settlement, an adventuresome youth of twenty. Then he dwelt rs. ' the life he had led there in the few years, and away down in his heart he felt lonesome. E Things had grown strangely quiet. Gilbert moved on more cautiously. He looked up at the heavens' and was surprised to find that the sun had already set and it was now dusk. Silently as a shadow he crept towards the edge of the woods. There he crouched behind some thick undergrowth and watched the group of men in the opening. He heard the leader give the word to dismount and then he knew that he gave another order bifihit was too low to be heard at that distance. It was soon plain to him, however, for a half dozen of the men started across the clearing towards the little cabin at the farther end. They reached the cabin and entered unceremoniously. After a few moments they again appeared and now two men were half leading, half dragging, a woman- a young Indian girl. Behind them came an old squaw, evi- dently her mother, wringing her bony hands and jabbering furiously. The men paid no attention to this but brought the girl to their captain, and upon his giving the order, they lifted her upon one of the horses and bound her securely. Many things were going on in the mind of the man concealed in the thicket. Often he would start up with his hand on his gun, only to shrink back again. He believed in doing things at the right time. But now-ah things were going too far! The old mother clung to her daughter's skirts in a perfect frenzy, for she well knew that the girl was to be sold into slavery. The captain, impatient at the delay, struck the old woman a blow across the face with his quirt and she, like a dead thing, fell to the ground. Now was the time, and unnoticed Gilbert stepped quietly from his hiding place. Horri- fled, the captain felt the cold steel of the big pistol at his temple. Then a low, firm voice said t'All th1'ow up your hands or your leader is a dead manf' Everyone did as he was bid and one lone, determined man held up two dozen. Then in the same slow voice he ordered a man to unloose the girl. Still with the muzzle of his gun pointed at the leader he spoke quietly again: Now, friends, this is poor business for human beings who call them- selves men. If ever this little affair is repeated-well, remember Gilbert. Go your way and let no man turn or his funeral hymn will be sung tomorrow. Silently they departed and no man turned. XVith the help of the girl be bore the old squaw into the cabin and there doctored her wound.

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Legend of a Waterfall Above the cabin ol' the old trapper with whom I spent each summer there was a high cascade. its waters sung and roared over the rocky face of the cliff as they rushed downward, below to form the limpid pools and foamy falls where we best loved to iish. One sunny day, when my grizzled old friend seemed in a reminiscent mood, I asked him if he knew the meaning of the waterfalls Indian name. He replied, That's a yarn. Would you like to hear it? Well, yes, I 'spose you would. An old medicine man told it to me 'bout thirty odd year ago, when he was huntin' up this way. Dunno as I kin tell it jest as he did, but this is what it all comes to. That waterfalls name, in Injun, means Crying Papoosef' Funny, aint it? Well, tcordin' to the legend, there was once a great chief who wouldn't stand no low-down business in his tribe. He caught five or six of his young bucks in a piece of dirty work CI forgit now jest what that medicine man said 'twas7, and cut them off from the rest of the tribe. That made 'em mad, and they vowed all kinds of revenge in their solemn Injun fashion, and then plotted 'gainst the chief's daughter, for the first thing. The old chief thought a good deal of her, I guess, and they knew it. So they watched from the woods, to see if she wouldn't come out to play or pick flowers, or somethin', and when they did see her comin' they was jest all ready for her. They waited till she wandered off far enough away from the wigwams to be out of hearin' and then caught her, stopped her screechin' by chok- in' her and dragged her off through the woods. Her father didn't miss her for quite a while, but when he did, there was a great time. All the old squaws prayed to the Great Spirit and the braves went huntin' everywhere for the missing papoose. After several days they found her, dead. Her body was hangin' by a rope right in that there waterfall, where she must've died, slow, screamin all the time, I 'spose with the water dashin' over her. They took it down and buried it with all the mournin' they do over anyone that dies in the tribe that they are fond of. They believe the fall is ha'ntedg that the noise the water makes when it runs over the rocks is the voice of the Indian baby as she cried when she was dying, so they named it 'Crying Papoosef'-Ethel Richardson 'll