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

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My Fishing' Companion Mattie and I went fishing, Down by the clear creek side. I was my father's youngest song She was her mother's pride. Sometimes we- went in the moming, Staying the long day through, Taking our tackle and hooks And plenty of lunch for two. Softly the breeze from the ocean Swept thro' the wild wood vine Ruffling the pool's clear waters, Rumpling her hair and mine. Sometimes my mother would tease me A girl from town to take-S But I'd just sneak off with Mattie, She wasn't afraid of a, snake. And when I caught a speckled trout And shouted aloud with glee, Mattie seemed to be very proud And snuggled up close to me. Oh! I'd rather' by far take Mattie Than all ofthe whole town bunch, For she is so gentle and kind- And doesn't steal all the lunch. For fear you will think that Mattie Was bold or tough, and all that, I will tell you my fishing companion Was only a Maltese cat. W. E. B., '12. f X l 1' X XX -ff fa- - NL .. it f S ii: Q ff-e -fi' 'gg' -si. ,W E3 S, g lfllfiff -' I f- - if PAGE TWENTY-SIX

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A fn fir! Ki 9 M4 531453 'J az: Eventide ITTING on my veranda scanning across an orchard toward the western horizon, a gorgeous sunset greets my eyes. In brilliancy it is beyond description-no human artist could portray on canvas the vivid and picturesquely arranged colorings of this panorama The yellow light which a few hours ago bathed the hills and meadows slowly has changed to orange then to crimson again to a deeper crimson The trees that partially obscure this view yet that make it even i , 1 Y . . 1. more fascinating, are blossom laden, and with each gentle evening zephyr there is wafted toward me myriads of dainty pink petals, abounding in sweet- est fragrance. The orchard-land is heavily carpeted with richest clover- dotted here and there with bunches of white daisies, a satisfactory home for the neighbor's old family cows, Fan and Nell, who are now comfortably at rest for the night. The little creek beyond I hear rippling and gurgling as it wends its way seaward-while the crashing and roaring of breakers of the old ocean, cold and gray, are distinctly heard in the distance. But the sun has setg and the golden clouds have faded to a somber gray. I turn from west to east and behold the moon beams loosing them- selves over the mountains and valley. A night owl with his weird and melancholy who-who breaks the evening hush as he begins his nocturnal raid along the creek, which is lined with tassellated alders and pussy bur- dened willows. As-the notes of this twilight marauder die away, there comes the solemn chorus of the frogs as they chant their evening overture. I look up a moment at the thousands of starry travelers, everyone in his right place journeying across the heavens. As I meditate, there comes to my mind an added meaning of Now fades the glowing landscape to the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holdsf' I reluctantly turn on the threshold as I go indoors, and pause for one more lingering look, when a sweet, tender voice seems to say, All is now at' peace, God watches over all. C. A. M., '10, l 1 PAGE TWENTY-FIVE

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An lncident of Mattole Valley STEALTHILY the five crouching fig- ures crept beneath the damp under- brush. Now and then a great shower PN of dew fell from the branch of a tree f which one of them accidentally hit. ! ' The sweet odor of budding spring filled their nostrils. They were hunts- men, all. They knew the country well. As Theodore Allen often stated, there was not a foot of the Mattole Valley which was unfamiliar to him. They slipped along silently and noise- lessly with an apparent understanding and directness of purpose. They seemed to near their destination for they moved yet more cautiously. They paused at every sound, their guns ready for instant use. But the Indianls ears had grown less keen, their senses less acute to each sound since their wild, free life had been brought into restraint by the nearness of the white settlement and the fire water. So unheard, unsuspected, unlooked for, the five men surrounded the little camp. At first only the dim outline of the wigwams could be seen against the grayish sky, but at last the mouldering heap of last night's fire could could be discerned. Then as the patch of light widened a heap of rags, old cast off garments of white settlers, bunches of corn cobs, and a pile of clam shells were visible. A 1' .I 1 .- fflpwi , , . j3W5.i.'?Ef Not long had the visitors to take in the details of the camp. Several of the squaws came out of their respective wigwams to light the fires. What combinations of dress! Men's coats, waists-when there were any-of faded and bright hued calicoes, skirts, some reaching the ground in back and their kness in front and vice versa. On only one custom did they see two agree. And that was the mode of dressing their hair. The coarse black hair of each was crowded into one little tight braid. Under their hands, skilled by practice, the fires soon glowed. Black-headed, dark eyed children hopped up here and there, seemingly from nowhere. The papooses clamored in their baskets. Finally the warriors of the camp made their appearance. They seemed to scent danger in the air. They were not kept long in suspense. Almost simultaneously live guns popped and two Indians fell. The Indians grabbed their rifies. Their squaws clutched the pappooses. They were utterly un- prepared, and had no place for cover. A moment of inaction meant death to each Indian. At a gutteral command each squaw with unfailing obed- ience snatched the nearest pappoose and stood as a guard to the figures behind. It was. unexpected to the white men. None of them would know- ingly kill a squaw. Their guns were cocked but they hesitated. Finally Allen muttered, This won't do. He was facing a woman who was holding fiercely and undauntedly toward his very face aicooing pappoose, chuckling and throwing its little tan fists around in the air. Allen was a good shot and PAGE TWENTY-SEVEN