Grants Pass High School - Toka Yearbook (Grants Pass, OR)

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That bit of joy; that bit of sorrow, which went to make up the warp and woof of another dying day was for the time forgotten. But “Time waits for no man. Years came and went, and again the coffee was singing gayly over the merrily cancmg blaze, but no Abiel was near to fancy his dreams in its rich bed of coals and cheerily whistle away the same old daily disappointment. A young man. Joe LaZa. a companion Kclliam had picked up about a year before, was vainly contriving to tempt the appetite of his bedfast “old pal.” Late that night Joe sat by his sick friend, watching for the slightest change. At length Abiel assured him he was feeling much better and encouraged him to lie down fcr a rest, promising to call if need be. The first faint flush of dawn was just peeping over the horizon when the cries of the suffering patient roused the boy from his troubled sleep. Abiel always called him the boy. Sitting upright in bed, the sick man screamed with all his might. There! he cried, pointing to the table shelf. “Look! Don't you see it ? No. not gold: but something. Oh, boy! Don’t you see?” continued his voice trailing to a dreadful whisper. Then he screamed again: “There it is. I found it thirty year ago! Thirty year! Ch, quick, quick, the junk box. boy, the tin one.” With the last words the agonized sufferer sank back on his pillow, exhausted, and fell once more into unconsciousness. But even in such utter insensibility his rest was partially broken by the laborous twitching of his lips, as if in a vain effort to speak. Hastily snatching the desired tin box from its accustomed comer on the shelf, the boy returned with it to the bedside, only to find that his companion had seemingly fallen to sleep. Suddenly the once steady steel blue eyes calmly opened and turned appealingly to the trusty lad. Instantly guessing his meaning, Joe lifted the dusty cover from the tin treasure box and placed it within the reach of his suffering companion. The first glimpse of the sparkling contents served as a veritable restorative. Joe fairly swooned with youthful wonder and amazement as Abiel half raised himself in bed and began picking over the contents. As he took each piece of rock from its resting place he told the story connected with it. At last he came to the little piece he had picked up in that desolate canyon near Grants Pass so many years before. “Yes,” he said, “it was thirty year ago. and well I remember the place. It was near a little stream of cool running water. You have been over this country, my lad, and you know the place well.” Old Kelliam paused here as if in deep thought, then continued. “No, 'taint gold: but worth your while, lad. I’m sure.” But here the rudely overtaxed muscles gave way under a’ spell of violent coughing. There was a softness, a delicacy, an almost motherly tenderness in the very touch 8

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LITERARY The Spirit of True Love T was late November. 1870. The birds were warbling faintly o’er their supper II table; now and then the gay chatter of a merry little squirrel was borne to the ear of a perchance attentive listener, and from the canyon below rose that inexpressible. unequaled tone of the merry babbling brook on whose bank sat the weary and dejected Abiel Kelliam. Abiel had persistently roamed the mountains south of Grants Pass, a little settlement in Oregon, which consisted of not more than a half dozen rudely constructed buildings, for the past seven years. Always looking for something ‘‘rich,’’ forever trusting that to-morrow would be the dawn of his success, never fully discouraged, Abiel Kelliam roamed on after the fashion of his kind. Sitting now on the end of a fallen pine tree which stubbornly refused to be wrapped in the snowy coverlet of nature, Kelliam peacefully thought o’er the triumphs and defeats of the day. apparently immune from the universal happiness of his pleasant surroundings. Even the slowly sinking sun, throwing his gorgeous rays o’er the western heavens and gradually tinting the delicately pink canyon into a deep lavender, passed unnoticed by our pioneer prospector. F know not how long he would have remained thus entranced by his deep musings had not a certain glitter caught his eye. Dropping involuntarily to his knees, he hastily brushed aside the thm coating of snow, scattered over a heap of peculiar looking rock, and proceeded to examine his new found treasure. Excitement and happy anticipation soon faded from the worn features, giving place to the true, stolid facial elements of the optimistic miner. Bravely swallowing his momentary disappointment, Kelliam dropped the small piece he still held in his tawny fingers into an inner coat pocket and slowly retraced his steps to his cabin home. That evening, after placing his coffee to boil over the flickering flames of his companion-like campfire. Kelliam again examined the pocketed sample, this time more closely. Then with a knowing nod and an impetuous. “But ’taint rich, the sample was almost thoughtlessly placed in “the junk box, that sample which had meant so much for one brief instant when the sinking fireball of the West had shot his penetrating rays thru the flaky coverlet to the bit of rock beneath; which had then passed his good night smile on to cheer the heart of the weary traveler. 7

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 of the boy as he caressingly arranged the pillow, and bathed the aching forehead and parched lips of his dying friend. An almost deathlike silence had fallen over the little room when Abiel again lifted his eyes to his one true friend in a last good-bye. The lips seemed to part slightly and, bending low, Joe caught the words, It's yours, boy,” as the trembling hand released the last bit of ore. “God bless you, my boy, good-bye. Now ‘Rock of Ages — mother’s song.” The tears gushed into the silver gray eyes. Perhaps he was thinking of a day only a year ago, just before he had come to the mountains for his health and met the winning friend he was now losing. Perhaps he was thinking of a song sung that day because she had requested so, or was it of an angel mother as she had said, “God bless you, my boy. Goodbye.” No he could not sing it, but he would play it on his violin. As the last strains died away the player rose, and throwing up the eastern window, lifted his weary eyes to the golden canopy of the far distant hilltops. A tear fell from the long, dark lashes into the yellow chalice of the nodding cowslip beneath, where it lay glistening, pure as the morning dew. Yes. and a bird was gayly chirping in the laurel tree close by. Turning, his wavering gaze was attracted by a peculiar glitter from the crumpled covers of the cot. It was the same glitter that had commanded the eye of the expectant Abiel so many years ago. Joe stooped and raised the glittering white substance to the light. Suddenly his heart gave a quick catch. He remembered Abiel’s words: “No taint gold; but worth your while lad. I'm sure.” “Worth my while, well. I should say! Limestone as sure as I live! Again his eyes shifted to the corner bed. Agony through all? No not through all. Even now the gentle soul of the Christian miner was at rest with its Maker. “I wonder if he knew?” The words came almost involuntary. Did he know? Did he know when he found that rock on that drear November day and betrothed it in his dying hour to the faithful friend as a symbol of his deep regard and true love, that he was also helping to promote a great industry that would make the vast acres more productive. I cannot say. I only know that the Beet Sugar Factory at Grants Pass will consume large quantities of limestone, and thereby help to develop the natural resources of the beautiful valleys of Southern Oregon. Lorene Courtney. 16. 9