Marquette University High School - Flambeau Yearbook (Milwaukee, WI)

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2553 .r :ff Z 'K uc .ffl Marquette University High School Milwaukee VV1scons1n X mfg, 1 I FLAMBEAU I ' 1 J S, YOLUKI Ii YII COM M ENt'EIXlIiNT NUMBER 4 The Desert Saint James P. Kegel, '26 IIAD been sent by the editor of the Iivening Mail to interview a certain Mr. Cradler, who had made a for- tune in prospecting. Ile was the owner of the famous Desert Saint mine, and had recently moved to our city. Up to this time the old prospec- tor had been very silent as to his past. Ile was known by the newspapermen to hold secret a very interesting and curious story. It was the ambition of every reporter and editor of the coun- try to get him to talk. Accordingly I went, one line morning, to the quiet hotel in which he lived. It was situat- ed in the eastern section of the city overlooking the lake. A few minutes after I had sent up my card I was called to a plain room, on the third floor. Mr. Cradler came forward as I was announced and shak- ing hands with me waved me to a seat opposite to him. He pushed a cigar box towards me and lighting up his favorite pipe remarked that to stop our pestering he would tell me the long sought for story. Between puffs from his corn cob, he told me the following strange tale: Well sir, it was back in 1898, when the story really begins. At that time the land was still pretty wild and the Indians were still chasing around 9 loose. I was prospecting at the edge of one of the American deserts hoping to find a rich pocket. One night in September I worked till it was quite dark, for I thought I had found real dirt. I had laid aside my tools and was cooking my supper, ---I can still hear that bacon sizzle-- when I heard a faint cry for help. Too often I had heard the same callg that i f a starving and dying comrade. I'ut- ting aside my skillet I rushed out into the desert. A short distance from camp I found the worst looking bit of liuinanit-,' that I had ever set my eyes on. I carried him to my lean-to and laid him on the blankets and in the light of the tire took a good look at him. Ilis clothes were as dirty as could be and torn to -ribbons. His beard and hair were long and matted and full of burrs. His skin, what I could see of it, was burned a deep brown, and was stretched like parch- ment over his bones. It was scratched and lacerated in many places. From his left shoulder there still protruded a part of an arrow shaft, telling of an escape from a cruel death. His lips were purple and cracked from thirst. I knew he could not live long, but gave him all the comforts I knew. Towards morning he gained enough strength to

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The Hilltop At tho foot of the hill a young prospvctor l1alts For ho choosos his path, but full mindful of faults Slowly falls on lzis hnovs, in the swoot morning brcozo. i Then lifts up lzis mind and his hoart-God! Plraso! Through a rift in the clouds tho sun lrroales out And srattors its boauty in the canyons about, ln tho heart of tho prospoctor takes its abode, And he trods on anow-o'or a boaton road. Long docs ho labor, porsozfrving and wofl, His hvart grows proua', at its might doos it swoll, lVhat looms in tho distanco? A towering frag? l'Vhy,-wlly, O will, do your footsteps lag? Tho lilarh roptilo glittors and glidos along, And whore, vain youth, whoro is your song! ln tho dark of tho night, in tho thifk of the fight, From the polo star our God sends His ethorcal light. lVith tho last yellow beam of tho fading pak moon, Footholds arc found in tho ominous rorle. Upward ho mounts with a frm stop and truc, lVatvhing tho sun as it mounts in the blur. Tho summit is won! His 15110 soul is lifoarlzod Hy tho trials of tho King, but his goal is roarhcd. Now hc stands on thc frostand his work ho surzfcys, Rough roads, woodod ways, but his hardship ropays Now ho loans o'or tho brink, and his hoart may woll sink At thc infinite span and tho minutcnoss of man, liut ho falls on his hnoos in loarning's pure brooso, Thon lifts up his mind and his heart-God! Ploaso! Through a rift in tho flouds God's gran' liroales out And showers its lilossings on the truo and dowout. In tho mind of tho conquoror though wide hc roam lVill monzorios lu' rootrd of lllarquotto,-his own. EDWARD L. METZLER, 8 41

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zw' -. iv: XG- Q -E--il-E1 ,Y as-J 2? fg-2 5 g 1, 'E-ff.-F5 55 5 - I ' e e e . speak. He asked me to raise him upg noticing that he was sinking fast I complied with his wish. Pointing to the northwest he whispered these words. Go until you see the Saint of the Desert and under his hand you shall find your reward. Then suddenly his face lighted with joy, his lips moved and bending close I caught the words, It is he the Saint of the Desert. I looked in the direction of his stare but could see nothing. Slowly his body relaxed and in a moment he was dead. Early the next morning, before the heat of the day, I dug a shallow grave, and there beneath the skies I buried him. I piled the grave high with stones and carved as best I could, a headboard for his final resting place. A few days later, having found no gold, I continued on my way. The sight of the grave and the thought of him, whom it covered, kept me from entering the desert in search of the promised reward. I journeyed to- wards the hills, prospecting there in many places, during the next five years, with varying luck. One night after a particularly hard day's work, I dreamed of the scene I had witnessed five years before. Again I saw the dy- ing man crawling along the sand and calling for help. Again I heard those words, Go until you see the Saint of the Desert and under his hand you shall find your reward. In a month I was again at the old camping spot. The grave and the camp site were as I had left them. After a few days of rest and prepara- tion I started across the desert. The heat was intense, curling up from the hot sands like fire. The sun hung overhead, showering clown mercilessly its hottest rays. I must have been all over the desert 10 in search of the Saint, at least so it seemed to me. But somehow I felt that I would see him and then my searching days would be over forever. In a week my water was almost gone. I estimated that I was about in the middle of that sandy waste. Two more days passed and the first of my mules diedg that afternoon in the blaze of the sun the second fell over. Aban- doning part of my equipment I con- tinued on my way. In the next twen- ty-four hours I let the last drops of water trickle down my burning throat. Still I staggered on. That afternoon I saw a hummock of sand about two hundred yards ahead of me. The little bit of green showing at the top of it gave me hope and with renewed strength I plodded onward. A few rods further on my way I again looked at the dune. There above the heat waves, with hands outstretched as if in welcome, was the Saint of the Desert. He was clad in the robes of Biblical times, his face was filled with pity and kindness and around it burned a golden light. I fell down on my knees, stunned by the sight. Again I re- membered the words of the dying man and with new courage pushed on. When I arrived at the foot of the hum- mock the apparition disappeared. Crawling to the top of the sand hill I surveyed the landscape on the other side. The sand dune shielded a little pock- et of green. To me it was paradise and salvation. I rushed to the spring at its head and bathed myself in the cooling and refreshing waters. That night I went to sleep on a bed of green praising God and His mysterious mes- senger. The next day I examined my find. On the edge of the hole was a curious kind of rock. In places it was so brit- CONTINUED ON PAGE 132