Oakland Technical High School - Talisman Yearbook (Oakland, CA)

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STEVE MADDEN, SHERRIFF By J. Wilbur Eber Ss} ONGFELLOW has said that the setting of a hope is like the setting of the sun. If this is so, it should cause no great grief or anxiety, for what is more promising and hopeful than the colored sky at the close of day? There is scarcely a person who has not heard that a red sunset is a positive indication of a bright, clear morrow. We watch for it at twilight and rejoice when we see the flame color spreading over the horizon. And it was so with the girl, who sat on a horse on an old mountain trail, her lips parted and her eyes half closed, as she breathed deeply the pure air and watched the beautiful sky. Soft, billowy clouds, their edges a faint rose shading into delicate pink and white, floated around in a semi-circle, where the great, fiery sun had disappeared from sight. Nearer the horizon the color was a vivid red—that red which when painted in pictures appears exaggerated, but fascinating and beautiful at times. Here and there it was streaked with yellow and brilliant orange, giving a hint of the oriental. To the east the mountains were purple, the rocks showing against them a dull red. Far away to the north the last rays of the departed ball shone on snow-capped peaks, bringing out a contrast with the hazy blue of the hills. At sunset, as at moonrise, we see things in a different light: every- thing is changed and we regard both in awe. It was so with the girl. “King,” she breathed to the horse, “isn’t it beautiful? Why, it looks almost sacred. I feel that we human beings have no right to watch it, for it seems but for the gods. It wouldn’t be very surprising to see Diana floating down from yonder peak, or to see Neptune waving his arms above that mountain lake, would it? You’d rather expect it, wouldn’t you, King?” And her voice trailed off into a whisper. The colors were gradually fading, and mellow twilight began to creep in. The trees in the distance grew black and their outlines melted into the shadow. The winding trail down the mountain could still be dis- cerned faintly, but here and there it was lost completely in the shadows of the thick brush. The splendor of the day was dying. The silent darkness creeping in and the muffled whir of the night hawks seemed a death knell of the parting day. The girl shivered slightly and pulled the reins. “Come, King,” she said, “it’s getting late.” The horse understood, and with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat, the animal picked his

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way slowly down the dim, rocky path. The trail was narrow, barely three feet wide in some places, but the horse was sure and the girl un- afraid. After many turns and much careful walking, the valley trail was reached, and, with a soft measured tread, the horse’s feet sank into the moist earth. Darkness was setting in fast, and she urged the animal forward with a gentle pressure of the reins. In silence, now and then broken by the hoot of an owl, she found herself uttering those touching lines from “Crossing the Bar.” “Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me 29 She paused, and in that pause, a beautiful melody from the opera “Tl Trovatore,” carried by a rich tenor, floated to her through the trees. “Ah, I have sighed to rest me, Deep in the quiet grave, Sighed to rest me. But all in vain I crave, Oh, fare thee well, My Leonora, fare thee well.” She stopped her horse, straining her ear to catch the notes of the plaintive song, and, as the last clear note died away, she sat staring into the black trees trying to pierce the dense foliage, to discern the singer behind it. But it was futile, so she urged her horse on, alert to every sound. As she pushed King toward the lake, which she had seen from the mountain, a man arose from the ground. The girl was startled for an instant, but she soon recovered Hierself. “T beg your pardon,” she addressed him, “but was it you who sang just a moment ago?” The moon was shining on his face and she saw him nod. “It was beautiful,” she murmured, “I have not heard such music in years, and it sounded so good to me.” She smiled, then continued hesitatingly: “T wonder if you would sing it again for me. There are times, you know, when you feel that heavy feeling coming over you—that forerun- ner of the blues.” A curious scene; a lake, a full moon, a man and a girl, the latter asking a favor of a person she had never seen before. Stranger things have happened though, and it seemed in keeping with the rest, when the man straightened his shoulders, threw back his head and repeated the song. The girl listened for every part, her lips parted and her soul shining in her eyes. They rested for a moment, the man standing there beside her horse.