Oregon City High School - Hesperian Yearbook (Oregon City, OR)

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12 g THE HESPERIAN Lonptell the men they would have some fun out of you and then kill you . Who is your father FI' he repeated. He's leader of the village. They call him 'Bad Reggie,' but hes not really bad. He's the best father in the World, she added with a touch of pride. I think I can prove to your father that I'm not an officer, if he will telegraph my friends-- You forget, Sir, she interrupted, that we don't possess such things as telegraphs in these mountains, and father wouldn't ride sev- enty-five miles to use one. He wouldnft dare! But please, sir, if they make you iight, don't flinch, but be brave. It may help you. Fight hard, and if Lon fights, look out. He doesn't play fairf, She paused, listening birdlike. Hush, she whispered, some one is coming. Gathering up her skirts she fled, bolting the door behind her. CHAPTER III. Reggie found himself out in the dark. His heart pounding fiercely against his breast. From the dance hall he turned, nearly running, in the direction of a small cabin located on a knoll, above the rest of the village. As he entered, a slight girl of eighteen raised her questioning brown eyes to his. Why, Daddy! she gasped. What's happened? You look so pale! He gazed at her mutely for a moment, then sank dejectedly into the nearest chair. After several moments he aroused himself. Sit down, Beatrice, I have something to tell you. He paused as though trying to collect his thoughts. Do you remember when you-- CTO be Continuedj BIRDSELL LADD, '19, JOYCE MASON, 'l9.

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I1i1LHE51iFSeN t.tt B to B- iiii I 11 answers the description of that detective Lon brought in yesterdayf' That makes no difference to us. He's a stranger! Lock him up, commanded the leader. Better search him first, Reggie, he might have papers, sug- gested the sandy-faced man, addressing the leader. That can wait, replied Reggie, his brow clouding, and Casting a warning glance in the speaker's direction. Browning was puzzled. Who were these savage looking moun- taineers, who seemed to regard a traveler with so much suspicion? He glanced toward the leaders, then gazed intently at the face of Reggie. Where had he seen that proud, yet crafty look before? Suddenly the leader looked up. Their eyes locked and held. Reggie paled, turned abruptly about, strode to the door and disap- peared into the darkness. VVell, lock him up till morning, said the sandy-faced man, there's no rush in deciding his fate. Browning was hurriedly escorted to a small cabin and thrust within. CHAPTER II. The storm broke in all its wild furry, great sheets of water pelting down on the roof. Lightning flashed, followed by crashes of thunder. Browning could not sleep. The leader's face would rise before his sleepless eyes as vivid as the lightning without. Near dawn the fury of the storm abated and the fresh mountain sunlight came pouring in at small square holes, cut in the logs, which served as windows. He looked about. The door was of hewn timber, securely bolted from without. The floor was of split logs with the oval sides down and the centers up. It would be useless to attempt to dig out. He next turned to the rude fire place but found that it was not large enough to accommodate his body. A slight noise caused him to turn quickly. Instead of facing his captors of the night before, he beheld a girl just entering. She stopped and her tanned cheeks flushed. 'fYour breakfast, sirf' she said with a dainty courtsy. She hesitated, doubtfully twisting her little brown hands. What did you come here for ? she asked. Browning started. It was the last thing he expected. I don't know. I didn't know I was coming until I arrived. Father thinks you are an officer! No stranger ever comes here and gets out alive, she shuddered. It's awful, but he-he, kills them!', Browning looked bewildered, VVhat place is this? NVho is your father? Ilm only a harmless hunter, and have lived for two weeks by my rod and gun. What will they do with me? Shoot me ?:' 'Tm afraid so, she stammered. 'KNO one ever escapes. I heard

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THE HESPERIAN 13 Qlibe Girl with the Green 31.513111 Patricia O'Flaherty was the biggest little Irish-woman direct from Ireland that England ever knew. It did not matter to her, so the neighbors called her Patsy, or Patsy with the Green Bow. The little red house in which she lived was fairly hidden in scar- let scramblers and English Ivy. Did I say hidden? Yes? all except one little side where a row of spotless windows were built in for the sunshine to enter, filtering its golden sunbealns through the shade of the roses. The yard surrounding the house was just as beautiful as the little house itself-terraced lawns and rose bushes and hedges and trees a-plenty. Such a pretty place, so inviting, so comfortableg and yet Patsy thought it was lonely, for she had said to the next door neighbor, over the fence, drearily: Sure, and ye are saying I should be satisfied in my pretty little home. And I am telling ye, in return, that it takes more than a house to make a home. VVhen the ones ye love are all gone, with a small chance of being back-- and here the tears filled her eyes and her voice choked. Never mindf' her neighbor said. I think they will be back- I believe your husband will come back. He was such a big, brave, honest man, and you have been a very brave, patient, little woman, too, since he was called to the front. Can you not wait just a little longer? There is much talk of peace now and if it does come, will you not be all the happier in the thought that you have done your duty in keeping the little place in readiness for his return when he shall have finished working for the cause of justice and humanity? just wait a little longer,-go get your Irish harp and sing for me that old, sweet song that we both love so well, 'llflother lylachreef But Patsy remained deeply thoughtful. An irrepressible tremor shook her-unaccountable, yet almost unendurable. She remarked casually, as though she had not heard: I think I'll be joining the Red Cross Society soon. Nlaybe they'll then be sending me to France, where my O'Flaherty is. Ye are saying I ought to be happy in thinking he is fighting for my sake. Ye are happy, troth, for ye are rich, but I'm poor and cannot ransom him from the army's grasp like ye can yoursfl But I, too, am not as happy as you perhaps think. It is true that we are rich, but remember, dear, that all the wealth in the world cannot buy health and friends and love. Sure, and I'm not saying thatls untrue, and yet there are many advantages that ye have which I am not possessing, for that,-I'll not be saying 'good-by' 'til tomorrow, and thenif' Her eyes shone with gladness at the thought of meeting once