Oroville Union High School - Nugget Yearbook (Oroville, CA)

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WHO? WHERE? WHAT? Feather River glistened in the sunlight. It foamed over the rocks, and ran swiftly and happily on, down to the valley below. But the boy paid no attention to its beauty or to its murmurings. lie did not notice that it seemed to be trying to tell him something. The door of the cabin was swung wide open. The boy peered in. Nothing, absolutely nothing! He explored the corners, the loft above: still nothing. Only an old sack, bcsmattcred with blood. Baffled, he turned and half ran toward the head of the stream, which from the cabin, looked as if it went right into a solid wall of rock. Reaching there, however, he found that the Feather took a sudden turn to the right. He went straight towards what, at a first glance, appeared to be merely a thickly leaved tree up against a sheer rocky wall. But he pushed through and on into a cave which was disclosed when he brushed aside the leaves. It was very dark and damp within. The boy lit a match. Something in the corner! He caught up a bunch of paper from the ground and touched his match to it. It flared up, revealing to his gaze an old white haired shaggy looking man. lying prone in one corner. I he boy drew nearer. The old man. slowly, painfully. lifted himself on one elbow, and struggled to rise. It was all in vain; he sank back gasping on the ground, trying to speak. “Take it easy, old man,” said the boy, “take it easy. Then tell me what’s the matter?” “A man came about six hours ago! He finished me!.....rook Ilcen! Promise me you’ll find her!” “But how? Why? Who are you? What are you doing here?” “Promise me!” groaned the dying man, “Promise me!” “I promise!” cried the young fellow in despair, “but which way did they go? And what does she look like?” The old man struggled to reply, but fell back with a sigh. The other jeaned over him but he was beyond all earthly speech. He was dead! The boy took off his hat and said solemnly to himself : “Who is he? Who is Ileen? “Which way did they go? What in the world am I to do?” But try as he might, he never found out. It was only another unsolved mystery of the Feather River Canyon. Perhaps that was what the river was trying to tell him, but it had no tongue. Who knows? 29 —RUTH C. RIPPEY, ’15.

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that 1 would entertain, or rather, he entertained by Mrs. Churchel. When 1 came hack into the sitting room I started a conversation by asking Mrs. Churchel how the chickens and ducks were, not knowing I had struck on her favorite topic. “W ell. now. tna chickens is too lazy to live. Somehow it’s too hot for ’em an’ dey die on da nest rather’n lay en aig. Hut ma ducks! Lawsy me. chile, dey is da envy ob da town! Only one thing am a lackin.’ I'm hav’n sech a time! Yo see my ducks all come out of dcre shells fine, but I ain’t got a drake among ’em. and I was all over Daily a try’n to get one. but it done look like I ain’t ment to have none,” exclaimed Mrs. Churchel. “May I ask what kind of ducks you raise,” I remarked. “Oh! Pckings. Pekings.” she replied. “You know dem big white fellers wid yellow feet like do corn dey eats.” “Why. said I. “my grandmother raises Pekin ducks, and it was only this morning I heard her say she had an extra drake, so I am sure you can get it. At that Mrs. Churchel lost all control of herself and she cried and laughed at the same time. Lordy! Lordy! chile.” cried Mrs. Churchel, “I been a prayin’ an’ prayin' fer mor’n a week fer one ob dem ducks, and the good Lord’s answered ma prayers. I tell you. honey, if ya have faith in dc Lord, your prayer’ll be answered. I been a thinkin’ de Lord neber wanted me to have dat duck, but He sure did, an’ Me 2 sent yo clear from Bosting fer ta answer me prayer. So now yu rush round an’ write to yu granney. and tell ’er to sen me dat duck. I promised to do my best in getting the drake for her and in due time it arrived. It was not far to Mrs. Churchel’s home, so 1 decided to carry the drake to her yard. She was talking to her ducks, and as I came within hearing distance she was saying: ‘Bless, yo ole hearts, yo mammy done helpen yo to clean house en I got a sprize fo’ vu all. an’ yo will sure be sprized en happy when yu find out what it ez. Just then she saw me and she got up and hurried to meet me. I had the duck in a basket with a cloth tied over the top. When Mrs. Churchel saw the basket she started to shout with joy. “Oh ! he’s come, he’s come: give ’em to me! In her excitement she was not able to untie the cloth over the basket, so she snatched a pair of scissors from a hook and cut a long slit in the top of the cloth. The minute this was done the old drake popped his head out of the basket and Mrs. Churchel went wild about his charms. At length she got him out of the basket and after a great deal of loving and petting, she put him down in her duck yard. As soon as he was free he flopped his wings, and gibbed his bill in the water trough and then made friends with the other ducks. “Derc now. said Mrs. Churchel. “ladies, you got a man at las', and look how he flap his wings. He. he. honey, he sure am a ladies’ man.” RUTH HARRIS, ’18. 8

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AN INDIAN BURNING At noon on the 25th of November, our party of fourteen started in a four-horse rig on our twenty-four mile drive into the mountains to witness an Indian burning. We knew that we would not return until late the next day. so had taken a bountiful lunch. e had scarcely started when some of the boys commenced to tell how hungry they were, but of course the girls knew this was only imagination and declared that lunch baskets should not be opened until we had reached our destination. The grades were steep and long, and one of the horses got sick, so we all piled out; and after the driver had done what he could for him. he was again hitched up and we proceeded on our journey, walking up all the hills and riding down. About half past six we were within about a mile and a half or two miles from Kanaka Peak, the place where the burning was to he held. It was already growing dark, for the high mountains shut out the light. Suddenly we heard the hills ring with a weird cry. Coyotes? No! Listening more intently we recognized the sound as that of Indians already started with their weird form of worship. When within about halt a mile of the burning ground, we unhitched and prepared our supper, and 1 must say we did justice to it. As soon as our things could be packed away again, we went to the burning ground and the sight that met us was both sad and amusing. The mournful wailing of the Indian women made us feel about as much like crying as anything I ever heard, but the antics they were performing around their campfires were truly amusing. Bach family of Indians, who had anyone dead, had prepared its offering, consisting of six or eight poles stuck up in the ground and decorated the full length with clothing, baskets, bead-work, bandana handkerchiefs. and some beautiful and valuable furs, which were to be sent in the form of smoke to the Happy Hunting (around, to be used by their dear departed At night this crying and wailing was kept up by the women, who at certain intervals burned some article from their poles, each family having a fire close to its pole. These groups of family poles were arranged in a semi-circle, with the opening facing the place where the morning star would rise. In the center of this semi-circle was an immense fire, which seemed to be a company affair. Occasionally some woman would burn some article on this fire. and. whenever she did. the wailing was louder than when any article had been placed on their private fires. At about four o’clock the morning star appeared, and immediately every Indian in attendance took part in the performance. Old Doctor Jim. the oldest Indian in attendance, seemed to be master of ceremonies. He took his place in front of the largest fire, and facing the morning star, treated the listeners to a piece of oratory, which has seldom been surpassed, if we may judge from his gesticulations and the tears that the crowd shed. After he had concluded his speech, all the Indians got busy, and the things that had been brought for that purpose were hastily piled upon the fires. One old woman burned one basket that had taken her seven 30