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Page 128 text:
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ww HIS LAST HOPE Opening his eyes, he saw a vast stretch of emerald-green-carpet, studded with gold and sapphire-colored flowers, which a long time ago in his youth he had known as buttercups and baby-blue-eyes. But how could all that be when he was sup- posed to be in that Place, the one even harden- ed criminals cowered at the threat of. Now the scene was changing and the explan- ation came to him. Twice before he had wak- ened to this same scene and it had faded into the same horrid pictures as it was now. Rather the picture was fading into the present scene, for he knew now that he was going mad in this Place. Strange-he was accepting this fact calmly. On the other hand, why should he display any emotiong why desert the daily course of doing nothing-absolutely nothing-as he had been do- ing these last few weeks? Or was it days or years that he had been here? He didn't know, for the sun never shone where he was. There was just a faint, second-hand glow from some candles in the guard room above. In fact, he welcomed the insanity, because he saw something besides slimy walls and the floor which was putrid with the bodies of rats which occasionally found their way in there and which he had killed. And why was he there? Because-No! He had promised himself not to think of that for he would distort the true facts in his mind, and he would need them someday. He would need them when his second trial came up. He was surelit would, for she had as much as promised to see to that. He had given her the facts, and after all that they had meant to each other, he knew she would. They said she had double-crossed him, but he knew she hadn't. That indifferent and almost insulting attitude she had suddenly acquired was just to throw them off the trail. He tried hard to keep believing that. But in spite of his resolution to believe that, he kept thinking how strange it was the way it had happened. He remembered how he had met her, and for a moment he was lost in memory. They had met in the cafe where she was in great distress. He had rescued her, and they had spent the rest of the evening together. He also had spent the evenings the following week with her and had leamed to love her deeply. She was strange sometimes but one can't be entirely perfect. For instance, the evening the whole trouble started. She had been unusually determined that they go to that new restaurant. PAGE FIFTY-EIGHT Then when the light started she had disap- peared and he hadn't seen her until she came to him at jail. They had talked over how the death of one of the people had been pinned on him. She had tried to persuade him to confess to it. That was just like her, for she knew it would be easier on him if he confessed. But he couldn't confess to a crime he hadn't done-not even for her. During the trial she had been the main reason for his conviction. But she couldn't have done any better under the merciless questioning she had endured-or could she? Oh! he must stop dwelling on that subject because it meant so much to keep the facts straight. After the sentence was pronounced she had changed tactics. That must have been what she had done for she couldn't have been in with them from the beginning-not her! When they came to Visit him later in jail he was sure she had known what he meant when he hinted about his papers which would clear him instantly. Even though she pretended not to, she must know! For that was all he had to cling to now and he had to get out of this . . . His reveries were broken with the dull thud of his morning meal-if it could be called that- dropping on the floor of the Place. -Iva Hoppe ESCAPE It happened many years ago before this coun- try was well settled. It was bad business. I was dusty, sore, dead- tiredg as anyone would be after riding all day in the scorching sun. Now-adding a lot of worry and, admittedly, fear-I realized that I was in no enviable position. Against the low sun over that last rise I had discerned the figures of two mounted and armed Mexicans, I urged my tired horse to a trot. The Mexicans speeded up. I ran my horse. The Mexicans raced theirs. The object of their trail- ing and spying was-or rather, the gold I carried. It was of no use to try escape by out- running them, trying to circle back or by any other such means. Their horses were fresh, my horse was dead tired. I pondered over their ac- tions. Cradually they were drawing nearer. Dusk would bring ambush and the kill. Fran- tically I searched my mind for some means of escape. Desolate country it was, from here passed the Pear Tree Canyon to-Wait! Up that canyon
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Page 129 text:
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MW there still existed an old one door cabin. If I were lucky I might make it before they got me. I hurried my tired horse, pushing it to its limit. Turning sharply up the canyon I looked back and saw them drawing closer. I could hear the pounding hoofs louder and louder. My own gasps coincided with the rasping, choking breathing of my nearly dead horse. I had to get to the cabin. Hurry, they were gaining. Every bush and tree loomed up in front of me as an armed rider. They yelled, commanding me to stop. I raced faster. I reached the cabin at last. I half jumped and half fell from my horse. A bullet whistled over my head as I threw myself into the cabin. I slammed and bolted the door. It was pitch dark in there. Heavy fists beat upon the door. A voice commanded me to come out or else! I drew my pistol and fired at the door. Three shots answered me. I groped around in the dark searching for something to use as a barricade. Suddenly I stumbled over something. Good, it was a log. I-Iastily I rolled it over and propped it against the door, falling down behind it and answering their shots. The night wore on. The spaces of dead si- lence, and of anxious waiting were more terri- fying than the loud report, whistle and thud of their bullets. Fear had me. My skin prickled with every bullet. I could practically feel the impact of them. My imagination played havoc with my sanity. Horrible results pictured them- selves in my mind. I peered into black space. My ears were strained to detect any slight noise. Thus I waited, crouched behind the log. Toward dawn I heard them saddle up and ride away. The let-down and sudden relief left me exhausted. I didn't dare step out until it was light, for fear of ambush. I made myself lie there against the log, waiting for the dawn. I awoke with a start, and staring around me I realized that sunlight was streaming into the cabin through the bullet holes in the door. I staggered to mv feet, clumsily shoving the log aside. Thank Heaven, I thought, for that log. I might have been as full of holes as the door which I now flung open. The cabin was Hooded with light. For a minute the light blinded me. As my sight retumed I stared. My saviour in the fonn of a log was an example of my night- mares of what could have happened to me. It was a riddled corpse--stiff with death, a former victim if not a brother victim. -Elsa Douglas L' ALLEGRO or I94I You are given a perfect day to spend doing the things you like best. I-low would you spend it? It opens up delightful avenues of imagina- tion. With the breaking of a glorious dawn my day is begun. I arise as the sun is peeking over the hills. After eating a hasty breakfast, I join a group of gay comrades to go on an early morn- ing horseback ride. The air is delightfully cool as we ride through beautiful green valleys. Our horses are feeling fine, and as we gallop along, the group breaks happily into song. Coming back to the ranch house, we have a grand steak fry. My boy friend, being a good chef, cooks the steaks. They are more than perfect! ' After our steaks are digested and we have rested, four of us decide to play a game of tennis. The courts are on a hill overlooking the lake. It is more than delightful to play tennis in such a spot. Our set is a good fast one. The lake is so inviting that we can't resist a plunge in its cool depths. Looking up at the beautiful blue sky as I float idly on my back, I am in complete contentment. Sunning our- selves on the rock island in the middle of the lake, we are lazily listening to some distant music. Our dip left us with ravishing appetites. The next stop is the rustic inn by the beautiful waterfall. Here in this lovely setting, we feast on chick- en and all the trimmings. Not wanting to miss anything, we climb a charming woodland path above the waterfall to enjoy a glorious sunset. Returning to our various homes, we make plans for the evening. We decide to go to the dance held at the Lake Tonosee Clubhouse. I am thrilled at the prospect of such a delightful evening. Putting on my lovely new formal, I am hoping my recently acquired coat of tan will look well with it. Answering the door, I am delighted to see my handsome boyfriend with orchids for me. The dance at the clubhouse is all a dance should be. Soft lights, sweet music, and a marvelous dancing partner make it a dance never to be forgotten. My perfect day is ended as I happily tumble into bed. PAGE FIFTY-NINE
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