Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

Page 30 text:

THE ENTERPRISE ’18 foot after the other. His gun and a small pack of food were his only burdens. He could not stop to eat the food, so he threw it away. Hark! The wolf cry was coming from the front now. Was he turned around? No, by his compass he was headed in the right direction. Presently green lights began to dance before his eyes and gray forms like those of ghosts to glide stealthily from tree to tree. Paul yelled. The lights and the forms disappeared, only to return. He raised his gun and fired. There was a snarl of rage and pain as one of the pack fell to earth, to be pounced upon and devoured by his hungry brothers. Paul searched in vain through his clothes for cartridges with which to reload his gun. Then he remembered that his cartridges were in the package of food that he had thrown away. But he would keep his gun; he could use it for a club. It had almost stopped snowing now, but the cold seemed to be only intensified. Would he never reach camp? The green lights and the gray forms were soon done with their brother and they again confronted him. Suddenly there loomed up through the darkness the form of a low hill, at the foot of which a cabin could be dimly seen. Paul gave a shout and stumbled on. The gray forms moved in closer, snarling and show¬ ing their white fangs. Should they let their prize escape? There was a distance of about three hundred feet between Paul and the cabin, but he w ' as tired. It would be so pleasant to lie down in the soft snow and sleep. The wolves were very close now. He could almost reach out and touch them with his gun. After all, they did not look so bad; they re¬ minded him of his collie, Jack, — at home in Michigan. Suddenly his snowshoe caught on a snow-covered branch. Paul Baxter, the slacker, stumbled and fell into a drift. There was a rush of gray bodies — followed by shrieks, snarls and the sound of crunching and tearing. About five minutes later, a line of gray, dusky forms could be seen trotting over the hill in search of something else to appease their hun¬ gry appetites. WALDO BROWN, ’18. — 26 —

Page 29 text:

THE ENTERPRISE ’18 “Paul,” said Pierre after breakfast, “I had a talk with our friend last night and I have decided to go with him to war. Do you go with us?” “I—no, I—I can’t,” faltered Paul. “All right, I give you my traps. Good-bye,” and swinging packs of provisions on their shoulders and taking their guns, Pierre and the stranger departed. Paul stood in the door and watched them go. Finally they disap¬ peared over a low hill. As he slowly turned to go in, the mournful cry of the timber wolf echoed through the woods. He was alone — alone in the North Woods. The following morning Paul started out to make a round of his traps. Now that there was only one to do the work it would be much harder, so he decided to bring some of them in closer to camp. It would take at least two days to do this, so he took supplies with him. Paul did not anticipate that the traps would be so well filled. His success led him to believe that perhaps it would be better not to move them. He therefore decided that when he reached the point where Pierre’s course met his he would build a rough shelter, where he could store the pelts which he collected on the first half of his journey. By the time Paul reset his traps and reached the halfway point, it was quite late. He now noticed for the first time that it was colder and that the sky was darkly overcast. After eating heartily of his supplies, he crawled in under some overhanging pine branches, rolled up in his blanket and went to sleep. To-morrow he would build his shack. Late in the night he awoke. Snow was falling fast. The wind was whistling through the trees. It was miserably cold. The cry of the wolf again reached his ears. The sharp-fanged animals were getting hungry, now that the snow covered all the food. No, tomorrow he must not build his shelter; he must push on and save the furs in his traps from destruction. In the morning it was still colder. The snow had piled up in large drifts and was still falling. Paul may have been afraid of death, but he was not afraid of hardships, so placing his furs high in a tree out of harm’s way he pushed on. Anyhow it would be easier to keep warm by moving than by lying under a shelter. Paul Baxter had never before been in a northern blizzard. His traps were filled, but he made poor progress that day, not covering half of the distance. It was still snowing and getting colder all the time. He could not stop now. If he did, it would mean certain death. He must keep on until lie reached his camp. The cry of the wolf was much near¬ er to-night. Throwing away his coveted furs he struggled on, lighting matches that he might be able to read his compass and thus keep on the right trail. Behind, the wolf cry was becoming very clear and close. It was here that we first met Paul. It was all he could do to drasr one — 25 —

Page 31 text:

(Sophomore Prize Story ) OW that it is out and bottled, and Jane lias forgotten that she was a bit upset herself, it’s only natural, perhaps, for her to act su- x 1 perior and say it is childish of me to blame Jane the Second. And, to tell the truth, it isn’t easy for a father just home after three weeks in the hospital to nurse a grudge against his only child. But it seems to me that a girl of fifteen months old and with Jane the Second’s ad¬ vantages ought to be a little more thoughtful of other people. Jane the Second has her crib in our bedroom on Jane’s side where Jane can reach out and cover her up two or three times an hour during the night. I protested at the arrangement in the first place. A man who has to work hard at the office all day and has a touch of insomnia ought to be encouraged when he does try to sleep. I consider Jane the Second old enough to sleep in a room by herself. Jane explained to me that the nursery idea was derived from nurse, and that she didn’t object if we could hire a competent one. When Jane takes that attitude I never act at all arbitrarily but try to weigh both sides of the argument fairly. I decided to ignore the insomnia. Jane is just human enough to add that with Jane the Second and the house, she is kept fairly busy most of the time herself. Jane’s human nature is one of her most ad¬ mirable characteristics, and there is hardly a day when I don’t find new reasons to admire her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jane the Second had done her sleep¬ ing in the night like the rest of us. But when she insists on waking up and taking her exercise every morning at five o’clock, the only way I could get the prescribed eight hours of rest that are supposed to go with the other sixteen hours of work was to start undressing by 8:30 P. M. This hurried my supper and was bad for my digestion whenever I was a minute late getting home from the office. But fortunately I read in a Sunday paper that Napoleon and Sara Bernhardt and some other big ones never took more than four hour’s sleep. Since then I’ve enjoyed myself. T o date, Jane the Second has refused to employ the cruder sounds of conventional speech, but has clung closely to the more primal tones of nature. Promptly at 5:00 A. M. she tests out her barnyard repertoire. Her rooster is a bit off color and she isn’t satisfied yet with her cow, but she can make a noise like three sheep and a lost calf to perfection. There’s no use trying to sleep after she starts in. Our room sounds too much like Wanamaker ' s toy department with only nine more shopping days before Christmas. . . — 27 -