Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

Page 27 text:

iJQlG Several years later as Mr. Benton, now a large landowner, was visiting one of liis newly acquired Texas ranges, lie chanced up on one of liis cowboys, a mile or so from the ranch house. The cow¬ boy was watching the herd and generally taking things easy until Mr. Benton rode up. As his employer pulled up beside him, the cowboy raised his head and Mr. Benton recognized in him the long missing Crooked Jim. The recognition seemed mutual for Jim’s hand flashed to his hip; there was a puff of smoke, a sharp report; and Mr. Ben¬ ton fell heavily to the ground. Jim whirled liis horse and was off to the north with a greater crime than the first resting upon his shoul¬ ders. To avoid suspicion, he had gone to work under an assumed name for the man he had defrauded. Now he had murdered his employer and must seek some safe retreat or perish by the swift hand of western vengeance. So he fled northward, traveling by night and hiding by day. At length he reached his destination, the rugged hills and valleys of Eastern Oregon. Here he lay in hiding in the mountains living as best he could until the time would come when he could once more venture back to civilization. Finally, after months of lonely life, he descended to a little Oregon settlement. There he obtained, with his rather limited means, a few horses and several head of cattle with which he returned to the hills to build up his squandered for¬ tune and forget his past. Years passed and he prospered. He had built himself a small cabin in a sheltered valley beneath the shadow of Lone Boulder Peak. This peak Jim had picked as a place for a last stand if the need should ever come. He knew once more the feel of money in his pock¬ ets and had forgotten the day on the Texas prairie. Then something happened. A change came over him. His trips to the village became more numerous. Obviously there was an attraction, for most of his time was spent there. One word describes it—LIQUOR. Hitherto he had been only a moderate drinker, but his lonely life in the moun¬ tains had at last weakened his will power. Matters went from bad to worse. The more he drank the more he craved the fiery liquid. He lived only for it and would do anything to obtain it. Then one evening a stranger appeared in town. He wore a star and at once made a tour of the saloons. Justice was reaching out for Crooked Jim. It was not long before the sheriff found him. Jim was drunk as usual but he saw the star on the sheriff’s coat. His mind swept backward to the murder of Mr. Ben- tion. Then his gun flashed, and the sheriff crumpled on the floor. In the confusion, Jim escaped as he had at other times. He rode hard toward his mountain retreat with a posse but a few miles in his rear. Daybreak found him at his cabin, but he stopped there only for ammunition. Then on he went to the top of Lone Boulder Peak where, with an effort, he scaled the side of the huge rock and sank down in a hollow at the top. This depression he had discovered on —23—

Page 26 text:

■if tripLp t-t (Senior Prize Story) IM HICKS had the reputation of being the meanest man in Mon¬ tana. Probably his title of “Crooked Jim” was well earned for J almost all the dealings in which he was involved were more or less shady. Yet along with his dishonesty he bore a reputation of getting out of his scrapes with uncanny ease. He was the possessor of several hundred acres of excellent cattle land and perhaps a hundred well kept cattle, though there were rumors that he had acquired his stock in a way not exactly legitimate. Whether or not this was true, no one dared say, for Crooked Jim was the fastest man on the draw in the cattle country and that fact coupled with his unerring aim, made quite a convincing argument against anyone who might be tempted to bring the law to bear upon him. Even if he had not obtained his cattle in a shady way, it was certain that he disposed of them by unscrupulous methods. In fact, he rather prided himself on his ability to get the better of his bar¬ gains. It was this pride that ultimately led to his destruction. But to return to the story. A wealthy merchant from Chicago had arrived in the small town near Jim’s ranch and was favorably impressed with the land owned by Jim. The bargain was almost com¬ pleted, when Mr. Benton, the merchant, desiring to buy the cattle along with land, wished to count the number of animals Jim pos¬ sessed. At this Jim resorted to what he considered a smart trick. Knowing their small number, he hired several cowboys to drive his stock down a lane while Mr. Benton counted the animals as they ran by. In this way he kept the buyer in one spot while he drove his herd up a gully, out between some low knolls and again past Mr. Benton. This circle was kept up as long as Crooked Jim considered it safe to drive the same cattle past the merchant. With this simple trick he swindled unsuspecting Mr. Benton out of approximately five times what the land and cattle were really worth. He then dropped from sight, leaving no address or trace of his whereabouts. Mr. Benton attempted to have him apprehended, but as Crooked Jim could not be found, the attempt was in vain. —22—

Page 28 text:

lITCPPPlg one of his previous exploring trips and it was here that he was to make his last stand against the long arm of the law. He had not long to wait for almost at once the posse swept into view and surrounded the cabin. Jim laughed at their stealthy ap¬ proach and again at their chagrin at finding the building empty. But the determined men were not to be so easily baffled and it was not long before they had found his trail and were approaching his hiding place. Once they got well within range, Jim brought his rifle into action, dropping the leader in his tracks. Immediately the posse scattered, dodging behind boulders and what few shrubs grew about. No one could be seen but Jim knew that many eyes were fastened on his almost impregnable stronghold and that guns were waiting for a chance to avenge the lives that he had taken. But no one would lead the charge and Jim began to hope that he might tire out his watchers. Each day, through a crevice in the rock, his rifle spoke, often with telling effect. But his strength could not last forever. The beating sun, the cold night air, scanty food and lack of water began to have their effect. Each day he grew weaker for he could obtain little rest. His throat became parched and dry, his eyes blood¬ shot and still the sun beat down upon him. But the agonies of the body were not all that he suffered. His mind wandered. He saw strange shapes that pressed nearer and nearer, shapes which re¬ sembled the men whom he had so terribly wronged. They pointed to him and nodded to one another. Then as Jim crouched back, his hands before his face, they would melt away. His mind went back to his boyhood days, his old companions, his old home, his parents. He was glad they would never know of his end. But always those strange shapes. Why must they always beckon and nod? Each day they seemed closer as though reaching for him. He shuddered and moaned in his delirium. Then came a day when the shapes seemed to pounce upon him. He flung himself to his feet, striking out with his hands at the groping figures. A wild, inarticulate cry welled from his lips and echoed among the hills about him. And with that cry the spirit of Crooked Jim passed into the Great Beyond to meet its final judgment. ANDREW DONOGH, ’21. —24—