Polytechnic High School - Caerulea Yearbook (Long Beach, CA)

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of the tribe, however. He was an old white man, the only one in the West, and he had taken his place among the Indians. This old missionary was looking on in despair. Vainly he had tried to dissuade the Indians from offering life in sacrifice, but their superstition overcame their personal, hu' mane feelings. The sun sank lower and lower. All eyes were turned toward the sun. Chief Brave Heart Hrmly lifted his unresisting daughter, and laid her on the ground placing her head upon a stone altar. Then with closed eyes, the maiden awaited the sun's disappearance behind the hills. Never before nor since had the tribe seen such a setting. Instead of going down naturally behind the hills, the sun was suddenly covered by a dark cloud. It grew dark, yet darker, until all the world seemed dense with blackness. And then large drops of water began to fall. Suddenly the hoarse cries from the parched throats of the people were heard saying, It is pleasing the Rain God. It is pleasing the Rain God. The sacrifice- quick! The medicine man stepped into the circle and raised his hatchet above the head of Silver Star, but the hatchet was held suspended. At that moment all eyes were caught by a streak of light illuminating the sky for a second, followed by a rumbling noise in the distance. At intervals it continued to thunder. The people were terrified. Never before had this western tribe heard thunder nor seen lightning. They cowered, and would have run away had not their knees trembled under them. But the old white missionary quieted them by shouting, Peace, do not fear! Have I not told you that your God of Rain is also the God of Love? He is telling you by his anger that he will have none of your life sacrifice. Go home, and take your Chief's brave daughter with you, and never, never offer your God life blood again. F -'- w - - viz ' f ' ' W X , 4 rllll IM' ,., QF, ----- Ll gi-nl .... M ' -mf f.. Q.. g lass 5: I -Jn...--o --...nu um I Vm :M L ui ANA ,,.o' .'qM'R.n,M- F, 5 ffrfl lBi.-s!152fe'1-1f's l''H.. .. - ., ., YLSMAAQ:-:zy.l -ff' , a 1- S . ,' . ' , - v .. gl- 1 '4. J fa ' - ' 'lf UB! iail, ,vi .1-5.f.Ef.gE5i'?' . --12 mi. .iilvli A nee' glue,-Yun..

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T was the day of the great sacrifice-the greatest made in many a moon, for the life of the chief's beautiful daughter was to be given to the Rain God. All day long the tribes had assembled from far and near. And all day long Chief Brave Heart sat sorrowfully alone with bowed head. He neither ate nor drank, and raised his head only to look at the sun in the heavens. At sundown, Silver Star, his daughter, his dead mate's child, was to be sacrihced. Since her mother's death she was his all, but to sacrifice her was his duty. The sun had risen and set many times since the Great Father had given his people rain, and they were dying of hunger and thirst. He well knew that the God of Rain was angry with his people. At last he stirred, rose, and turned his face toward the settingfsun. No emotion shone in his eyes as he strode toward the center of the small village where the scene of the sacrifice was laid. Here he found his daughter already dressed in the sacrifice garment. The dress she wore was made of dried skins. It was beaded around the bottom in many colors representing a rainbow, and across the girl's breast was designed in beads a large sun setting behind the hills. The large sun was blood red in color. Silver Star stood waiting, beautiful in her pallor, her little head held erect. It was quickly seen that she had her father's Indian bravery as well as her mother's Spanish pride and beauty. Never had such a spell been cast over the tribe. Everyone was crowded around the scene of the sacrifice, but not a word passed one's lips. The squaws huddled together, mute pain in their eyes, and the braves stared stonily in front of them. These people had greatly suffered from the lack of rain. A circle of men surrounded Silver Star and the chief. One was not

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ll-1 IRLS! That is certainly a difficult subject for a boy to handle-I mean write about. I really should have chosen some other subject because I can't understand girls at all. QI sometimes think that they can't understand themselves., If I had chosen to write about boys, for instance, I should have an easier time of it. I am a boy myself, and I can study myself and other boys without embarrassment, but when I try to study girls-whew! Why, just writing about them makes my pen stutter with embarrassment. Supf pose I see a girl doing something that interests me, and I watch her. just as my stare becomes most intent, she seems to realize that someone is watch' ing her and looks straight at me and catches me staring at her. Most disconcerting! I feel the blood surge toward my head, my collar shrinks amazingly, and I experience that familiar, choky contraction of the throat that makes speech impossible. And what does the girl do? She smiles, or laughs, or sniffs, wriggles her nose, and turns disdainfully away. If she turns away, I am greatly relieved, but if she smiles, I am more embarrassed than ever. When I read about girls' Miner natures , 'Lshyness , frailty , QDid a girl ever slap you?j delicate sense of humor , romantic spirit , thoughtless coquetryv, QI always confuse that word with the words mean' ing onefneedle knitting or ish cakesl and their other fine attributes, I am overwhelmed. I am puzzled by countless questions. I recall an incident which occurred when I was a freshman at high school. A number of us had been rehearsing an operetta after school hours. Just as we were about to leave, I swiped a girl's pencil fas boys sometimes doj, and she immediately began to struggle to get it back Cas 4