Siskiyou Union High School - White and Gold Yearbook (Weed, CA)

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BRONCO BUSTING SECOND PLACE STORY I slipped on my boots and spurs, snapped on my chaps, and pulled my weather-beaten hat tightly down over the corner of my right eye. Swinging open the screen door of the back porch, I walked hurriedly out across the graveled walk that led to the horse corral directly behind the ranch house. I crawled over the fence, dropped down and walked boldly up to the saddle shed. Jerking open the door, I reached in and pulled out a bridle, swung it over my shoulder, and commenced to walk gently up to the bay, a three- year-old stallion that stood in the corner of the old corral, eyeing me cautiously. He took the bridle like a gentle horse and I led him over to the shed. I pulled out the blanket, let him smell of it and then laid it gently on his back. I pulled out the saddle and petted him with one hand while I lifted the saddle with the other and laid it as gently as possible upon the blanket. It wasn't till I tightened the cinch that he began to move, and then all he did was to flinch a little, much to my surprise. By now Dad was sitting on the fence eyeing my every move to tell me of any mistakes I might make. Pulling the reins up tight around his neck, I pulled myself up into the saddle very slowly and seated myself on his back. Much to my surprise he stood there taking it like a gentleman. I spoke to him in a soft voice and reached down to pet his neck. I thought he liked it and that it might tend to make him feel better about the whole thing. Feeling more sure of myself, I leaned back in the saddle a little and relaxed, then it happened. I could have sworn someone had dropped an atomic bomb right under his middle because I was going up and thinking I would never come down. A11 of a sudden I lit and bounced, thank heaven for that. I had been thrown clear over the fence and had lic in the hay lot. When I came to my senses I can still remember my Dad sitting up there laughing at me. It was an hour or more before I quit shaking, and still to this day it seems that my father can't talk to anyone without telling of the time when I lost mY equlllbflum- GEORGE STEVENSON '47, BUTTE VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL. A FRIGI-ITFUL EXPERIENCE HONORABLE MENTION Several years ago I was visiting some friends who lived in the wild Curry County in Southern Oregon, on the beautiful Rogue River. We had hunted and fished for two weeks when I decided to go hunting alone. My friends owned a very smart mule named Bolivar which was used for a riding and pack animal. On the day I chose for the trip, I saddled Bolivar and started out. When we came to the river, knowing he could swim like a duck, I spurred him and he swam across the river with me on his back. We entered the dense forest on the other side, where I would start hunting. I had gone a short distance when Bolivar stopped so quickly that I dismounted over his head. This made me very, very angry, as the mule stood there laughing at me. At the same time he seemed to be looking ahead. I got up, picked up my rifle, which was slightly bumped, looked behind me, and there, not a hundred feet away, was a big bear. I was so surprised I could hardly shoot, but managed to kill it on the third shot. After cleaning it, I tried to get it on Bolivar. I guess he was just a little bit smarter than I, because every time I would get it up he would side step, leaving me holding the bear in mid-air. I finally gave it up. I took a rope which was always tied to his saddle, hitched it behind the mule, and dragged it to the river bank. After tying my rifle to Bolivar's saddle, I lowered myself into the water, pulled the bear onto my back, and started across the river. I was near the middle of the river when the bear got so heavy that it forced my head under the water. I was scared stiff, but struck out frantically, making some progress, but soon I had lost most of my strength. Just as I was about to give up, -my feet struck bottom, and I was able to walk a few steps until my head emerged from the water. It was a great feeling to fill my lungs with air. Ishook the water out of my eyes, walked a few steps and looked at the bear. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw that mule riding 011 WP of the bear- ToM FISH, TULE LAKE HIGI-I ScHooL. 24

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Chief, almost a legend in the little mountain town where Dan was born. For years he had hunted that buck with every trick he knew and always he had failed. But today it was a sure thing. He had planned it carefully and there were no flaws. Every year at the first sound of a hunter,s gun, Old Chief, wise in the ways of men and hunters, would leave the pastures and meadows of the foothills and head for the high mountains in which a man might hunt for weeks on end and never catch sight of him. Last year and the year before, Dan had tracked the almost unbelievably large foot prints of Old Chief until he lost them on the rocky floor of Granite Plateau, and both times they came the same way. F Finally he reached his objective, a blind so cleverly constructed with dead branches and duff from the forest floor that even to the most experienced eye it would not be visible at a distance of more than a few yards. Even the sharp eyes of Old Chief would not discover it until too late. Cautiously he settled himself in the blind for the long wait. As he lay shivering a little with the cold and dampness within the narrow blind, he thought of the days and nights he'd spent in pursuit of the big buck. He thought of the long tiring climbs to the high meadows, the cautious stalking, the long shots, and the heart rending misses. There were no bounds to the satisfaction he would know, the sense of victory well won, when he could stretch out in the rocking chair in his cabin and gaze idly at the magnificent head of horns over the mantle and think back on the finish of the chase. The shadows in the forest became shorter and shorter as the sun rose higher in the sky. Dan became nervous and apprehensive. What if g'Old Chief did not come this way! What if one of the other hunters down in the valley had already come upon the big buck before he had begun to make his way toward the safety of the tall crags above the timber line. But, no! A light clatter of pebbles far below gave notice that even now Old Chief was working his way up the narrow trail in the gully below. Slowly, cautiously, inch by inch, Dan lowered himself to elbows and stomach, his rifle barrel resting in his steady hands pointed toward the small clearing through which che buck must pass. More sounds of movement, now louder and closer as Old Chief worked his way up the gully, ever nearer to the fateful clearing. The big buck scrambled noisily up the last few feet to the plateau and reaching the top paused for a moment. Dan could hardly suppress a gasp of admiration as he saw for the first time in nearly two years the proud form of Old Chief standing fully in the sun, his noble head holding high the magnificent set of antlers. Softly he released the safety. The black tip of his front sight moved slowly until the shoulder of the splendid buck rested directly on top of the bead. He had not the slightest fear now that the Wiley old timer in front of him would escape. He had the animal centered perfectly in his sight. When ready he would gently squeeze one finger on his right hand, the eight pounds of well oiled 30-30 would speak, and the chase would be ended. That wonderful body of well moulded muscle and sinew would crumble and all that would remain would be a hide nailed to a wall and a noble head set with unseeing glass eyes hanging over a mantle. For the first time in Dan's many years of hunting he found himself with a friendly feeling toward his Victim. It shocked him. He couldnit believe that he had turned senti- mental over the old warrior who had bested him so many times in the past. After all he had coveted those antlers for years. Now was he going to let that trophy escape? But, yet, as far as Dan as a woodsman was concerned he had defeated his foe. There was no need to destroy him. Blast it all anyway,', he found himself thinking, leave the old fellow be-he belongs here. Slowly the finger around the trigger loosened and the rifle was lowered. Majestically, still unsuspecting, Old Chief moved up the trail and out of sight. For several minutes after the buck had gone, Dan continued to lie in the blind with a sort of half smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Then he rose, brushed the pine needles from his clothes and turned back down the mountain. JERE HURLEY, YREKA, CALIFORNIA. 23

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STREET LAMPS FIRST PLACE POEM Deep, Dark, Portentious night, in whose midst, Stand those steel helmeted guards. A vigil to those who tryst, At late hours. What secrets you could disclose, Dumb guards! Of life's exaltations and woes, Mute guards who ever erectly stand. I see an arrow of light pierce the dark, The night is fastly fading into day, A signal that they must embark, Those visitors of shadow to whence they came Glittering, Golden, Sunfilled day, the incognito of the night Has unveiled those guards to be, But street lamps! But might They not be likened to guards? With awe have I watched the pattern Of light cast by street lamps, On shimmering, wet, pavement The artistry of those sentinels! Day reveals you a nonentityg To those who venture in the night, You are a protector of safety and certainty, Steel helmeted, guardians of the dark. JUNE I-IILDEBRAND, MOUNT SHASTA HIGH. THUNDERSTORM HONORABLE MENTION Grey clouds began to roll, And the sky became so dark, Bright flowers bowed their heads, As the rain drops found their mark. Small leaves began to shake, When the thunder sounded loud, The whole world seemed to quake, At the move of one drark cloud. When the fields had quenched their thirst, When the plants had had their fill, A brightly colored rainbow Appeared above the hill. The clouds turned snowy white, They started on their way. Then the golden sun shown bright, And left no trace of a shower that day. CARMEL RODRIQUEZ, WEED HIGH SCHOOL. 25