Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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THE QUEST By JOSEPH KURZ The moonlight sifted through the overhanging branches and lianas, and glinted on the stagnant slow-moving stream. The soft night wind sighed forebodingly as it struggled through the obstructing vegetation. Far off some strange night-creature wailed an eerie salute to the primal gods of the jungle. Otherwise all was still. The quiet was shattered by the sharp crack of an automatic, followed by an indistinct curse. Then, accompanied by the rhythmical chop-chop of a machete as wielded by an experienced hand, the slow plod of foosteps upon the rotting carpet of the forest iioor became audible. The shadowy form slipped from the thicket, searched the stream for suspicious looking logs , sloshed across and became part of the blackness on the other side. Like the aimless dancing flicker of innumerable fireflies, a maze of incoherent thoughts passed through the exhausted mind of Jonathan Black. How many nights had he gone without sleep? Four, or was it five? What was he doing here, a thousand miles from nowhere, here in the uncharted upper Amazon basin? Oh, yes, the city, he must find it, find the city-find the city. As he plodded on into the night, this phrase hammered again and again at his brain like the rhythmatic beat of a native's hand against a tom-tom. He came out of the malarial attack soaked with sweat, feeling as if his very life-blood had been wrung from him. Three times in the past few days he had had the attacks, and they were becoming more and more severe. He recovered confused, wondering where he was. Then the chain of events again took form in his mind: the gala start from Manaos with hopes set high, the seemingly endless days of struggle onward with the jungle pitting its every resource against their advance, and then-the attack-that horrible nightmare of flashing spears and singing bullets, satanic war-cries of the savages and terrified death-screams of his party members-from which he alone, equipped with only a small automatic and his machete, had escaped. How he had escaped hei did not know, his mind had mercifully erased this horrid experience along with most memories of the battle from his consciousness. Knowing that he would surely die before he could return to civilization, he had kept going dog- gedly onward in search of the ruins of an ancient civilization as great as that of the Mayas, whose capital city he believed to have been in this section of the jungle. With his quinine lost in the fight, he had become subject to recurring attacks of malaria, which he knew must soon be his doom, but onward he struggled, ever confident that before his death he would attain his goal. As he traveled onward he managed to live off the land, eating such fruits and berries as he knew to be edible. On the fourth day he killed an agouti. He had seen it scurry out of his path several yards ahead, and faster than the eye could discern, his highly trained hand had snatched the automatic from his holster and shot it. He had then, reverting to his primeval instincts, rushed forward, and had seemed to feel his strength return as he buried his teeth into the still living throat and drank the warm life-giving blood. The carcass he had stretched to cover two more meals. This had been his only substantial food since the attack, yet he managed to keep going. As his leaden feet carried him forward toward his goal, the jungle seemed to slip by as in a dream. His numb mind received the image of a suspicious-looking vine ahead and automaton-like he changed his course. The anaconda missed a meal. So the days had passed, his subconscious ever alert to the perils surrounding him, while his conscious mind was occupied with only one thought, he must find the city! The thought Twenty-six

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feet from me, stood a magnificent animal. It stood there quietly looking at me with its green eyes, the light playing on its coppery fur. At first I thought it was a monstrous cat. Slowly it turned and walked away. I was at once astonished and afraid. I turned and ran, my heart in my throat, back to the cabin. The next evening' I sat in the lodge talking to- a couple of girls who lived in Van Buren. They told me an old Indian legend about the spring. There was once at young Indian brave who loved a beautiful young Indian girl. One day the young brave had to go with the other braves to hunt animals for their winter meat and clothing. While he was gone, his sweetheart went to the springs to get some water. As she was filling the water containers, she slipped on a mossy rock and fell into the spring. She was never seen again. When the brave came back and learned of the tragedy, his heart was broken and he sat eaich day at the spring pining for his dead sweetheart. The gods, seeing this, took pity on him, and changed him into a magnificent fox. His duty was to stay at the spring to see that no one else ever fell. After the end of this tale my flesh began to creep. I didn't tell them about the fox I had seen because, of course, I knew I was merely letting my imagination get the best of me. It was after all, just an ordinary fox, wasn't it? A THE INTRUDER By GLORIA GOODWIN A leaf rustles, a twig snaps. The blue-jay screams protest, A squirrel scurries to his tree And sits near by his nest. The mother doe casts anxious glance At her trembling young And tests the up-wind scent that brings A warning of all that comes, The wild duck feeding in the marsh Glides silently away. A hawk, an owl, the stately crane, A Watchful, afraid to stay. Like statues carved in stone they stand, No sound of call or song, Each wild beast and fowl uneasy Till the intruder's gone. Twenty-five

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raged through his brain like a fire through a tinder-dry pine forest. Every nerve and muscle fiber in his body strained forward as do the side-rods of a powerful locomotive. VVhat he would do when he did find it-the alternate possibility he did not even consider-he did not know, his only thought was to get there. He could sleep only when he found a place where wild beasts could not attack him. He thought that possibly he could find a cave, or something to serve the purpose in the low cliff that he sighted ahead and to his right, so he turned toward it. As he came near the cliff, he felt the dread chill coming on him, like the insidious advance of a lion toward its prey, so, hoping to reach shelter before it struck, he stepped up his pace. Sud- denly the jungle ended sharply as if limited by an invisible wall, and he burst out into a grassy plain. There, not one hundred yards ahead, was the cliff. Opening invitingly in the face was a cave. It seemed to beckon to him as if some kind providence had placed it there especially for his use. Here at last was shelter, and the entrance could easily be closed against animals. He broke into a run, but as he did so a. wave of dizziness hit him with the force of a .45 slug. He paused, shook his head and started forward again. Ten, twenty, twenty-five yards he went, then fell. He knew this chill was going to be severe. He must reach the cave! He inched himself forward toward the cave-painfully, digging his fingers into the ground and grasping the saw-edged grass. Sweat glistened on his brow, his muscles stood out like whipcords from his emaciated frame. He stopped, then gritted his teeth and went on. The cliff seemed to float in the air, pinwheels of light danced in his fever-stricken brain. He lay still. ' Jonathan Black awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. He was being borne on some kind. of litter by natives unlike any he had ever seen. They saw that he was conscious, and setting down the stretcher bade him sit up, he did so. One of them stated in perfect English, You have been pre- pared , and swung his arm out in an arc, gesturing for Jonathan to look into the valley. There before his startled eyes lay not the ruins of a civilization long dead, but a living city-a city such as he had imagined had existed here ten centuries ago. Silver spires grasped at the sun with their dainty fingers, there was a glint of yellow metal from the streets. Drifting up to him came the sweet strains of an unknown melody played upon an unknown instrument. Thoughts raced through his mind. He knew he must return to the outside world. His name would go down in history with those of Columbus, de Gama, and Magellan. He stood up and followed his guides triumphantly into the city. PK Pl' The helicopter of the rescue party, sent out when the news of the attack reached civilization via the jungle grapevine, settled down on the small prairie. The two men stepped out and ran over to the still figure lying a few paces from the mouth of a great cave. , One bent over himg then looked up and spoke, Well, Spike, he's dead. Too bad, the world lost a great explorer in Dr. Black. Dead, huh? How long's he been dat-aways ? Looks like only about an hour, maybe less. An hour or so sooner, and we might have saved him, but you know, from the look on his face I'd swear he died happy. Twenty-seven