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

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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

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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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THACKERAYS VANITY FAIR Reviewed by JOAN BURGESS Did you ever see a puppet show? Were you amazed to see how some artist's nimble fingers could transform Wooden dolls into living, breathing persons? Shakespeare once said, All the world's a stage and all the men and women, merely players. Come with me then to Vanity Fair, the place where you get a double treat, the place where William Thackeray ably dangles his human puppets about on a glittering glamorous stage. Let us call the stage set London, although Vanity Fair can and does take place anywhere where there are human beings. The time is during the early 19th century when Napoleon had his greedy heart set on taking England. Our players-well, there are a variety of them, hypocrites, bullies, quacks, fools-every type of person is represented in Vanity Fair. There are nice people too...but you will meet them later. Now, the curtain rises. It is time for the play to begin. What is the matter, dear audience? You say you are bored with Vanity Fair? You say it has no plot, nov hero? You say it is nothing but a grotesque display of society, the characters' lines are meaningless and irrelevant? Let me give you a word of advice . . .dig deep into each line 5 look past the gaudy costumes and into the hearts of the characters, and you will see what a masterpiece Vanity Fair really is. In all fairness, I must explain to you that there isn't much of a plot. When the book was first written it was entitled Pen and Pencil Sketches of English Society and that is exactly what it is. The word sketches , however, hardly describes the rich, full portraits painted by Thackeray in his book. What little plot there is, centers around two girls, Becky Sharp, an impudent upstart of a nobody, and Miss Amelia Sedley, a young lady of beauty and graciousness. As the plot unfolds, these two friends, for they are friends at the beginning of the story, having both been graduated from Miss Pinkerton's finishing school, are heading for London to take up their respective places in society, one as a lady befitting her station, and one to be a governess in a highly esteemed London family. From this point on, the scene changes. Becky Sharp, a very ambitious girl, is loved and admired by her aged employer, Miss Crawley. That is, until she marries Miss Crawley's favorite nephew, Captain Rawdon Craw- ley, of His Majesty's army. Ah, yes, there is a great difference between a beloved servant and a niece by marriage. Need I say more? Is it necessary to say that Rawdon and his darling wife are banished from the Crawley house and the Crawley fortune forever? The idea! A Crawley married to a common girl! But now let us see what has happened to Amelia. Poor Amelia. Just a few hundred pages back she had been a radiant bride in London society, married to that gallant soldier, Lieutenant George Osborne. But now Amelia Osborne, widow, sits in her dreary house, willing to live only for the sake of her small son, so much like the dear departed George. What has happened? It is a short, but sad story. She was married. She was happy. Her father went bankrupt. George's father disinherited him because he married the daughter of a poor man. Amelia was sad but she still had her beloved George. George was sad but he still had his beloved George. Finally beloved George was killed, Twenty-eight