St Anthony High School - Tattler Yearbook (St Anthony, ID)

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THE TATTLER eight hundred pound gray horse, dead as the dry limbs around him, with a bullet lodged in bis brain. Jay fainted and Frank and Wayne carried him back to camp, where he lay for three hours practically unconscious. In the meantime the other fellows arrived, but none of them had anything except Frank Wilson. He carried a small black bird, and was very proud of it, too. The bird was examined, and it was found that it had a broken wing and had been shot through the head also. This very plainly showed how Frank had got his game. He had been wandering along when suddenly he noticed a small, crippled bird hopping toward him. He became excited at seeing such game be- fore his eyes. Getting behind a tree he put the gun an inch from the bird’s bead and fired. Tbe first shot missed, but the next one took effect, and Frank picked up his game and proudly marched to camp. At last Jay became conscious and said he wanted to go home. Wayne and John were both homesick, and it was quickly decided that they, on the next morn- ing, would take the one remaining horse and go home. The next morning everyone was up early and hurrying with the work, so they could get home as soon as possible. Jav went after his horse, hunted for an hour, and returned with the de- spairing news that the horse could not be found. The only way for them now was to pull the wagon. All the boys were glad to help, but when they had gone about a half mile, Wayne and John gave out and insisted on being hauled. When another half mile had been traveled Jay started to complain about being- tired. so he was put in the wagon with the other little boys, leaving Wilson and Swartz to pull the load. They were big, husky fellows, and didn’t mind that a bit. John said that was much quicker and safer than with lay’s old horses anyway. When good old St. A. was finally reached, Wayne and John ran for home, Swartz and Wilson for the Joint to get some candy, and Jay carried the harness of the lost horses into the stable and there, to his surprise, was his horse that he had failed to find in the park, quietly eating the few leaves of hay left in the manger . — By Kenneth Rosenlof, ' 20. Page Twenty-seven

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T H E T A T T L E R The Hunt BIG hunt was planned by Wayne Davis, Frank Swartz, Frank Wilson, John Meredith and Jay Fischer, on the coming Friday. The day set for the occasion, was bright and clear, but a little too chilly to suit Frank Swartz, so he remained in the house preparing the grub while the rest of the bunch got the harness and wagon ready. John Meredith, not knowing how to harness a horse, was compelled to ask Jay Fischer ' s assistance. Jay understood all about harnesses, and was very proud to think that he could show John the particulars. At last the outfit was ready, and the party climbed in, hit the horses and were off; but they had not gone far until Wayne remembered that the grub and Frank Swartz were being left behind. Wilson had a hard time turning those horses around on that road, and he complained about the people not making a road more than five rods wide so anyone could turn around without running into the fence. When they reached the starting place, all of them jumped out and ran into the house to see what was wrong with the cook. At once Wayne yelled out, “What’s the matter with you? Come and get in the rig, and don’t sit around that store all day.” “Well,” said Frank, “1 was waiting for these flat irons to get warm.” “Good gosh, what are the flat irons for?” bellowed John Meredith. { “To keep our feet warm while we are riding, of course,” spoke Frank, with the pride of one who has discovered something new. Finally Frank was force ! to leave his nice warm irons and climb into the wagon. Long was the ride that morning from St. Anthony to that great wilderness known as Island Park. Swartz got warm enough to eat lunch at noon, and at eight o ' clock that night they reached their camping place. Jay tended to the horses while the other boys fixed the camp for the night. As none of the boys liked to be out in the dark, they all were very soon sleeping quietly in their beds. They were up before the sun the next morning. Jay let the horses loose, and the others took their guns and started out to get a rabbit or a moose. Wayne was brave, so he took the part of the wilderness where the trees were the thick- est. Poor Wayne hunted all day and was just about back to camp, disheartened over his poor luck, when suddenly there came a crackling in the thick brushes. In a second the gun was at his shoulder and fired in the direction of the sound. Then, like a flash, he was gone to tell Jay and Frank that lie had killed an elk and he wanted the horses to haul him in. Frank and Jay wouldn’t believe this, although they had heard the shot. Jay said, “Well, I have turned the horses loose, and won ' t catch them again until I have seen your elk.” Then the three excited young huntsmen started in the direction where the shot had occurred. Wayne led them to the place where he had fired the shot, and then in the direction where it had traveled. About six rods from the place lay Jay’s big, Page Twenty-six

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T H E T A T T L E R The Musings of a Marine By Ben Adams, U. S. Marine Corps Every day and night I’m thinking Of the things I left behind; Yet I’m loath to put on paper What is running through my mind. But I think I’ll feel much better. So I guess I’ll take a chance Ere the Regiment is ordered To the shores of sunny France. i We have dug a million trenches; Cleared ten thousand miles of ground: A busier place in all this world I know is never found. We’ve drilled in dust and scorching sun. In mud and driving rain. Till our eyes and ears, our legs and arms Were yelling loud with pain. But there still is consolation — Gather closely while I tell — When we die we’re bound for heaven, “ ‘Cause they done their ‘ hitch in hell!’ ” We’ve built a thousand mess halls, For cooks to stew our beans; We’ve stood a hundred guard mounts And cleaned the camp latrines; We’ve washed a million mess kits, And peeled a million spuds. We’ve rolled a million blanket rolls And cleaned a million duds. The number of parades we ? ve made, Is awfully hard to tell; But we’ll not parade in heaven, For we paraded here in hell. We’ve marched a hundred thousand miles. And made a thousand camps; We have pulled a million cactus thorns From out our well-worn pants. So when our work on earth is done. Our friends behind will tell: ‘‘When they died they went to heaven, ’Cause they done their ‘ hitch in hell!’ ” The “slum” and coffee we have cussed. Likewise the “Willie” canned; We’ve damned the gentle gusts of wind. That filled the air with sand. Page Twenty-eight