University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD. don ' t get much chance to pack a gun at college, eh? I ' m with you, dad, answered Bob enthusiastically. Although I haven ' t drawn a bead for ages, it seems. We ' ll ramble around to this Lexington Street place, and you can open the eyes of the proprietor some, with your shooting. The sheriff fulfilled his son ' s expec- tations. He smashed everything breakable in the gallery; knocked the ball from the playing fountain, rang the bell targets six times in quick suc- cession, and nearly caused the man in attendance to faint from surprise. Bob acquitted himself creditably, but he saw the grey head of the sheriff shake sorrowfully as he fell down on a difficult shot — one that he would not have missed a year before. Pardon me, a slender, dark-faced man — who had been watching the Ad- ams ' shoot, with an air of absolute in- difference — suddenly addressed Bob, who wore a large C on his cap, but aren ' t you a Clarenta man? Yes, I am a student at the Univer- sity of Clarenta, answered Bob. Down here for the big meet? in- quired the stranger. Yes. Well I am sorry we didn ' t meet un- der better circumstances. You see, I am strong for your opponents, being a graduate of their college. I drop around to see some of the old teachers, once in a while, and take a deal of in- terest in the old school. I have been watching that fellow Thorsen hurdle, and, believe me, he is some shark. Why I even put a thousand on him, to win the race today. I think his big opponent is — Anderson — no that isn ' t right, is it? Adams, maybe? spoke out Bob. Well that sounds like the name. Let me see, Adams? Why yes that ' s the name; say, you ought to know something about him. Sure I know a great deal about him, in fact I am Adams. What , the stranger ejaculated, startled for the moment, you Adams ? Say, he continued insinuatingly, just the man. Say, we can fix this be- tween us and we will divide the shares. Not on your life, returned Bob in a voice that aroused the attention of Adams senior, who was busy examin- ing a gun. What ' s the matter? asked the father. O ' nothing, the stranger replied, turning to Adams senior. But you have certainly given us a fine exhibi- tion of pistol shooting, he compli- mented, but if you will allow me the use of that thirty-eight you carry, I think I may be able to show you a few points. To o much amazed to take offence at the request, the sheriff handed his pet revolver to the intruder. With an ex- pression of absolute weariness on his lean, brown face, the stranger proceed- ed to duplicate every shot made by the Texan, causing the bell targets to ring so rapidly that the six shots made a continuous roar. He shot with either hand, and the rows of clay-birds and rabbits crumbled before his fire. Or- dering the proprietor to swing the pendant targets until they could scarce- ly be distinguished, he rang the bells in their centers alternately, although the white objects seemed to present nothing more solid than a faint blur through the smoke.

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THE REDWOOD. BOB AT CLARENTA ' WHEN Robert Adams left his Texas home to enter the Sophomore class at the Uni- versity of Clarenta, his estimable par- ent. Sheriff Richard Adams, did not burden his youthful mind with cum- bersome advise. Gripping his son ' s muscular hand in his own, and survey- ing, with pardonable pride, the tanned honest face, and the strong frame be- fore him, he said in his full hearty tones : Son, always do your duty, no mat- ter what the cost ! This sentence had so haunted Bob ' s memory that, ever since he left home, he had walked the straight and narrow path. Then, too, football, thanks to its rigorous training and muscle-building conflicts had enabled him to add to the powerful physique he had obtained on the ranch, so that when he returned for the Christmas vacation, his father was intensely gratified to note no physical or moral defects in his son. But the sturdy Texan, born and reared among men who lived in old and dusty garments, could not accus- tom himself to the change in his son ' s attire. While he did not believe the clothes made the man, he was afraid that they could unmake him. The sight of Bob, arrayed in a stylish suit, with the added changes of a red tie and purple socks, somewhat shook the worthy sheriff ' s estimation of his son. In the two weeks of vacation, the sheriff found no opportunity of trying his son ' s mettle. The college student preferred to seclude himself in the house, smoking and thrumming a banjo, rather than ride the range. Col- lege songs, purple socks and a gay at- tire had assumed ttie place of the lariat and branding irons, and the honest sheriff began to fear that he had made a sad mistake in sending Bob to col- lege for three years. He became possessed of the idea that associations at school were effeminat- ing the once rough-and-ready youth. He could not help feeling that the iron nerve and steady control in the face of danger that had characterized Bob as a lad, would fail now if put to the test. From Christmas till spring, the sheriff alternately worried and swore at the memory of his son ' s transforma- tion. This ghost of a possible degen- eration so preyed upon his mind that, v hen his son wrote his intentions to high-hurdle for his university in the Siramust-Clarenta meet; the sheriff wired back that he would attend the contest. The sheriff hadn ' t the least idea what a dual meet was ; he asso- ciated it generally with pink teas, loud sweaters and other demoralizing influ- ences of college life. Rob was well pleased to hear that his father was coming to the big meet; so that when he met him on the morn- mg before the big event he gripped his hand in a manner that would scarcely betray one that had forgotten the sin- cere but uncouth ways of the rangers. After dinner as they were strolling down the streets, the Sheriff drawing a card from his pocket, read: Shooting Gallery, 155 Lexington Street . And by way of explanation he added : Some fellow gave me this as I was leaving the train this morn- ing. What do you say if we step around to this place and see if your aim is as steady as ever? I reckon you

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THE REDWOOD. You are a wonder, sir! exclaimed the sheriff, with more than his usual readiness to deal out deserved praise. I am considered some handy with a gun, but yuh got me beat, and I con- fess it. O that ' s nothing, the marksman said. Watch ! He snatched the wide-brimmed hat from the sheriff ' s head, and sent it spinning through the air towards the end of the gallery. The revolver in his left hand spurted a red flame — once, twice, three times, be- fore the hat settled to the floor. Before the exasperated sheriff could resent the insult to his person, the rcarksman laid the revolver down, gave a low laugh, and passed quickly from the gallery. The proprietor and Bob succeeded in calming the seething sheriff and the attendant picking up the hat, restored it to its owner. In a space not five inches in circumference, three holes lad been neatly drilled. Let ' s get out of this, gasped Bob when his father had picked up his re- volver and paid the bill. I thought you could shoot some, but that chap — They passed out into the street, which was jammed! with pedestrians. W hile dodging cars and teams in cross- ing. Bob felt a hand push suddenly into his coat pocket. He reached into his pocket, and his fingers closed on an envelope which had not been there when he left the shooting-gallery . A note from Bess, he thought, and turned in hopes of seeing the gentle intruder. What is it, son? inquired the father. O — er — O, nothing, answered Bob, hesitatingly. I thought some one was trying to relieve me of my watch, but he evidently failed. Once back to the hotel, Bob lost no time in getting his father comfortably seated in a soft chair in the smoking room, exchanging experiences with a fellow Texan. The young athlete hur- ried to his room to see what Bess might have to say. On the outside was written in pen- cil : Adams, High Hurdler of Clar- enta. That certainly isn ' t the way Bess writes, he thought, and tearing the envelope, he read: Adams : — I was fool enough to let a fellow badger me into betting my last red cent on Thorsen, but I ' m not fool enough to let him win if I can prevent it. You saw me shoot tonight, and you know I could wing a hurdler as he clears the standard as easy as not. You have got to throw that race to Thorsen tomorrow. Clarenta has the meet cinched, and it won ' t matter. No one will know. Remember this — if you are one inch ahead at the tenth hurdle— I ' LL PUT A BULLET THROUGH YOUR HEART. There was no signature. For ten minutes Bob sat staring at the threat- ening message, his heart filled with a strange feeling of dread. He thought of showing it to his father, but, instinctively, he realized that his father doubted his courage, and he knew that to appeal to him for assistance out of danger would confirm the sheriff ' s obvious suspicion that col- lege life had ruined his son. It would be better to convince his father that he was wrong, endure the test, then tell him of this curipiis situation.