Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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The Chipmunk Page Twenty-nine AN INCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS It was a wild June morning when I decided to pay my aunt a short visit. She lived in the mountains and the only possible way of reaching there was by horseback. My brother was to accompany me there and return immediately. We had a very pleasant ride for the first few miles. The trail wound upward through pines and spruce and several varieties of oak. Some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all massive. Now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond green pasture lands, other hills covered with dense growths of buckhorn and manzanita. Poison oak grew everywhere and, this time of the year, was most plentiful, most beautiful in its dark, rich green, but most poisonous. The path became so steep that we dismounted and led our horses to the summit. There we rested a few minutes before our descent. When we were partly down the other side of the mountain my horse stopped and looked back up the trail as if expecting something to emerge from the foliage on the right. I made her go on. but after she went a few steps she hesitated, turned around and snorted. Just then we heard a sound that resembled the voice of a human being in great fear or agony. We listened intently, but did not hear it again. The sound had come from the ridge over which we had recently passed. We both were alarmed and had difficulty in holding our horses. It couldn’t possibly be a woman we had heard in a place which was almost inaccessible even to one accustomed to mountain trails. Was it some kind of an animal:’ We started on but did not go very far. That terrible scream was repeated, this time very distinctly. Our hearts nearly stopped beating we were so terrified. Then to our horror we saw a large gray animal slinking down the trail behind us. In an instant we knew that it was a mountain lion. We mounted our horses, gave one more look at the awful creature and started down the path at full speed. We at last came to a creek. After crossing it we stopped and looked back. We saw no sign of the animal until I caught sight of an object in a tree on the opposite bank. I could not imagine how it ever followed us so quickly, but there it was. We ran our horses the remaining mile to our aunt’s house. Our uncle took a rifle and started down the trail toward the crossing. In an hour he returned and told us that our enemy had made good his escape through the dense undergrowth. This is one of the most unnerving experiences that I ever encountered, although numerous wild animals are known to inhabit those wooded regions. —I. S., ’28. SCENE FROM SOUTHERN LIFE AT CLOSE OF DAY The cotton pickers were slowly wending their way to their little cabins at the close of a long hot day. The pickaninnies were not too tired to call to each other in their soft gutteral tones. The sun was slowly creeping to rest behind a gorgeous bank of clouds. A sunset on the prairie! There is none other like it unless it be a sunset at sea. It seems as if the quietness of the evening had stolen into the hearts of the lowly laborers and lifted the burdens of the day. Some among them began softly to sing in their indescribably sweet and plaintive tones: others took it up until it swelled into a chorus of song in the old plantation melody, “Swing Low. Sweet Chariot. Their faces were lighted by the last beams of the setting sun whose streamers of crimson, purple, rose and pale gold rivaled the colors of the famed northern lights.

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Page Twentg-eight The Chipmunk It was a coarse and inhuman laugh, full of threat and anger. I slammed the door shut and ran with all my speed out the front gate. I didn't stop until I was home and inside the house. Next day I saw my friend Bob down town. I told him about the house and what I had heard. It was a nice day and as we had nothing else to do we went out to the house. We had ideas of bootleggers and tramps so we approached the house very cautiously, stopping every now and then to listen. Hearing nothing we peeped in through a crack and saw nothing unusual. Encouraged by this we entered the house. The roof was half off and the floor was littered with leaves and old paper. The wallpaper was torn and hanging in strips from the walls and ceiling. Old broken glass lay around on the floor and numerous holes and missing boards made walking difficult. We searched each room thoroughly, even turning over some of the rubbish. We even looked in the attic to see if we could find any- thing. The only thing we found was a big, long-bladed, horn-handled pocket- knife such as a cowboy or robber might use. No tramp, we decided, would use a knife like this. It was of too good a quality for that. We thought some robber must have lost it there while he was staying in the old house. Bob. by this time, was beginning to think that I had been seeing things. In order to prove that I was right I told him to come and watch with me the next night. I went down to his house about five. As it was early in the season and the night was long, we went down to the house at about six o’clock. It was dark and raining slightly when we got there. A cold and wet wind was blowing steadily. We sought refuge in an old shed that was fairly wind-proof. In order to kill time we started to talk. Instead of talking about things that would screw up our courage, we talked about the laugh. I was sure that it came from a crazy man who had taken refuge in the house. I proved my statements by the sound of the laugh and the fact that it was a stormy night when I had heard the laugh. He was equally certain that some robber or murderer had lost the knife and that the fugitive from justice was still around. He proved his statements by the quality and shape of the knife and the lonesomeness of the place. After about an hour of this we became too scared to stay any longer, expect- ing to be killed every minute. We made up our minds to give the house a final search and then go home. We armed ourselves with rocks and cautiously went up to the door. I opened it with a shaking hand, expecting a pistol shot. Again came that weird and inhuman laugh, seemingly right in front of us. We were scared speechless. Our hair stood on end. We barely had presence of mind enough to throw our rocks and run. We were almost flying when we reached the front gate. I was leading, and in my terror forgot to open the gate. Instead, I ran right into it. The old rotten gate fell down and I fell sprawling on top of it. Bob did not have time to stop and he fell over me. Just as we were getting up to resume our flight, we heard a great amount of cawing and a big black crow flew out the open door, scared as badly as we were. It was all clear to us then and we had a big laugh over it. The crow had been somebody’s pet crow and had roosted in the house on stormy nights. When I had opened the door it had waked up and laughed in terror. And as for the knife, we thought that the crow had seen it lying around and having a passion for bright and shining obje ts had carried it to the house and lost it in the rubbish. —F. D„ ’25.

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Page Thirty The Chipmunk The green pastures and snowy fields of cotton lay in beauty and peace in the softened light. As the sun approached his place of rest these colors blended into one harmonious symphony as if the very gates of heaven were opened and the glory of the Eternal City allowed to shine through, making this world for a few brief moments a place of surpassing loveliness. The colors faded and died, but in the hearts of these humble people was left His message of peace. —M. H., ’27. FIREPLACE MEMORIES If you ever sit by the fireplace With the glow of the fire on your face; Then look into the flames and see, T hose old familiar faces of the days that used to be. There you see those dear old pals. With their sweet old-fashioned gals. But the ones that you love best Are those who have gone to rest. When at last the flames all die And you gaze at them and sigh, Those old familiar faces fade away As the twinkling stars at break of day. —A. J„ '26.