Weyburn Collegiate Institute - Weycollin Yearbook (Weyburn, Saskatchewan Canada)

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was still puzzling him. Jerry loafed around the shack all day hoping someone would soon come back. He had had nothing to eat all day. The darkness was approaching, with the gnawing hunger, and, as Jerry had never had to go home in the dark by himself before, the thoughts of it terrified him. His father had taken longer than he had anticipated because of the heavy load he was carrying. When he was passing by the trapper ' s shack which was about two hundred yards off the trail, he heard the shrill scream of a boy. Jack was so tired and worried about his son being home alone that he didn ' t want to go over to bring Tom home. He was about to trudge the last mile home when upon the black hill against the fading sunset he saw two silhouettes creeping along with stomachs to the ground. Jack knew they must be the two cougars that had been prowling around his ranch the past few weeks. He lay down on the cold, damp earth so he could get a better view of them and shot. The leader leaped into the air with a blood curdling scream and fell, limp, to the ground. The other leaped over his mate and tore off toward the shack. Jack could hear the boy screaming and bounded after the mad cougar. He shot and missed. Fired again and again. Just before the vicious animal reached the door he let out a howl of pain as he dropped with a loud plump to the ground, wriggling in the pool of his own blood. Jack dashed into the hut. To his surprise and horror he found his own son curled up in a corner shaking with fright. Jack grabbed him up, hugged him, and carried THOUGHTS AT SUNSET Lift your eyes unto the heavens. The sun Is sinking in the west And all this grand and glorious sunset In fleeting moments soon shall pass. And night Shall settle down upon us Blotting out this beauteous scene. Then the dawn once more shall fill us With a rapture and a dream. A dream of life, of love and laughter. Sorrows, joys we all must share. A chance To make our life worth living Is waiting for us if we care. him home. Later they found the trapper had gone for good. Jerry would no longer have his little friend. A few days later. Jack noticed vultures hovering about a spot in the pasture where he kept his young calves. Walking over there he found one dead calf upon the ground with the tracks of the cougar he had shot on that terrifying night three days ago. Jack, being very observant, knew they were the same ones because one of them had a toe nail missing on his left front foot where he had probably got it caught in a trap d uring the early part of his life. A few yards further. Jack saw a trail that looked as if a smaller calf had been dragged away. He followed it and found it led to a dark dreary cave. As he was a- bout to turn away he heard the faint meow of a kitten. Turing around he went into the cave to investigate and before his feet one little cougar was attempting to stand on wobbly legs. Around him lay the dead bodies of his brothers and sisters. They had starved, to death when only twenty feet in front of the door was the calf stuck between two rocks. Jack Newfield picked up the soft, black, whimpering ball of fur to take him home. Jerry nursed him back to health and began training him. Soon, becoming a very good companion, the cougar followed Jerry wherever he went. To Jack he was the constant reminder of the two parent cougars he had killed to save his own boy ' s life, when they were trying to find food for their young. PAST THE SURGEON The sweat stood out upon his brow. His clenched hand gently trembled. The gastly palour of his skin. . .. The tint of death resembled. The knife was now within his grasp. He lowered it gently to the skin; He cut one long and bloody gash. Revealing all that was within. Determined still, he carried out The instructions as directed. At last ' twas done, the job complete. His earthworm lay dissected. POETRY Fflon The WEYCOLLIN ' S R. Bruce Mitchell - ' 48- ' 49 Lillian Biggs - ' 48- ' 49

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Maybe one answer to the situation lies in sending the Negro back to Africa. It would seem that the Negro is not wanted in America or in Canada. An article in the October 20th edition of Maclean ' s Magazine tells of the plight of Negroes living in a large town called Africville, a century old Negro ghetto with third rate citizens, as one inhabitant described it. This article proves the undesirability of the Negro in our part of the world. Ironically, the North, which is crying out against the racial policies of the South, is the biggest culprit in the exclusion of Negroes from white areas of residence. Some of the biggest ghettos are found in such cities as New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia. Let us send the Negro back to Africa! This does not mean another mass transplantation of Negroes, similar to that of three centuries ago. This time it will be entirely voluntary, leaving the Negro the choice of staying here or going back home. If a propo¬ sition like this were suggested to the whites in the South, and to all Negroes, the South might find it less difficult to comply with the demand of de¬ segregation. To equip the Negro with the necessary skills that would make him A STORY BY SHARON MC FADDEN - 9d THEY SEEK THEIR Years ago, a young man and his son came from their Eastern home to escape the busy hustle and bustle of city life. His wife had been killed in a car accident, during the winter months the year before. Completely bored with city life, he decided he would like to become a rancher in the foothills of Alberta. Their name was Newfield; Jack, the widower, and Jerry, his son. They found a little place nestled in among the hills where they started to build up a herd of fine hereford cattle. They were eighteen miles from town with no neighbours for miles around. One day, a trapper came to the district and built himself a little shack about a mile away from the Newfield ranch. He too, had a son about Jerry ' s age. Until this time Jerry had been very lonely, but now he played with his new found friend, Tom, nearly every day. r was a an asset and a leader in Africa would have more appeal than the possibility of having to educate these Negroes under the bayonets of Federal troops and then to put up with them for the rest of eternity. There is a crying need in Africa for foreign technical aid and general help in every aspect of life. The Peace Corps is a partial help, but the seeming lack of Negroes within it is an amazing fact. Money used in forming an all-black corps with government aid at the same time, plus help in education of American Negroes, with the purpose of sending them to Africa would be more intelligent. Africa has never been developed as was India, China, or Europe. Africa ' s time has come. Not out of Christian love and charity, but for our own self-preser¬ vation and the continuation of this system, let us educate the Negro and give him this option, option of remain¬ ing or leaving. It will not be easy for us, but it was not easy for the Negroes three centuries ago. Lucille Aitken - 11a MEAT FROM GOD drunkard and had an uncontrollable temper. Sometimes he would go into town on a spree, spending foolishly what little money he did get from trapping, leaving Tom in their cabin all night by himself. Jerry ' s father would come over, and finding him all alone, would take him to their place. One day. Jack Newfield had to go to town and, as they didn ' t own a horse, he had to get up very early, walk to town, buy supplies, and carry them home on his back. If he were lucky, he would make the round trip before nightfall. When his son got up he went over to Tom ' s place to see if his father was there but was mainly interested in play¬ ing with Tom. Jerry searched all over, but couldn ' t find them anywhere. Finally, he came to the conclusion that his father must have got up early to fix the north fence he had been talking about at the supper table the evening be¬ fore, but where Tom had disappeared Unfortunately, Tom ' s fathe:

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CROSS SECTION The sun comes up and the sun goes down. And Gay Orr sleeps the whole year round. While off in the corner with the pipes banging loud, Senator Warren is addressing a crowd. Up on the platform the tribes all gather. Listening to the declaration of Apache Sather, For was, ' gainst McCusker Duffus, who looks. And then fortifies the desk with Mess Ewart ' s books. Columbus Thomas, who is sailing for doom, Charts Miss Bell as she encircles the room; While Convict Floren who has twenty- four weeks, Is trying his darndest to look mild and meek. Jack is looking for Albert his frog. Which, he claims, he left under a log; And where have his travels suddenly led? Why No-where else but to Gus Fogel ' s head. The stories of grief, the tales of woes. Then laughing Boy Hesby yells Thar she Blows A buzz bomb whizzes past Mr. Rempel ' s nose. And the room now has access to wintry snows. Like a bolt from the blue comes whizzing an arrow. And, hot on it ' s trail is Janitor Barrow. Who ' s pinioned to the wall with a five foot skewer. While following the cry of Wild Goose Latour. While the cat is away, the mice must play. And Mr. Prafke ' s arguing with Genius Biggs today; So while his back is so kindly diverted, Archimedes Flegel ' s getting his lighter converted. Now armed with a blow torch, Flegel proceeds and commences To boil Mr. P ' s H2S04 - what offenses! The fire works are grand - though the dish takes a beating. Now the room has the addition of Central heating. Now around the fire chieftains all gather. Led by Eagle-eye Ewart and Apache Sather; There ' s Goggle-eyes. Gray and Flat- Headed Floren Mohawk McKee and Senator Warren. Around they encircle what ' s left of the desk. Which, you can imagine is a terrible mess; Then suddenly they stop and all steal away. For in walks Mr. Hunter and play ceased for the day. The sun ' s been up and is now going down. Gay is still sleeping the clock right around, Gone are smiles and sorrows, the good times and trouble Gay slumbers alone midst the Twelve A Rubble. A 12A Songstress of ' 49- ' 50. IT AIN ' T CRICKET! There are Two guys and only Two I ' d like to feed some arsenic to. The first is one I ' d like to slam - He copies off me in exams! The second is a dirty skunk - I copy his - and then I flunk! ! Jean Arnett - 49-50 GOD ' S PLANS Man is a thing of no import. His life is as a summer day One hour - One moment - And life has breathed a breath And passed away. If I should die before my task is done Could I say that I have helped along One man - One wanderer - Like myself and cheered his path His weary way along? For God has but a single plan, A plan to fill the universe With love - With peace - And Blazing summer skies, and life, And things of worth. Jean Arnett - 49-50. AUTUMN MOOD Like fishing, forward puppies The leaves delight in play A-tugging at their leashes The first drear autumn day. Nothing can contain them .... They ' re anxious to be off, Tho ' sedate and prudish spruces Wave airy arms and scoff. I ' d be a leafy coquette In costume gay attired. To live my own alloted span And dance away desired; To live, to love, to laugh. Then with the fall of snow. Astride the whirling charger Of the autumn gale I ' d go. Lillian Biggs - 49-50.