Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The sound of a horse ' s hoofs could be heard as Mr. F hur- ried toward the north trail. At the entrance to the cave he took a candle and a ball of twine from the saddle bag. From the formation of the rocks in ceiling and walls, he believed the cave once to have been the bed of a river. He tied the string to a projecting stone and followed it seventy-five feet or more with the lighted candle in hand. Mr. F found the pool as Quio had described. A few feet beyond this his candle light fell upon a dark cavern which proved to be a large and dangerous shaft, fully fifte en feet deep. He tied the string to the candle which he lowered slowly into the empty hole. Bending over the sloping edge of the shaft, he saw on a small rocky ledge, six feet below him, an object. It was the torch. At the bottom of the hole he saw bones and decayed garments of the old Indian ' s aunt. Mr. F took the bones back to Quio — all except the skull which he kept to present to the University of California. He left Quio and his relatives soon after they had performed the sad duty of burying the bones of their loved one, whom they thought the devil had devoured. With the bones also was buried the superstition that the devil reigned in Mystery Mountain. Mr. F continued his journey alone to the fossil beds. — HERBERT LYSER. O To Satyrs Drink, ye Satyrs, and sing with glee, Songs of merry minstrelsy. Roll and tumble on the earth In your ecstasy of mirth. Pan his pipes is now a-sounding, Haste and be around him bounding. Fill your cups and while you ' re drinking On the grass with joy be sinking. Fill the air with song and jest And let it be your very best For in yon streamlet that is ghst ' ning, A naiad dwells whose ear is list ' mng. FLORENCE STAPLES.

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The Mysterious Mountain A True Story N HIS room at a little hotel in Shasta County Mr. F sat for an hour pouring over the chart which showed the location of a certain fossil bed deposit he was about tc explore. At daybreak next morning he started out with an old long-haired Indian guide, and two pack horses. After journeying for a few hours, he became concerned about the indirect route along which he was being led. He knew the right direction was due north, and he suddenly real- ized that he was travelling southwest. Hey, Quio! Mr. F called out, jumping off his horse. You ' re taking me the wrong way. But Quio rode stubbornly along. Again he called out, Stop Quio! What ' s the matter with you? From his saddle bag Mr. F took out the chart. He was studying this carefully when Quio finally came back. With one hand on the chart and the other indicating a great pine mountain, Mr. F spoke sternly, You ' ve taken me at least three miles out of the way. We should have gone close to that mountain. I not go that way. Mountain him heap bad. What do you mean by that, Quio? laughed Mr. F All mountains are good. ' Him heap bad mountain, he got devil inside. A devil inside ? Who told you that? Wait, and I tell you. Together they sat down beneath a pine, and as they filled their pipes, Quio related the following: Long, long, long time ago, the first born of my mother ' s mother, and two other girls had lovers who went on a hunt. One day girls went to medicine woman to have their fortunes told. She say they must go through cave in that mountain to a pool, bathe their foreheads, and make a wish. Pretty soon they went in, the daughter of my mother ' s mother ahead, carrying a pitch torch. They did what the medicine woman told them. The torch went out. They took hold of hands to find way back. 1 hey got lost. Bye and bye daughter of my mother ' s mother screamed loud, pulled hands of other girls. Only two girls came back, pale like a log without bark; said the devil took the other girl. But exactly where is this cave, Quio? Right near the north trail. After eating lunch Mr. F said, Come on, let ' s go into that cave and see what the devil looks like. No, no, you go. I stay here.

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Punishment HE eerie silence of the night was unbroken save for an occasional thud of snow from the overladen branches of some tree. Pierre Vairson, a French-Canadian trapper, was deep in meditation. Te mechanically caressed the head flung across his knees as he absently watched the flickerings of his small camp fire. Soon the huge animal, the sole friend of Pierre ' s solitude, rose and silently moved to the edge of the glade, where he stood listening. Pierre abstractedly contemplated the beautiful picture the big brute made as he stood alertly poised, silhouetted against the snow. Savage, called a wolf, but really only half wolf, had been the only cub of his mother, a timber wolf. She had been driven, starving into the vicinity of Fort Sin- clair, and had died. The trapper had found and adopted Savage. Pierre mused. The slyness and treachery of the wolf did not show itself in Savage, only the fidelity and intelligence of the dog. Savage had disappeared into the trees. Pierre was gravely weighing his thoughts. His provisions were low and the trading post was many days ' journey south. With his dog, Pierre ' s provisions would just last, but a delay of any kind would be fatal. A blizzard, lost track, snow blindness — a thousand fears tor- mented his troubled mind. If he took Savage, it might mean his death, but without the dog he would not have any fear. A soft snow had begun to fall. Pierre rose, indecision written in every line on his face. Soon, however, he became resolute, and, after packing up his scant equipment, he slunk away, knowing the snow would kill his scent. Two years passed. Then one night a solitary trapper struggled through the snow towards Fort St. Louis. Suddenly the stillness was broken by a long, mournful wail, in the distance. Answers rose from all sides and soon the forest was ringing with the hunting cry of the wolf. Instinctively Pierre quickened his pace. He broke into a run. In the distance he could dimly see the lights of the Fort. He knew that help would never reach him. Gradually the distance between the wolves and the trapper was lessened. Pierre could see the wild eyes which betrayed their fiendish purpose, and the cruel fangs gleamed in the moonlight. There was one wolf, far larger than the rest, who led them by two or three lengths. Hunger-maddened though the wolves were, they could not outstrip him. Then as the trapper ran, he tripped and fell full length on the snow. Like a flash, the pack rushed on him. There was one ghastly shriek,