Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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12 THE QUIVER (o the pitch which oozes out of the trees about that height, hut that was buried under many feet of snow and it was impossible to light a lire in the boughs of any of the small fir trees. Cassidy knew that they would not survive the night unless they kept moving. 1 hey began to wander in a circle, getting colder and more tired as the night wore on. Finally Smith dropped in the snow and refused to move. Cassidy knew that to remain there even a few minutes meant death. Frantically he ran to a tree somewhat shorter than the rest and broke off some branches. Returning with these, he jerked Smith to his feet, and telling him to walk, began to strike him. Smith, crying and begging to escape, was mercilessly beaten until dawn. Cassidy endured untold agonies, for by midnight all the feeling had left his feet and a deadly numbness had begun to creep up his legs. At last, however, the day dawned clear. After it had become sufficiently light, they looked about for Eagles Nest. Imagine their surprise when they found that they had been engaged in a game of tag around it all night, and at one time had passed within ten feet of a corner of the roof, which lay buried under the snow. They gained admission to the cabin through a door in the roof, and were made comfortable by their comrades, who did relief duty. Cassidy, however, having his legs frozen to the knees, never entirely recovered from the effects of that night; but he says that,he is content, for he saved his comrade’s name from being added to the long list of those already claimed by the Sierras. HAROLD A. COCKROFT. ’18. OUR LITTLE “LEW” As I am studying in my room with my mind intent on my lessons, two small hands are suddenly clasped over my eyes. This is quickly followed by the question, “Who’s this?” I unclasp the hands and look into the laughing face of my little brother. His large brown eyes twinkle merrily under his long eyelashes. His dark brown hair shades a fairly broad forehead. A smile is always playing on those little red lips, but his firm chin shows that he can be grave at times. He is just going to bed now, so he is barefoot. and is dressed in his night-clothes, which fit snugly round his well-shaped little body. In fact, he looks so attractive that I cannot help hugging him before I say good-night. HYMAN S. MAYERSON, 18.

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THE QUIVER AN ADVENTURE IN THE SIERRAS 11 To the average Easterner, the word Calfornia signifies a land of sunshine, a land where flowers bloom the year round and all the fruits of the eerth may be had for the picking. Doubtless he would be surpris'd to lei.rn that in the high Sierras the snow falls to the depth of ten, twenty, and even thirty feet, at the rate of six feet in a single night, and that in snow storms men have perished not a dozen feet from the dicker which they sought. Even in these deep snows, the mail must go through. Late in the winter, when the snow is well packed, the mail is carried in sleighs drawn by two or three pairs of horses on snowshoes, until the road is well broken, when the snowshoes are taken off. These snowshoes, which are made of two plates of iron about a foot in diameter, with a plate of rubber between, and which are fastened to the horse’s hoofs by means of screws and toe straps, are useless in the.soft, deep snow; so the mail must be carried by men on snowshoes during the greater part of the winter, over routes varying in difficulty, and from ten to forty miles in length. Such a route was the one from Wayback, a way station on t,he old Oroville Emigrant Road, to Gordon’s Ranch. The route was a rather difficult one, twelve miles in length. The road wound up between firs, which towered two hundred feet into the air, to the summit, Walker’s 1 lain, so named because Walker and two companions perished there in a storm many years ago. From Walker s Plain, which is about fifty-five hundred feet above sea-level, it is about three-quarters of a mile to Eagle's Nest, a way station consisting of one large log cabin. From Eagle’s Nest, the road dips down to Gordon’s Ranch. Over this road on a winter afternoon went Cassidy and Smith, trail carriers. It was in February of the hard winter oi ’89-’90, when the snow lay twenty feet deep along the Sierras and only the gables of Eagle’s Nest showed above the surrounding white. The mail had been late in arriving at Wayback, and alarmed by gathering clouds, the two traveled at a good pace in order to reach their destination before night. But darkness fell before they arrived at the way station and with the darkness came the storm. The wind roared through the trees like the very demon of the mountains, and swirled the falling snowflakes so thick and fast that the travelers could not see ten feet in any direction. Something had to be done. There was small chance of finding Eagle’s Nest and there was no shelter at hand. Ordinarily, when snow is only ten or fifteen feet deep, a fire can be kindled by touching a match

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THE LAND WHERE LOST THINGS GO One evening not long ago, as I was trying to write a theme, my paper suddenly slipped from the desk and fluttered under the table, as I thought. I got down on my hands and knees to look for it. but to my surprise it was not there. All at once a little man popped up in front of me and said: “Now, look here, young lady, that piece of paper is the fourteenth article you have lost this week. I tell you, we cannot be storing away all of your things for you.’’ “Storing away my things for me!” I exclaimed. “Follow me,” the little man commanded, and all at once I felt myself sinking—sinking—sinking. At last my feet touched ground, and as I looked around, I saw many shelves. Among them were many more little men like my escort. We were in a room that seemed to be in the shape of a ball with a flat space at the bottom about large enough for one person to stand on. The shelves extended all over the inside of the ball so that it almost made one dizzy to look at them. They were divided into apartments, each one being labeled. The most curious looking apartment was one labeled “Lost Ideas.” On these shelves were some smoky-looking objects, some of which had very faint pictures in them. These were the most extraordinary ideas. All the others were dim. Another apartment, containing pencils, rulers, and pens, was labeled “Lost School Articles.” I was particularly interested in this one because I had lost so many pencils and erasers lately. On the first shelf I saw three erasers w'hich I knew were mine because of my initials on each one. When, however, I picked them up and was going to put them in my pocket, the dwarf exclaimed: “Stop! What are you doing? We cannot allow you to take those home from here. If you want them, you can look for them on the earth, where, if they.arc not completely lost, you will find them.” At this I was so dumbfounded that I did nothing but stare at the little man. Just then a small door at the top of the room opened and in fluttered my lost sheet of paper. The little man caught it, handed it to me, and said, “If you will promise to be very careful about losing things after this, I will send you home.” I promised and thanked him for his trouble in show ing me around ; but, to my surprise, I found myself smiling and talking to the ink bottle in a very sleepy manner. ALICE REDFERN, ’20.