YUBA COUNTY  Nuggets

Yuba Delta

June, 1917

LITERARY

THE HIDDEN CONFESSION

            Out of the silence of the night came the long drawn wail of a coyote, which echoed, and re-echoed through the cold, still canyons; then all was still, save the repeated hoot of the pine owl.  The rocks cast fantastic and gloomy shadows in the bright moonlight, for the weary traveler who might chance that way.  But still more dismal and dreary were the moanings of the pines.  If one is inclined to believe in ghosts, he shouldn’t travel the Ozarks at night.

            Ned Glenister encouraged his horse onward.  He must, if possible, find some shelter for himself and beast.  Ahead, dark and forbidding, loomed the “Cross of Gold.”  Close to this was a farm house where he could stop for the night, and receive directions on the right trail for the morrow.  Why had he come out here in this dismal place?  Why listened to the story of the old miner, Dean?

            Dreamily, his mind ran over the happenings of a day before.  The tale of the old miner’s baby daughter, captured by road agents sixteen years before, and how imploringly and passionately he had begged him on his death-bed to find her.  His last words, “She wore a locket with the initials, “A.D.”  Goodbye and God-speed.

            This struck a cord in Glenister’s heart, and he fully determined to do the old miner’s bidding, and partly for adventure he sought the village of the Esperanza.

            Thirty minutes more of hard riding over a broken and rocky trail, brought him to a large farm house, where he found rest in peaceful slumberland.

            Early next morning he found himself once more in the saddle, and on a narrow rocky trail, which ascended higher and higher, till the hills were bare and devoid of trees, still higher and higher he went, till the trail grew more narrow and ragged.

            Suddenly he felt a strange sensation, and all was dark.  Glenister’s sense gradually returned; first a dim recollection as in a dream, then a dreadful pain in his left shoulder.  He heard voices, then fell asleep again.

            When he awoke he was in a large commodious room, surrounded by long, old-fashioned windows.  Where was he, and how came he here?  Ah, yes, he remembered slipping, and—

            His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age.  “Here, I have brought some nice broth for you.  Papa says you must be very quiet, and then he will come in and talk to you.”  “Thank you very much,” answered Glenister, in a weak voice, “but where am I, and how did I come here,” he asked.  “Why papa and Lopes found you at the bottom of the Barranca, but luckily it was not a long fall.”

            Slowly, Ned’s strength returned, and he somehow hated the day to come when he must make his departure.  He had made the acquaintance of the old rancher, Dextry, and more and more grew his liking for his daughter, Angela.

            Sunday evening was warm and pleasant, just an evening for youth and love.  Ned and Angela both were seated on the old farm-house patio.

            Ned’s strength had fully returned and he was ready for the trail.  “But why do you want to leave us?  It has been scarce a week ago since we brought you in from the Barranca.”

            Glenister then related to her the old miner’s story.  “Perhaps he was only delirious or not knowing what he was saying,” said Angela.  “Somehow I can’t doubt the old miner’s story, and until my mission is filled, it is good-bye.”  Then with a handshake he bounded in the saddle and was gone.

            Far to the northeast, he rode over deserts, rugged trails, and smooth valleys, stopping only when necessary.  Finally at the end of a hard day’s ride, Glenister climbed the summit of a hill, and before him, bathed in the moonlight, lay the Esperanza.  Through the long, winding bridle path he went, then abruptly pulled up at a half-way house where around several tables were seated men, rough-bearded fellows from the mines, cattle outfits, and the road.

            At one table, three fellows were seated, altogether different from the rest, close-shaven, tall and erect, scarcely out of their teens.

            The stakes were large and Ned strolled over to the table to watch the game.  The lad was playing square, and from appearances was gaining heavily, when the darker of the other two, without warning reached for his revolver, but the hand of Glenister was quicker, and he quickly extracted the man’s weapon.

            Then followed an uproar and tumult, but the boy and Ned taking the cue, slipped out the back door, and were soon lost in the many shadows of the pines.

            “Stranger,” said the boy, addressing Glenister, “may I ask your name?  I want to thank you for what you have done tonight.”  “Ned Glenister is my name; and yours?”

            “Rollin Dean,” answered the lad.

            When everything had quieted, they stole softly back and secured their horses.

            “It would be better if we stayed away from camp awhile,” said the lad, “as the ruffian back in the half-way house has several friends of a like nature.”

            “Are there no women in camp?” asked Ned.

            “Never was known to be,” answered Dean.

            “There is a camp over on the Arapamaho, but that is also devoid of women.”

            Glenister’s heart sank.  All this journey and trouble for nothing.  Before his vision appeared a face of a girl.  Yes, he would return to the Dextry farm house, rest a spell, and then depart for the south, he must fulfill his mission.

            “I guess, friend, that our closest place is the Dextry hacienda,” said Dean.  “That’s my direction,” said Ned.

            Together they traveled the long, weary distance back to the land of his dreams and—her.  They were received cordially by the old Dextry, and Angela was overjoyed at seeing Glenister again.

            That evening they sat together on the plaza.  The night was warm, and bathed in moon and starlight.  Ned could not suppress a strange desire, and slowly his arm encircled the waist of the girl beside him.  She, unresistingly, placed her head on his shoulder.

            Thus they sat, she, talking of the future, and he discouraged with his attempt to fulfill the old miner’s last request saying, “I will try again, and then if I fail, I’ll quit”—but just then he caught the glitter of a diamond pendant.  A sudden thought flashed through his brain.  He looked close at the locket.  On the face were the initials “A.D.”

            “No, Ned, you cannot find that girl, because perhaps she’s with the Indians, or dead long ago.”

            “It’s just as you say, dearest, but I think I’ve found her now.  Do you remember the locket with the initials?  Well, that is the one you wear,” he said.

            “Can that be so?” asked Angela, in surprise.  “I never once thought of the locket until the other day, when looking through my room, last week, I found it where I had placed it a year ago.  I wish it were true, dear, but then there’s my father, Dextry.”

            Just then the wind blew a cold blast and the two lovers retired for the night.

            “Mr. Dextry,” called Ned.

            “Sir.”

            “Were there ever any road agents in this state?”

            The old rancher slowly turned in his chair and a puzzled look spread over his face.

            “Well, there used to be alright, but I reckon they’ve all disappeared now,” said the old rancher.  “Why do you ask?”

            Glenister disregarded the question and asked, “Wasn’t there a girl captured by the agents some seventeen years ago?”

            Old Dextry’s face grew pale at the question, but he kept his countenance.  “Well,” he said, “I reckon as how there was many a one captured in them days.”

            “Come, now,” said Ned, “Angela is not your daughter.  I know better, she was kidnapped seventeen years ago by road agents.”

            The old man broke down.  “This is one thing I never expected,” he said, “Be you some relation?”

            Glenister then related his story to the old rancher, “You’ve hit the right trail, boy, and now let me tell mine.”

            “In the year 18--, I was a full-fledged member of the hold-up band.  Many hold-ups and train robbing we’ve done.”

            “One night we raided a small town, we separated in small bunches, and at a certain time of night, we were to meet.  When that time came we gathered together, some with nothing and some with valuable loot they had sneaked from stores and dwelling houses.  One man came in with a baby girl, stating, “The old man’s rich and will pay a ransom.”  We then traveled to our rendezvous.

            The message was sent to the old man, but I fear it never reached him.  What were we to do with a baby on our hands?  I was getting pretty tired of that life, so one dark night I stole away with the baby girl, and here I am.  Angela does not know.

            “Yes, I do know, papa, I heard it all.  I don’t blame you a bit, for you’ve been a good father to me.”

            “Can I have her, Dextry,” said Ned.

            “Take her, lad, and may God bless you both,” said old Dextry, and far away in the night came the wail of a coyote.

                                                                                          -Frances Stohlman, M.H.S., ’18.

Marysville, California.

Saturday, Sept. 9, 1916.

Dear Mama—

            I arrived today and went up to the school to register.  I never saw such a place as the High School.  There’s nothing but doors every place you look.  You know how it is at the school at home.  There is only one door and that’s at the front of the building, but here it is different.  There are doors every place.  I didn’t know this so I went in the first door that I came to.  As soon as I got in I saw two staircases, one going up and one going down.  I thought I’d try the one going up.  There were more staircases after I got up that far but I decided to go straight ahead.

            It was then that I ran into all the doors.  First there was one that had its name on in big letters saying, “HISTORY.”  On the other side of me there was one that said, “LANGUAGES,” and on the other side, as I walked on was one that said “ASSEMBLY HALL,” and there were many more.

            Well, I was looking at these when a little, short lady with black hair and brown eyes, came up to me, and asked me if I was going to register.  I said “Yes,” so she showed me the way to the office.

            There were two or three men in there, none of them had much hair on their heads, and one of ‘em said to me, “What are you going to take?”  The made me mad and I said, “If you please, I’m no thief.  I’m not going to take anything.”  Then they all laughed and the same one said, “Excuse me, I meant, what subjects are you going to study?”  So I said them off real quick, (I had memorized them coming to school) History, English, Latin and Algebra.  He said I ought to take Sewing, because it would do me a whole lot more good, and he gave me a lot more reasons, but I got tired of hearing him talk, so I said I’d take it, and then he stopped talking.

            After I had signed up, I came to my room and I’m going to get ready for school, which begins Monday.

                                                            Your loving daughter,

                                                                        Esther.

Marysville, Calif.

Monday, Sept. 11, 1916.

Dear Mother:

            I started school today and I never had such an awful time in my life.  When I got there, there were lots of people standing in the halls and they were all talking and trying to act as if they were quite at ease, and I knew very well that they felt just as green and seedy as I did.  After we had stood around for what seemed to be about three hours, the bell rang, and as everybody started for the place labeled Assembly Room, I went too.  When we all got in, the man that asked me Friday, if I was going to swipe anything, stood up and hit on the desk until I thought he’d crack his knuckles.  Finally, everybody shut up, and then he began to talk.  He said that he didn’t want any confusion, for the student body (whatever that is) was much larger this year and that everybody that took certain things were to go to certain places and if anybody got lost to come back to the Study Hall.  At that everybody laughed.  I didn’t see anything to laugh at for in the first place, it’s the easiest thing in the world to get lost in that great big building, and in the second place I didn’t know where the Study Hall was if I should get lost.  He talked a lot more about eighth periods, which was another thing I didn’t know anything about, and then I went to my History class which was the first number on the programme.  The teacher there told us which books to buy and how to study history, which I thought I knew before, and then he said when the bell rang, to go to our next class.  When the bell rang, I couldn’t find any door with Latin on it so I took a walk around the halls.  After awhile I met a big, tall man, and he wanted to know what I was doing wandering around there.  I told him I wasn’t wandering, but looking for a door marked Latin.  He frowned and smiled, both at the same time, and said to go to the Language room.  I managed to get along all right the rest of the day and I bought my books this afternoon.

                                                            Give my love to the girls,

                                                                        Esther.

Marysville, Calif.

September 12, 1916.

Dear Mama:

            School went along fine today and the only trouble I had was, that there was no place to put my books.  They were all new and I took them upstairs with me.  During the history period I decided to put them inside the desk instead of leaving them all on top and they all fell through onto the floor.  They made an awful noise and the teacher said that fives would soon be in circulation again.  There are no bottoms in the desks and he said that I should put the books in my locker.  So after that I had a little sort of cage to keep my books in.  In English the teacher asked me what an autobiography was and I said it was the story of an auto.  Everybody laughed and I asked what was the matter.  She said an auto-biography was the story of yourself and we had to write one.  Mine was perfectly punk.

            Tell the girls at home that High School is nothing extra and that I’m not awfully crazy about it.  I haven’t learnt so very much out of books but I’ve learned an awful lot about people and their ways.

                                                Your loving daughter,

                                                            Esther

-E. P., ‘20

THE STOLEN NICKEL

            No one ever knew how it happened that the family moved to Lower Fifth Street.  It was a squalid neighborhood, hardly suited to the apparent refinement of the new people.  Nevertheless they were there.  The boy was a nice boy, who had no experiences in the ways of the little rag-a-muffins of the street, which perhaps accounts for the stolen nickel.

            He was going down Fifth Street one day, carefully holding between his fingers a treasured nickel with which he intended to purchase a “brand-new” top.  He never spent his money.  Bill Jones, the bully of the street, crept up from behind and knocked him down.  His nickel was taken from him, he was pounded and rolled upon the ground, until by the time he was able to rise, wipe the dust from his eyes, and look about, his tormentor had vanished.

            The family moved away from Lower Fifth Street next day, and the boy never had an opportunity to recover the nickel.

*          *          *          *           *          *           *           *

            Many years had come and gone since big Bill Jones had displayed his cowardly and questionable nature.  The Boy had become a Man who was Lieutenant-Governor of the State.  But he had never forgotten and never forgiven, for it had ruined his trust in his fellow men and had made him distrust even his best and truest friends.  He would have given anything to have regained his faith in humanity, but it was a thing gone and lost forever.

            It was the twenty-fourth of December. The governor had gone away for the holidays and had left to his assistant the task of giving to the prisoners the pardons which he had already signed.

            All the long grey afternoon, the door had been fanning to and fro.  Already the early twilight was falling.  All unconsciously the big man in the swivel chair breathed a tired sigh as the door opened to admit another one of those law breakers.  He switched on the lights as he wheeled about that he might more closely scrutinize the great slouching form.

            “Name, please?”

            “Bill Jones.”

            “Residence?”

            “Fifth Street,” this came sulkily.

            The man gave a start of surprise.  The voice with its peculiar intonation started a train of memories within him.

            Bill Jones—there were many Bill Joneses but surely he could not mistake that voice.

            Hurriedly he furnished the necessary question. The he arose and thrice paced the floor, while the form huddled in the corner.  At last he stopped in front of the prisoner.

            “Bill Jones, you do not remember me.  Perhaps you will think there never was a me.  Once, I was a little boy who lived on Fifth Street.  I did not know you and your kind, so you took advantage of my ignorance.  You threw me down and you sat on me; you stole the nickel I possessed and what was infinitely more, you taught me to distrust mankind.  Today, here you shall answer for that theft.  You have your pardon.  I am to give you this money—we are giving the same amount to all prisoners as a Christmas gift.  Of course, I could take what you tow me from that but after all what satisfaction would it give me?  No.  I shall choose a man’s way.  I am giving you a fair warning.”

            Scarcely had he finished speaking when the lieutenant flung himself at the other’s neck.  Before the astonished prisoner had time to realize what was being done, he was borne to the floor with a crash that shook the room.  Once he recovered his senses, however, he struggled fiercely and he was no mean adversary.  But slowly the lieutenant gained the advantage. At last he was able to slip his hand to the man’s pocket and into it.  His finger groped about for an instant, then closed with a deadly grip upon the nickel which he found there.

            Flushed but victorious, he arose, brushed his coat and sat down again in the swivel chair.  Bill Jones arose also, very slowly, staring stupidly about him.

            But the lieutenant-governor had recovered his composure and was again the matter-of-fact business man.

            “That is all today.  You may go now,” he remarked in his best professional tone.  “I sincerely hope you appreciate your pardon and will never be in a position to seek another.  Good afternoon.”

            The convict stood still a full minute.  Resentment, then anger, flared into his face.  But it died away at a glance at that resolute back, turned toward him, so he spun about on his heel and went out the door.

            Not until the echo from the slamming of the door had died away did the man at the desk change his position.  Then, slowly, despairingly, his head sank.  He covered his face with his hands.  He felt something of satisfaction and yet------------.

-H.C.S. and A.E.C., ’19.

THE LAST FEUD

            Up high in the Rocky Mountains where the river dashes and leaps in rugged tumult on its mad rush to the far distant sea, is the home of the mountaineer where in the days of ’49, the gold-seeker risked life and limb for the precious metal.  The tall pines soar high in the sky and on their broad branches thieves, in the days of old, paid for their misdeeds with their lives.  When, later, feuds played an important part, men shot their foes with unflinching eyes, from the brush.

            And there on the same rugged river among the same tall pines, stood the small, scattered settlement of Bear Creek.  Feuds had died out, except one, the most deadly and bloodiest of all.  The Gray and Campbell feud had descended from father to son until only one of each family still existed.  Andy Gray and Cash Campbell.  Like their forefathers both were men of powerful frame and huge stature, true friends but deadly foes.  The cabins of both were at a distance from the village and whenever the two met, trouble always followed.  Shooting scraps and fighting were certain to result when the subject of the Campbell-Gray feud was brought up.

            As Andy Gray strolled down the path that led to the general store, there reverted to his mind the rumors that were going round of men coming in from the North and staking the claims of the settlers.  Even this morning he had seen a party of men making their way over the ridge of the mountain.

            On arriving at the store, he found the settlers all gathered there, leaning on their tall rifles and listening to a speaker mounted on a grocery box.  “Men!” he shouted, “There’s a large party of land-thieves along the East Fork of the river.  Something must be done; our fathers shed blood for this land and we must defend it with our lives.”

            Next morning the law of the mountains went into effect.  A long line of settlers went trailing off in the direction of the land thieves’ camp.

            “Just three minutes are given the trespassers to leave.  If they are not gone in this time, they are to be shot on sight.”  Jeers and laughs rang out as the settlers read this, and the thieves instantly made preparations for battle, while the settlers retired behind trees and stumps—Indian fashion.  Soon the rifles began to crack in earnest.

            After fighting awhile, the two sworn foes found that they were cut off from the rest of the settlers by a party of about ten thieves.  The broad shoulders of Cash Campbell were partly exposed and at the same time a vicious-looking land thief rose up with his rifle and began taking steady aim.  The thought flashed through Andy’s mind, “Here is the chance for the destruction of my feudal foe.  Why not let the thief shoot the unsuspecting man?”  But his nobler nature prevailed and with quick unnerving aim he fired, and the vicious looking thief fell back and lay still.

            “Thanks,” laconically said Campbell, on perceiving what had happened.  “Let’s make a rush back to our friends.  It’s our only chance.”

            They made a quick dash as the bullets went zip, zip, and dug up little clouds of dust or whistled uncomfortably near their ears.  Looking back, Cash perceived he was alone; the tall form of Andy was upon the hillside.  Cash turned and rushed back.  Feud or no feud, he would not leave the man who saved him from the bullets of the land thieves.  Dodging and ducking bullets, he rushed into what seemed almost certain death, seized Andy around the waist and bore him back to safety.  The thieves were displeased and retreated swearing revenge on the settlers.

            Next morning a dense smoke was seen in the distance swiftly advancing and proved to be a large forest fire.  It was the revenge of the land thieves.  Everything was dry and to remain was utter destruction.  Every effort was made to extinguish the blaze, but was useless.  There was the railroad to escape by, but no train was due.  No outside help could be obtained for all the wires were broken.

            “Listen,” shouted Cash, “On the other side of the fire, twenty miles from here is a string of box cars.  We have the switch engine.  Who will volunteer to go with me to get the cars and come back and take the people away?”

            A murmur went through the crowd at this speech.  Who would go with Cash to what seemed certain death?  The question was soon answered as Andy Gray was seen emerging from the crowd, wearing a bandage from the previous encounter.

            Steam was soon gotten up and the two former foes, now fighting side by side against the common enemy, set off amidst the cheers and hopes of the crowd.

            The fire was now getting denser and blacker as the long black engine plunged into the burning mass of blazing and crackling timbers.  What if a tree had broken across the track?  What if a bridge had burned down or been destroyed by the land thieves?  The two men in the engine thought not of this.  Their thoughts were of the women and children back in the village.  The monster of steel plunged through smoke-filled tunnels; huge trees crackled and fell; tongues of flame leaped at the cab windows as if to destroy the two fighting spirits within.  But soon the belt of fire was passed and a swift rush through a little valley brought them to the box-cars which were quickly coupled on and the start back was made.

            The trip back through the fire was the worst of all.  At times they were almost suffocated with smoke, while one bridge tottered and fell as they rushed by.  A few moments sooner would have carried men, cars and all to the depths of the canyon below.  When the train drew up at the village, half of it was on fire.  The people were soon loaded in the cars and conveyed to the valley below.  As the two sweat-covered, smoke-blackened figures staggered from the engine, they were seized and carried on the shoulders of the crowd.

            So died the village of Bear Creek and with it died the last feud, for the two former foes became fast friends.

-M.E.B., ’20.

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