Free Agency written by Mauric Richards illustrated by Farrell Collett Flaunt forth Thy trident, Oh Master Of the Universe, that all might quake Who see Thy worst, and wield Thy Power o'er souls of men, that All must hate; then twist Beneath Thy net what mortals They that reason yet. Leaves born of love, for love is naught But dreams impassioned minds have sought. Wheel down thy chariots, thou wastrels Of the firmament, that you might glimpse These puppets gods have sent. Heavens Might quaff, as mortals writhe 'neath Yoke of wars; that, as god's tithe Wrests forth the fatuous souls of men. To mold and warp as they might yen. Or crush to earth; for man is naught But playthings whimsic gods have wrought. Page Twelve Victorious Army of one by Virginia Nelson The morning was breaking. Shafts of light were spreading from the East. The people of St. George were still asleep. Hardly a soul was awake, when suddenly, like a gust of wind coming from nowhere a slinking band of Indians swooped down on the slumbering settlement and "made off" with the horses. So carefully had the Indians laid their plans and so cunningly were they carried out that they nearly made a "clean get-away". More by accident than anything else, it happened that one of the early risers noticed some horses being driven over a near by hill. The unusual circumstance at this early hour aroused his suspicion. He called some of his neighbors and before long the town was awake. It was only a short time before they discovered what had happened. Then everybody got excited and how they did talk and shake their fists! The people had become accustomed to vexing problems of all kinds, but this was a new one. Without horses, the life of the colony would be paralyzed. A council was held. No one knew the tribe to which the Indians belonged, whether they were many or few, or where they had gone. One thing they did know, however; and that was: the horses must be recaptured. Just how to do it was not clear, but sober judgment prevailed and they decided to move with extreme caution before some fool-hardy act exposed the whole community to an Indian war. This they did not want if it could be avoided, but the horses must be brought back. The council finally decided to send a few of their most level-headed men to the Indians first and see what they could do. Instantly all minds turned to William Alma Young, better known among his friends as "Billy Al". He had lived for years among the Indians. He knew the ways and manners of the Redmen; their habits and their minds almost better than they did themselves, and furthermore, he was not afraid of them. Besides this, he was a natural born linguist. In a short time he had mastered the Ute, Piute and Apache dialects and he knew also the sign language of the tribes. For this reason he was much respected by the Indians who knew him. Everyone felt that no further time should be lost, so the bishop was sent in search of Billy Al. He was found at his house some little distance out of town. Briefly the bishop explained the purpose of his early call. Billy Al pondered the situation for a moment or two, asked a few questions and in less than ten minutes, and without waiting for anyone else to join him, rode rapidly away. He picked up the Indian trail without difficulty, and hour after hour he kept on the track of the fast retreating band, hoping to overtake them before darkness set in. This, however, was not to be. The Indians had had a good start and were making the most of it. When night came on the Indians were still somewhere ahead. He camped that night without food, fire or blanket. Bright and early the next morning he trailed the band again. Suddenly he emerged from the brow of a hill. It was heavily wooded and brush covered. It was still quite early. To his amazement, there before him in a clearing, lay the camp of the Indians. He saw the horses tied near by. With a trained eye he quickly scanned the situation, more or less apprehensively, lest he should be walking into a trap, for it looked too good to be true; then taking his position partly behind some trees and bushes and in the sign language of the Indians, he raised his hand in token of peace and yelled with all his might. The voice echoed and re-echoed. Strange as it may seem, the band had posted no guards and he had come upon them almost before knowing it himself, and without the Indians being at all aware of his approach. At the shrill blast of his voice, the tribesmen whirled in their places, utterly bewildered. Several warriors started toward him. In their spoken language he instantly commanded them to stop. Hearing their own tongue perfectly spoken, they were again surprised and confused. Billy Al quickly yelled again: "Don't come nearer! My men are mad! They will shoot! Don't one of you move! If you do I won't be able to hold my men! They are angry!" The chief inquired, "How many?" Billy Al waved his arms wildly in every direction and answered, "Too many!" Then he said, "Get the horses quick! Tie one horse's head to the other horse's tail in single file! Bring them fast! Send one Indian boy with them! Hurry! My men will shoot if you don't do as I say!" Serenely, from the brow of the hill, Billy Al surveyed the scene with entire satisfaction as he saw his demands sullenly, but promptly met. In a surprisingly short time the horses were brought and placed where he wanted them. He then cautioned the Indian, "Go back. Keep your hands by your side!" Then to the whole band, he shouted the challenge, "Don't follow us! If you do my men will surely kill you! Stay where you are!" Back over the trail rode Billy Al with the horses, and down into St. George, still in command of his victorious army of one. Page Thirteen