Volume V No. 2 - August, 1932

This have I heard from old Tom Skelloc, the blind Klamath who knows no English and from Abraham Charles, who knows it well.

Many years ago an Indian stood on the brink of Gaywas, Crater Lake, and beneath him gaped an awful chasm; for Gaywas was without water. The depth was great, it was fearful. The bottom was rough and gnarled with huge masses, and there were mounds in the bottom of Gaywas.

The Indian grasped every bit of his courage, and descended into the monstrous cauldron. He traveled over the crags, and passed through fissures. There lay before him some yellow stuff which he did not comprehend.

At last he returned with much trepidation and toil. His story he told to but few, and from them it has come down the generations.

But the yellow stuff which he did not comprehend, was Gold.

This have I heard, I do not know whence it comes, nor what truth it may possibly hide.

THE BLUE ENIGMA

Blue enigma of ages, ringed with immutable rock,
Fiery cradle of mountains whose barren ridged mock
Man's puny and ceaseless endeavor, his straining and pigmy strife;
Let him look on the patience of ages and know the end of life.
Mighty forge of the Titans where mountains were welded and made,
Glaciers have cooled your seething, hemlocks reared their shade,
And now you mirror your cradle, your mountain-making done,
And now your inscrutable depths reflect the dwelling of the sun.
Now men stand safe on your lava brink with awe intaken breath
Lost in the contemplation of a mighty mountains' death.