INDIAN LEGENDS OF THE TAHOE REGION
As all students of the Indian are well aware these aboriginal and
out-of-door dwellers in the forests, canyons, mountains, valleys, and
on lake and seashores are great observers of Nature, and her many
and varied phenomena. He who deems the Indian dull, stolid and
unimpressionable, simply because in the presence of the White Race he
is reserved and taciturn, little knows the observing and reflecting
power hidden behind so self-restrained a demeanor. Wherever natural
objects, therefore, are of a peculiar, striking, unusual, unique,
or superior character, it is reasonable to assume that the Indians,
living within sight of them, should possess myths, legends, folk-lore,
creation-stories or the like in connection with their creation,
preservation, or present-day existence. This is found exemplified
in the legends of Havasupais, Hopis, Navajos and Wallapais as to
the origin of the Grand Canyon of Arizona, of the Yohamities, Monos,
Chuc-Chances, and others, of the distinctive features of the Yosemite
Valley, the Hetch-Hetchy, etc.
While the present-day, half-educated, half-civilized Washoes are by no
means representatives of the highest elements of natural enlightenment
among the Indian race, they do possess legends about Tahoe, the
following being the most interesting.
All these stories, except the last, were gathered by Mrs. W.W.
Price of Fallen Leaf Lodge, from Indians with whom she has been very
familiar for several years, named Jackson and his wife Susan. There
has been no attempt to dress them up in literary fashion. They are
given as near to the Indians' mode of telling as possible. They are
wonderfully different from certain stories recently published in
current magazines, professing to be Legends of Lake Tahoe. These
latter are pure fiction, and to those familiar with Indian thought,
reveal their origin in the imaginative brain of white writers who have
but faint conceptions of Indian mentality. Mrs. Price is a graduate
of Stanford University, and took great pains to preserve the Indians'
exact mode of expression. As she herself writes:
Long before the white man saw and wondered over the beauty of
Tahoe, theorizing over its origin and concocting curious tales
about its "unfathomable" depths, the Indians knew and loved
it. And as among all other peoples, legends have grown up to
account for every phenomenon of Nature, so among the Washoe
Indians stories about Tahoe have been handed down from
generation to generation.
I do not vouch for these legends. The modern Indian too often
tells what he thinks you want to know,--if only you will cross
his hand with silver. But there are touches here and there
that make me feel that for the most part they are remnants of
very old legends.
THE ORIGIN OF TAHOE, FALLEN LEAF, AND OTHER LAKES
Long, long ago, before the white man came to Nevada, there
lived in the meadow over beyond Glenbrook a good Indian. But
though he was good, he was much annoyed by the Evil Spirit,
who constantly interfered with all that he tried to do.
Finally, he determined that he must move away and get over
into the valleys of California. But when he tried to escape,
the Evil One was always there ready to trip him in some way or
other.
In his trouble the Good Spirit came to his aid, giving him a
leafy branch which had certain magic qualities. He was
to start on his journey. If he saw the Evil One coming he was
to drop a bit of the branch and water would immediately
spring up. The Evil One could not cross water, and thus, being
delayed by going around, would give the Indian time to escape.
The Indian made his way well along to where Tallac Hotel
now is, when, looking back, he saw the Evil One off in the
distance approaching with such strides that his heart was
filled with great fear. In his terror he tried to pluck a leaf
but it snapped off and he dropped almost his whole branch.
To his delight and relief the waters began to rise and soon
"Tahoe"--_Big Water_--lay between him and his enemy.
Free-heartedly he hurried on his way up the canyon, but when
he reached the spot where the head of Fallen Leaf Lake lies,
he turned to reassure himself. Away off the Evil One was
advancing. A new terror filled his soul. In his hand there
remained of his magic branch only one little twig with a
single leaf on it.
Plucking the leaf, he threw it down and watched it fall
waveringly through the air. As it touched earth the
waters again began to rise and "Doolagoga"--_Fallen
Leaf_--sprang into being and on its surface floated the
little leaf, as many leaves now float in the fall of the year.
Turning, he sped up the ravine, dropping bits of his twig as
fear directed him, and in his path, Lily, Grass, and Heather
lakes came up to guard his way.
At last he was over the crest of the mountain and found
himself safe in the long-wished-for Valley of California.
THE LEGEND OF THE TWO BROTHERS
Once long ago in Paiuti-land, Nevada, there lived two
brothers. The older was a hunter and brought home much game.
His wife, whose name was Duck, used to cook this for him, but
she was very stingy to the younger brother, and often times he
was hungry. When he begged her for food, she scolded him and
drove him out of the _campoodie_, saying, "Got none for
you."
One day when the older brother was off hunting Duck was
cleaning some fish. She had been very cross to Little
Brother, refusing to give him any food, and he was terribly
hungry. Presently he came creeping up behind her and when he
saw all the fish he became very angry. He took up a big club
and before Duck could turn around he hit her on the head and
killed her. Paying no attention to her dead body he cooked and
ate all the fish he wanted and then lay down in the sunshine
on a big rock and went fast asleep.
By and by his Hunter Brother came home. Of course when he
found his wife dead, he was filled with great anger at his
young brother, though his anger was lessened when he thought
of his wife's cruelty. He shook him very roughly and said, "I
no like you any more! I go away. Leave you alone!" But Little
Brother begged, "Don't be angry! Don't be angry! Let's go far
away! I help you all the time! Don't be angry!"
Gradually he persuaded the Hunter Brother to forgive him and
they started off together toward the "Big Water"--_Lake
Tahoe_. On the way the Hunter Brother taught the Little
Brother how to shoot with a bow and arrow. By the time they
reached the spot now known as Lakeside both their belts were
filled with squirrels that they had shot.
At dusk they built a good fire and when there were plenty of
glowing coals, Hunter Brother dug a long hole, and filling it
with embers, laid the squirrels in a row on the coals covering
them all up with earth.
He was tired and lay down by the fire to rest till the
squirrels should be cooked. With his head resting on his arms,
the warmth of the fire soothing him, he soon fell fast, fast
asleep.
Little Brother sat by the fire and as the night grew darker,
he grew hungrier and hungrier. He tried to waken his brother,
but the latter seemed almost like one dead and he could
not rouse him. At last he made up his mind he would eat by
himself. Going to the improvised oven, he began to dig up
the squirrels, counting them as they came to light. One was
missing. Little Brother was troubled.
"How that? My brother had so many, I had so many!"--counting
on his fingers--"One gone!" And he forgot how hungry he was as
he dug for the missing squirrel.
All at once he came upon a bigger hole adjoining the cooking
hole. While he stood wondering what to do, out popped a great
big spider.
"I'll catch you!" cried the spider.
"No, you won't!" said the boy, and up he jumped and away he
ran, followed by the spider. They raced over stock and stone,
dodging about trees and stumbling over fallen logs for a long
time. At last Little Brother could run no more. The spider
grabbed him and carried him back to his hole, where he killed
him.
It was almost daybreak when Hunter Brother awoke. He called
his brother to bring more wood, for the fire was almost out.
Getting no answer he went to look at the cooking squirrels.
Greatly surprised to see them lying there all uncovered,
he, too, counted them. Discovering one gone, he thought his
brother must have eaten it and was about to eat one himself
when he saw the old spider stick his head out of the hole.
Each made a spring, but the Hunter Brother was the quicker and
killed the wicked spider with his knife.
Carefully he now went into the spider's hole. There, stretched
out on the ground, lay Little Brother _dead_! Taking
him up in his arms, he carried him outside. Now this Hunter
Brother was a _medicine-man_ of great power, so he lay
down with Little Brother and breathed into his mouth and in a
few minutes he came back to life and was all right.[1]
The Hunter Brother was very happy to have his Little Brother
alive again. He built up the fire and while they sat eating
their long-delayed meal Little Brother told all that had
happened to him.
[Footnote 1: Susan who was telling this story offered no reason why
he had not restored Duck, his own wife, to life.]
The sun was quite above the horizon before the meal was
finished, and soon Hunter Brother was anxious to be moving on,
so they took their way along the lake shore. On their way they
talked and laughed one with another and seemed to agree very
well, until they had gone around the lake and
reached where Tahoe City now is. Here they quarreled and the
Hunter Brother left Little Brother to return and go up the Big
Mountain--_Tallac_--where he had heard there were many
squirrels. After his departure, Little Brother decided to
follow him and get him to make friends again. So he trudged
along the lake shore until he came to Emerald Bay.
There lying on the log at the edge of the lake, lay a
water-baby. It was asleep with its head resting on its arms
and its beautiful, sunshine-golden-hair was spread over it.
"Oh," said Little Brother, "I'll get that beautiful
sun-shine-hair as a present for my brother!" So he crept very
softly down on the log, thinking to kill the water-baby before
it awoke. But he was not successful in this, for the creature
opened its eyes as he laid his hand on its hair, and a furious
fight ensued. Sometimes it seemed as though Little Brother
would be killed, but finally he was able to scalp the
poor water-baby and get possession of the beautiful
sunshine-golden-hair. Every one can see where this fight
occurred. The red hill near Emerald Bay stands as a memorial
of the struggle, for its color is caused by the blood of the
slain water-baby.
Tucking his prize in his hunting shirt and hugging it close,
Little Brother now went on, murmuring to himself, "Oh,
my brother like this, my brother like this beautiful
golden-sunshine-hair!"
But suddenly, as he was climbing upward, he noticed the water
lapping at his heels, and when he turned to see whence it
came, he found that the big lake behind him was rapidly
rising, and even as he stood wondering, it arose above his
ankles.
Then he remembered what he had heard of revengeful
water-babies, but frightened though he was, he could not
bear to throw away his prize. However, he knew he must do
something, so he plucked out a few hairs from the scalp and
threw them into the ascending waves. For a minute the water
ceased to rise and he sped onward, but before long he felt the
water at his heels again, and knew that once more he must
gain a short respite by throwing out a few of the
golden-sunshine-hairs.
And ever and again he had to do this until at last he spied
his brother ahead of him. "Ah, brother," he cried, drawing the
scalp from his blouse, "see what a beautiful present I have
for you!"
But when his brother turned toward him he saw only the angry,
rising waters, and rushing forward he snatched the beautiful
sunshine-golden-hair and cast it back into the waters, crying,
"How you dare meddle with water-babies? Don't you know water
surely come up and get you?"
And poor Little Brother felt very sad; but the danger he
had been in seemed to have endeared him once more to Hunter
Brother and they stood arm-in-arm and watched the waters
recede.
But there were hollows in the land and when the waters went
back they held the water and so were formed that chain of
lakes on the other side of Tallac and Emerald Bay, the Velmas,
Kalmia, Cascade, and others.
The rest of the story is confused and full of repetitions.
The gist of it is that Little Brother was ever getting into
trouble from which Hunter Brother had to rescue him, for which
Little Brother was most grateful and would go off seeking for
a present to give to the Big Brother who was so kind to him.
Once he got a young bear cub. He thought it was a dog. He
petted it and brought it to his brother as a hunting-dog.
Finally, after Hunter Brother had made a first-class hunter
of Little Brother so that he could use his bow and arrows with
great success, they went down toward the Sacramento Valley
hunting deer. They followed a fine buck over hill and dale but
could not get a good shot at him. At last worn out by running
and suffering greatly, the Little Brother lay down and died.
When his brother found him, he did not attempt to bring him to
life again but buried him under a pile of rocks and leaves.
THE "WILD-GRUB" HOLE AT GARDNERVILLE
Once upon a time there was an old Indian who lived over in
Hope Valley with his two grand-daughters. He was a mean old
man. He made the girls work very hard all day
long. They had to gather wild grass seeds and acorns and grind
them into flour all the time. The old man caught plenty of
fish and frogs which he took off for his own eating, but he
gave the girls none.
One day he came in with a woodchuck skin and told the girls
to fill it with wild wheat flour. He did not tell them what
he wanted it for. When the skin was full he left the
_campoodie_ without a word as to where he was going. But
the bag leaked and a little stream of flour trickled out and
marked his path. He went away off to a lake where he caught
plenty of fish and frogs on which he feasted until he could
eat no more. Then he lay down by his fire and was soon fast
asleep.
Meanwhile in the _campoodie_ the two girls were talking
about the old man's meanness. "He makes us work so hard and we
never have any fish to eat. He keeps it all himself," said the
older girl.
"I wonder where he's gone now?" said the younger one, going to
the door-way and looking out. Suddenly she noticed the little
line of flour trailing off through the woods. "Ah, now I'll
find him!" And just calling to her sister that she would be
back soon, she darted off.
It was dark when she came back weeping. She threw herself on
the ground outside the _campoodie_ and poured out her
story. She had found the old man lying there fast asleep,
gorged with fish. The remnants of his feast lay all about him.
She had not dared to waken him or speak to him, but coming
home, had made up her mind to run away and not work for the
mean old man any more.
To this the sister agreed, and at daybreak they were scurrying
off through the forest.
All day they traveled and when night came they were still in
the wilds far from any Indian camp.
Worn out, they lay down under a great pine and looked up at
the stars.
"Oh," said the older girl, "see that fine Star-man up there!
I'd like to marry him!"
"Oh, no!" said the younger, "he belongs to me. I'd like to
marry him!"
They lay there telling what each would do could she only marry
the Star-man, until they fell asleep.
When they awoke in the morning, lo, they found themselves
up in the sky, and the elder girl had a baby already--a
star-baby! At first the girls were very good to the star-baby
but it cried a great deal. One day the younger girl was very
cross and put it outside of the _campoodie_. The poor
baby cried all the more until the elder sister took pity on
it, but when she had fed it and it still cried, the younger
sister became very angry and told her sister to put that
"brat" outside. The sister was tired too, so she put the poor
baby outside.
When the baby could not make them come to him, he got up and
went to find his grandfather, the Moon. He told him how mean
his mother and aunt were to him. The old Moon was very angry.
He took the star-baby by the hand and went tramping back
through the sky to find the cruel mother and her sister.
Now, the girls had been getting rather tired of their
sky-_campoodie_ and they longed for their home on the
earth. They used to go to a hole in the sky and look down on
the earth, wishing they were there again. Indeed, at the time
the star-baby went off to find his grandfather, the Moon, they
were at the hole in the sky, amusing themselves by looking
through and indulging in vain regrets that they were no longer
there.
"Oh, sister," suddenly said the elder, "there goes our old
grandfather! Poor old man! I wish we were with him! See, he's
carrying big bags of wild wheat-flour and acorns!"
Just then the old Moon came tramping up, and the whole sky
trembled. The people on earth said it was thundering. He
grabbed the two girls by their hair and shaking them till they
were almost dead, he hurled them down through the hole.
Down, down, they went, straight down to where their old
grandfather was walking along, little suspecting what was
coming. They both hit him and, coming as they did with such
force, they made a deep hole in the earth in which they were
almost buried.
That hole is over by Gardnerville. In that hole Indians can
always find plenty of wild-grub--wild-wheat, wild potato, wild
acorn--plenty there. Snow very deep. No
difference. Always plenty wild grub there. I see that hole. I
believe that story!
THE ORIGIN OF THE DIFFERENT INDIAN TRIBES
Long, long ago, away over in Paiuti-land there were some young
boys and girls playing. They played all sorts of games, but
they liked hand-ball best. And as they played, they sang songs
of gladness.
There was one old woman, their grandmother, who would not play
with them. She had a little baby, her youngest grandchild,
whom she was trying to quiet, but the little one cried and
cried continuously.
By-and-by the old woman heard a noise outside. She was
frightened and called to the young folks. "Some one's coming!
You better stop! Better hide! Maybe Evil One, devil, coming!"
But the young folks paid no attention to her warning. They
kept on playing harder than ever. The old woman covered the
baby with a big basket and hid her own face in her shawl.
Then the Evil One came in. All the young folks turned to see
who was coming in and as soon as they looked upon his face
they fell dead. Only the old woman and the baby were left; for
the Evil One did not see them.
When he was gone, the old woman snatched up the baby and
hurried off down to the river. As she was hurrying along she
met an old man.
"Where are you going?" said he. Then the old woman saw that it
was the Evil One himself. She was afraid but she did not want
him to know it. She kept the baby covered in the basket and
answered, "I'm going to the river to get wild potatoes!"
"Where are all the girls?" asked the Evil One.
"Oh, they are all over behind the big mountain, playing ball!"
The Evil One went off to find them, because he thought there
were still some left, and the old woman quickly dug a big hole
and hid herself and the baby away in it.
When the Evil One found that the old woman had told him a lie,
he was very angry. He came back and
hunted all day long till sundown for her that he might kill
her. But he could not find any trace of her. He finally went
home and then the old woman took the baby and hid on the top
of a big rock, over near where Sheridan now is.
In the morning the Evil One came back to hunt further, but
without success.
"I guess that the old woman is dead," said he, "or maybe she's
gone across the river." But the Evil One loses his power if he
touches water, so he dare not cross the river to follow her.
The old woman watched him from the top of the rock. Many times
she feared lest he should find her, and she covered the baby
more closely.
At last when he had given up the hunt, she saw him take a
great basket and set it down in the road. Into this basket
he put great bunches of elderberry roots, and as he put each
bunch in, he gave it a name--Washoe, Digger, Paiuti, and so
on. Then he put the lid on tightly and went off through the
forest.
The old woman watched till the Evil One had gone. Creeping
quietly down, she came with the child--she was a little girl
now, not a wee baby any more--and sat down near the basket.
Presently there was a murmuring in the basket. "Oh,
grandmother, what's that noise?" said the little girl.
"Never mind," said the grandmother, "don't you touch the
basket!"
But the little girl kept teasing, "Oh, grandmother, what's in
there?"
And the old woman would say, "Don't you touch it!"
The old woman turned her back just one minute and the little
girl slipped up and raised the lid ever so little. There was
a great whirring noise; the lid flew off and out came all
the Indians. Off through the air they flew--Washoes to Washoe
land; Diggers to Digger land; Paiutis to Nevada--each Indian
to his own home.
The story given above is the one told by Jackson, but his wife,
Susan, tells the same story with these essential differences. In her
narrative there is no Evil One. The old woman scolded the young people
for playing, but they are not all killed. It is the old woman herself
who took a Paiuti water-bottle and after filling it with water, took
wild seeds and placed them in the bottle, naming them the different
Indian tribes. The seeds swelled in the water until they were as big
as eggs and out of these the Indians hatched like chickens, and began
to fight. It is the noise of the fighting that the baby hears.
As in Jackson's story the baby lets them out, but it is the wind that
carries them off to their various homes.
HOW THE INDIANS FIRST GOT FIRE
The Indians were having a "big time" in a great log cabin.
All the birds were there too, for in those days the Indians,
birds, and animals could talk to each other.
They were dancing all around the room and all were merry as
could be. They had a huge wooden drum and, as they passed
this, the dancers kicked it to make music.
Now, among the birds who were there was a big blue-jay. He was
a very saucy fellow, just full of mean tricks. When he came to
the drum, he kicked it so hard that he broke it all to pieces.
Of course this caused a great commotion. Every one was so
provoked by his rudeness that they threw him out of the door.
It was raining hard and the impudence was soon washed out of
Mr. Blue-Jay. He begged at the door in vain, and at last he
huddled up on the branch of a tree, thinking himself greatly
abused.
As he sat there, suddenly, far off, he saw a strange light.
Now the Blue-Jay has an infinite amount of curiosity, so away
he flew to investigate, quite forgetting his troubles.
It was fire which the Indian god had brought down to earth.
The Jay got a piece and soon came flying back to the great
cabin where the dance was still going on.
When he called now at the door, saying that he had something
wonderful to show them, they knew that he was telling the
truth. They let him come in, crowding about him to see this
wonderful thing. They did not know what
to make of this strange new thing. Lest anything should happen
to it, they dug a hole and buried the fire most carefully.
Tired out with the night's dancing the Indians all went off
to rest, leaving the birds to watch the precious fire. But
the birds were tired too, and it was not long before they were
fast asleep. All except the owl. He was wide awake and he,
being very wise, knew that the fire must be put in a safer
place. He went out and calling the yellow snake, the rat, and
the little "hummer" bird, he explained what he wanted them to
do. The snake was to worm his way in under the logs and wait
there till the hummer-bird brought him the fire. The rat was
to go in and chew all the birds' wings so that they should
not be able to catch the little hummer. They were all so fast
asleep that the rat was able to do this very easily.
All went just as they planned. The snake took the fire and
hid a little spark of it in every buckeye tree. And there the
Indians found it when they needed it. For rubbing a piece of
cedar and buckeye together, they very quickly make the spark,
and produce fire.
A LEGEND OF LAKE TAHOE
The following legend was published some years ago in _Sunset
Magazine_. It was written by Miss Nonette V. McGlashan, who heard
it from a Washoe squaw. The story was told with strange gestures and
weird pathos:
The ong was a big bird, bigger than the houses of the white
man. Its body was like the eagle's, and its wings were longer
than the tallest pines. Its face was that of an Indian, but
covered with hard scales, and its feet were webbed. Its nest
was deep down in the bottom of the Lake, out in the center,
and out of the nest rushed all the waters which fill the Lake.
There are no rivers to feed the Lake, only the waters from the
ong's nest. All the waters flow back near the bottom, in great
under-currents, and after passing through the meshes of the
nest are sent forth again. Every plant and bird and animal
that gets into these under-currents, and sometimes the great
trout that are swept into the net-like
nest are there held fast to furnish food for the ong.
He ate everything, he liked everything, but best of all he
liked the taste of human flesh. No one ever heard or saw
anything of such poor mortals as were drowned in these waters,
for their bodies were carried to the ong's nest and no morsel
ever escaped him. Sometimes he would fly about the shores in
quest of some child or woman or hunter, yet he was a great
coward and was never known to attack any one in camp, or when
two or more were together. No arrow could pierce his feathers,
nor could the strongest spear do more than glance from the
scales on his face and legs, yet his coward's heart made him
afraid for his toes had no claws, and his mouth no beak.
Late one fall, the Washoes were making their final hunt before
going to the valleys and leaving the Lake locked in its winter
snows. The chief's daughter was sixteen years old, and before
leaving the Lake he must select the greatest hero in the tribe
for her husband, for such had been the custom of the Washoe
chiefs ever since the tribe came out of the Northland.
Fairer than ever maiden had been was this daughter, and every
unmarried brave and warrior in the tribe wished that he had
performed deeds of greater prowess, that he might be certain
of winning the prize. That last night at the Lake, around the
big council fire, each was to recount to the chief the noblest
achievement of his life, and when all were heard the chief
would choose, and the women join the circle and the wedding
take place. For many years the warriors had looked forward to
this event, and the tribe had become famed because of acts
of reckless daring performed by those who hoped to wed the
chief's daughter.
It was the morning of the final day and much game and great
stores of dried trout were packed ready for the journey. All
were preparing for the wedding festivities, and the fact that
no one knew who would be the bridegroom, among all that band
of warriors, lent intensest excitement to the event. All were
joyous and happy except the maiden and the handsome young
brave to whom she had given her heart. In spite of custom or
tradition her love had long since gone out to one whose feet
had been too young to press the war-path when last the tribe
gave battle to their hereditary foes, the
Paiutis. He never had done deed of valor, nor could he even
claim the right to sit with the warriors around the council
fire. All day long he had been sitting alone on the jutting
cliffs which overhang the water, far away from the laughter
and shouts of the camp, eagerly, prayerfully watching the
great Lake. Surely the Great Spirit would hear his prayer, yet
he had been here for days and weeks in unavailing prayer and
waiting.
The afternoon was well-nigh spent and the heart of the young
brave had grown cold as stone. In his bitter despair he sprang
to his feet to defy the Great Spirit in whom he had trusted,
but ere he could utter the words his very soul stood still
for joy. Slowly rising from the center of the Lake, he saw the
ong. Circling high in the heavens, the monster swept now here,
now there, in search of prey. The young brave stood erect and
waited. When the ong was nearest he moved about slightly to
attract its notice. He had not long to wait. With a mighty
swoop, the bird dashed to earth, and as it arose, the young
brave was seen to be clasped fast in its talons. A great cry
of horror arose from the camp, but it was the sweetest note
the young brave had ever heard. The bird flew straight up into
the sky until Lake and forest and mountains seemed small and
dim. When it reached a great height it would drop its prey
into the Lake and let the current draw it to its nest.
Such was its custom, and for this the brave had prepared
by unwinding from his waist a long buckskin cord and tying
himself firmly to the ong's leg. The clumsy feet could not
grasp him so tightly as to prevent his movements. At last
the great feet opened wide, but the Indian did not fall. In a
mighty rage, the ong tried in vain to grasp him in his teeth,
but the strong web between the bird's toes sheltered him.
Again and again the bird tried to use his horrid teeth, and
each time his huge body would fall through the air in such
twistings and contortions that those who watched below stared
in bewilderment. But what the watchers could not see was that
every time the huge mouth opened to snap him, the young brave
hurled a handful of poisoned arrowheads into the mouth and
down the big throat, their sharp points cutting deep into the
unprotected flesh. The bird
tried to dislodge him by rubbing his feet together, but the
thong held firm. Now it plunged headlong into the Lake, but
its feet were so tied that it could not swim, and though it
lashed the waters into foam with its great wings, and though
the man was nearly drowned and wholly exhausted, the poison
caused the frightened bird such agony that it suddenly arose
and tried to escape by flying toward the center of the Lake.
The contest had lasted long and the darkness crept over the
Lake, and into the darkness the bird vanished.
The women had been long in their huts ere the council fire
was kindled and the warriors gravely seated themselves in its
circle. No such trifling event as the loss of a young brave
could be allowed to interfere with so important an event, and
from most of their minds he had vanished. It was not so very
unusual for the ong to claim a victim, and, besides, the youth
had been warned by his elders that he should not go hunting
alone as had been his habit of late.
But while the warriors were working themselves up into a fine
frenzy of eloquence in trying to remind the old chief of their
bygone deeds of daring, an Indian maiden was paddling a canoe
swiftly and silently toward the middle of the Lake. Nona,
the chief's daughter understood no more than the rest why her
lover had not been dropped into the Lake, nor why the ong had
acted so queerly, but she knew that she could die with her
lover. She took her own frail canoe because it was so light
and easy to row, though it was made for her when a girl, and
would scarcely support her weight now. It mattered nothing to
her if the water splashed over the sides; it mattered nothing
how she reached her lover. She kept saying his name over
softly to herself, "Tahoe! My darling Tahoe!"
When the council was finished, the women went to her hut to
bid her come and hear the decision her father was about to
render. The consternation caused by her disappearance lasted
until the rosy dawn tinged the Washoe peaks and disclosed to
the astounded tribe the body of the ong floating on the
waters above its nest, and beside it an empty canoe. In the
foreground, and gently approaching the shore was the strangest
craft that ever floated on water! It was
one of the great ong's wings, and the sail was the tip of the
other wing! Standing upon it, clasped in each other's arms,
were the young brave, Tahoe, and the daughter of the chief.
In the shouts of the tribe, shouts in which warriors and women
and children mingled their voices with that of the chief,
Tahoe was proclaimed the hero of heroes! The decision was
rendered, but the ong's nest remains, and the drowned never
rise in Lake Tahoe.