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           YOSEMITE
           LEGENDS

              BY
       BERTHA H. SMITH


       WITH DRAWINGS BY
      FLORENCE LUNDBORG


        [Illustration]


    PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
   PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO


       Copyright, 1904
  by Paul Elder and Company
        San Francisco




  [Illustration: The Valley in the Mist.]




  [Illustration]

The Legends


                                           Page
  Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear             1

  Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind          11

  Hum-moo, the Lost Arrow                    19

  Py-we-ack, the White Water                 31

  Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah and Tis-sa-ack           45

  Kom-po-pai-ses, Leaping Frog Rocks         55




The Illustrations


  The Valley                     _Frontispiece_

  Mirror Lake                                 1

  A Grizzly                   Facing page     6

  Oaks                                       11

  Po-ho-no in Bridal Veil     Facing page    14

  The Lost Arrow                             19

  Tee-hee-neh                 Facing page    26

  Cloud's Rest                               31

  Spirits of Vernal Falls     Facing page    38

  El Capitan                                 45

  The Spirit of Tis-sa-ack    Facing page    52

  The Three Brothers                         55

  The Patriarch's Prayer      Facing page    60




  [Illustration: YO-SEM-I-TE
    LARGE GRIZZLY BEAR
    "Ke-koo-too-yem, the Sleeping Water."]




Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear


When the world was made, the Great Spirit tore out the heart of
Kay-o-pha, the Sky Mountains, and left the gash unhealed. He sent the
Coyote to people the valley with a strong and hardy race of men, who
called their home Ah-wah-nee, and themselves, the Ah-wah-nee-chees.

The Ah-wah-nee-chees lived the simple, savage life, which knows no law
but to hunt and kill and eat. By day the trackless forests rang with
the clamor of the chase. By the flaring light of their fires the
hunters gorged themselves upon the fresh-killed meat, feasting far
into the night. They made war upon the tribes that lived beyond the
walls of Ah-wah-nee and never knew defeat, for none dared follow them
to their rock-ribbed fastness. They were feared by all save the
outcasts of other tribes, whose lawless deeds won for them a place
among the Ah-wah-nee-chees. Thus the children of Ah-wah-nee increased
in number and strength.

As time went by, the Ah-wah-nee-chees, in their pride of power,
forgot the Great Spirit who had given them their stronghold and made
them feared of all their race. And the Great Spirit, turning upon them
in his wrath, loosed his evil forces in their midst, scourging them
with a black sickness that swept all before it as a hot wind blights
the grain at harvest time.

The air of the valley was a poison breath, in which the death shade
hovered darkly. Before the Evil Spirit medicine men were powerless.
Their mystic spells and incantations were a weird mockery, performed
among the dying and the dead; and when at last the Evil One passed
onward in his cursed flight, the once proud and powerful band of
Ah-wah-nee-chees was like a straggling pack of gaunt gray wolves.
Their eyes gleamed dully in their shrunken faces, and the skin hung in
loose folds on their wasted bodies.

Those who were able fled from the valley, which was now a haunted
place, eerie with flitting shadows of funeral fires and ghostly
echoes of the funeral wail. They scattered among the tribes beyond the
mountains, and Ah-wah-nee was deserted.

A vast stillness settled upon the valley, broken only by the songs of
birds and the roar of Cho-look when Spring sent the mountain torrents
crashing over his head. The mountain lion and the grizzly roamed at
will among the rocks and tangled chinquapin, fearless of arrows; the
doe led her young by an open path to the river, where trout flashed
their colors boldly in the sun. In the autumn the choke-cherries and
manzanita berries dried upon their stems, and ripened acorns rotted to
dust upon the ground after the squirrels had gathered their winter
store. The homeless Ah-wah-nee-chees circled wide in passing the
valley.

Over beyond To-co-yah, the North Dome, among the Mo-nos and Pai-u-tes,
a few of the ill-fated Ah-wah-nee-chees had found refuge. Among them
was the chief of the tribe, who after a time took a Mo-no maiden for
his bride. By this Mo-no woman he had a son, and they gave him the
name of Ten-ie-ya. Before another round of seasons, the spirit of the
Ah-wah-nee-chee chieftain had wandered on to the Land of the Sun, the
home of happy souls.

Ten-ie-ya grew up among his mother's people, but the fire of a warrior
chief was in his blood and he liked not to live where the word of
another was law. The fire in his blood was kept aflame by the words of
an old man, the patriarch of his father's tribe, who urged him to
return to Ah-wah-nee, the home of his ancestors, and gather about him
the people whose chief he was by right of birth.

So Ten-ie-ya went back across the mountains by a trail abandoned long
ago, and from the camps of other tribes came those in whose veins was
any trace of Ah-wah-nee-chee blood; and, as before, the number was
increased by lawless braves of weaker bands who liked a greater
freedom for their lawlessness. Again, under the favor of the Great
Spirit, the Ah-wah-nee-chees flourished and by their fierce strength
and daring became to other tribes as the mountain lion to the wolf and
the coyote and the mountain sheep.

  [Illustration: "A monster grizzly that had just crept forth from
    his winter cave."]

And it chanced that one day while Ten-ie-ya and his warriors were
camped near Le-ham-i-te, the Cañon of the Arrow-wood, a young brave
went out in the early morning to the lake of Ke-koo-too-yem, the
Sleeping Water, to spear fish. His lithe, strong limbs took no heed of
the rocky talus in his path, and he leaped from boulder to boulder,
following the wall that rose sheer above him and cut the blue sky
overhead.

As he reached the base of Scho-ko-ni, the cliff that arches like the
shade of an Indian cradle basket, he came suddenly upon a monster
grizzly that had just crept forth from his winter cave. The grizzly
knows no man for his friend; least of all, the man who surprises him
at the first meal after his long sleep. The rivals of Ah-wah-nee were
face to face.

The Ah-wah-nee-chee had no weapon save his fish spear, useless as a
reed; yet he had the fearlessness of youth and the courage of a race
to whom valorous deeds are more than strings of wampum, piles of pelt
or many cattle. He faced the grizzly boldly as the clumsy hulk rose to
its full height, at bay and keen for attack. With instinctive love of
conflict roused, the young chief seized a broken limb that lay at his
feet, and gave the grizzly blow for blow.

The claws of the maddened brute raked his flesh. The blood ran warm
over his glistening skin and matted the bristled yellow fur of the
grizzly.

The Ah-wah-nee-chee fought bravely. While there was blood in his body,
he could fight; when the blood was gone, he could die; but with the
traditions of his ancestors firing his brain, he could not flee.

Furious with pain, blinded by the blows from the young chief's club
and by the blood from the young chief's torn flesh, the grizzly
struggled savagely. He, too, was driven by the law of his breed, the
universal law of the forest, the law of Indian and grizzly
alike,--which is to kill.

Such a battle could not last. With a low growl the crippled grizzly
brought himself together and struck with the full force of his
powerful arm. The blow fell short.

Urging his waning strength to one last effort, the Ah-wah-nee-chee
raised his club high above his head and brought it down with a heavy,
well-aimed stroke that crushed the grizzly's skull and sent him
rolling among the boulders, dead.

That night as the Ah-wah-nee-chees feasted themselves on bear meat,
the story of the young chief's bravery was told, and told again; and
from that hour he was known as Yo-sem-i-te, the Large Grizzly Bear.

In time the name Yo-sem-i-te was given to all the tribe of
Ah-wah-nee-chees, who for fearlessness and lawlessness were rivaled
only by the grizzly with whom they shared their mountain fastness. And
when long afterward the white man came and took Ah-wah-nee for his
own, he gave it the name by which Ten-ie-ya's band was known; and
Cho-look, the high fall that makes the earth tremble with its mighty
roar, he also called by the name of the Large Grizzly Bear,
Yo-sem-i-te.




  [Illustration: PO-HO-NO
    SPIRIT OF THE EVIL WIND
    "And the oaks unfurl their soft green banners in welcome of the
      coming summer."]




Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind


The white man calls it Bridal Veil. To the Indian it is Po-ho-no,
Spirit of the Evil Wind.

The white man, in passing, pauses to watch the filmy cloud that hangs
there like a thousand yards of tulle flung from the crest of the rocky
precipice, wafted outward by the breeze that blows ever and always
across the Bridal Veil Meadows. By the light of mid-afternoon the veil
seems caught half-way with a clasp of bridal gems, seven-hued,
evanescent; now glowing with color, now fading to clear white sun rays
before the eye.

The Indian, if chance brings him near this waterfall, hurries on with
face averted, a vague dread in his heart; for in the meshes of the
Bridal Veil hides an eerie spirit, a mischievous, evil one--Po-ho-no.
In the ripple of the water as it falls among the rocks, the Indian
hears Po-ho-no's voice. In the tossing spray he sees the limp forms
and waving arms of hapless victims lured by the voice to their
destruction.

The Indian's mistrust of Po-ho-no dates back to a day of long ago, a
bright blue day of early spring such as the children of Ah-wah-nee
love, when the valley has thrown off its white winter blanket, and
dogwood blooms, and the oaks unfurl their soft green banners in
welcome of the coming summer. It was the time when deer begin to
trail, leaving the lowlands of the river for the higher ranges; and
while the men hunted in the forest, the women went forth to gather
roots and berries for the feast.

The Sun had come back from the south; and as he stood high in the
heavens looking into the valley over the shoulder of Lo-yah, the
Sentinel, three women were tempted to stray from the others and wander
along a trail that led high above the valley to the spot whence the
misty spray of the waterfall flutters downward.

  [Illustration: "For in the meshes of the Bridal Veil hides * *
    Po-ho-no."]

They talked with what zest women may whose simple lives give them no
secrets to hold or betray. They laughed as they filled their baskets,
stooping to scrape the earth from a tender root, to strip the
seed from a stalk, or gather grasses used in basketry; and their
voices were as the purling of lazy waters gliding over stones. They
were happy, for as yet they knew naught of the joy-sapping fever of
discontent.

Of a sudden the laughter ceased, and in its stead arose the mocking
wail of Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind. The youngest of the women,
venturing near the edge of the cliff to pick an overhanging wisp of
grass, had stepped upon a rock where moss grew like a thick-woven
blanket. She did not know that the soft, wet moss was a snare of the
Evil One, and even as the others cried out in warning, Po-ho-no seized
her and hurled her down among the rocks.

A pair of helpless arms waving in despair; long, loose hair sweeping
across a face, half veiling one last look of terror--and she was gone.
If she uttered a cry, the sound was lost in the gleeful chatter of
Po-ho-no and his impish host.

The two women left above dared not go near the treacherous ledge,
lest they too come within reach of the vengeful Spirit. Afraid even to
give a backward glance, they hurried down the steep path to spread the
alarm. Scarce was their story told before a band of daring braves
rushed to the rescue of the maiden; but though they searched till
night among the rocks where the water swirls and leaps to catch the
rainbow thrown there by the western sun, they found no trace of her.
The maiden's spirit had joined the forces of Po-ho-no, and could know
no rest, nor be released from his hateful thrall, until by her aid
another victim was drawn to his doom. Here she must stay, hidden by
the mist from watchful eyes, beckoning always, tempting always, luring
another soul to pay the forfeit of her own release. Then, and then
only, would the spirit of the maiden be free to pass on to the home of
the Great Spirit in the West.

Since that day of long ago many of the children of Ah-wah-nee have
fallen prey to Po-ho-no, the restless Spirit of the Evil Wind, who
wanders ever through the cañon and puffs his breath upon the waterfall
to make for himself a hiding-place of mist. Now every Ah-wah-nee-chee
knows this haunt of the Evil One. By day they hurry past, and not one
would sleep at night within sight or sound of the fall lest the fatal
breath of Po-ho-no sweep over him and bear him