Chapter XVIII: The Legend of Death River

“Aw, go on!” gasped the skeptical Rip. “Who says it’s haunted?”

“I don’t know who started it,” Lola answered complacently, “but people around here have believed it for many hundreds of years. I could neither deny nor affirm it, never having been in or on the lake or up there.”

The romantic and adventurous Westy was thrilled to the utmost. He had fairly hung on Lola’s every word.

“If they say it is, _it is_!” he cried with emphasis, and believed it because he wanted to believe it.

“Well, maybe it is, but you’ve got to go some to make me believe it, I know that!” Rip was defiant. “Anyhow, if it’s only a legend, why should we have to swallow it? People in those days were likely to believe everything. They didn’t have anything else on their minds! Why, gee whiz, look at those times when the poor dubs practiced witchcraft. Would you believe that now? Huh, I guess not! Then why fall for this kind of stuff? Not a bit of difference between witchcraft and haunted places. It’s all bunk!” Rip was panting for breath.

“Mr. Smarty!” Westy put in, “I hope you’re resting easier with that off your chest! And I’ll tell you one thing, if you call yourself a gentleman, I don’t! Arguing with a lady--you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Weren’t you brought up to believe everything a lady tells you? and if you don’t to keep it to yourself? That’s the way I was brought up! Now can the chin music until Lola tells us what it’s all about. Go on, Lola!”

“Lone Star told it to my grandmother,” she began. “All the old pioneers hereabouts know of it. In fact it had been handed down generation after generation until Black Waters’ time and that is how my Indian kin learned it. Of course, they all believe it implicitly--but that is ill to the purpose just now. The story is what you want to hear.

“Ages ago, as we have all been told, the continent of North America was vastly populated by the red man. Whether of the Aztec race or not, it is not known, but at any rate the tribe I am going to tell you about were cliff dwellers and said to be very intelligent in their way.

“The lake here was then a deep, dangerous river called the River of Death or Death River. It was fed by a gigantic waterfall that came roaring over one of the cliffs yonder. The stream then ran on submerging each little stream in its swift, greedy course. It wanted no tributaries emptying mild waters in its superstrong current. It wanted only itself; its own master and any of those who dared defile these virgin waters were put to death and violently carried downstream and from there emptied into an enormous basin, where the bodies of those who had also dared were devoured by huge fish. That basin is now called Le Purgatoire (The River of Lost Souls) or Purgatory River. Many legends are also told of that river.

“At any rate, the stunted cliff was occupied by this tribe whose homes had been chiseled out of the rock. It was higher then than any of the neighboring cliffs and for many, many years they lived there in peace and prosperity.

“The men were stalwart and handsome and their women folk were reputed far and wide to possess extraordinary beauty and grace. Their braves were lacking however in one thing--prowess in war. They weren’t as skillful with the bow and arrow as their contemporaries who roved the plains.

“But their lives were serene. They hunted and fished; their homes were strong and comfortable and they had the River of Death flowing past their very doors to protect them from envious invaders.

“It was true, an enemy could reach them by the long and tortuous trails over the range. But the way was dangerous and would take many moons to travel, so they did not fear this as they well knew the laziness of their brother redskins, who would avoid such a route if they could reach and fight them another way. They preferred paddling their canoes in comfort to stalking over hazardous trails.

“A day came, however, when a distant tribe heard of the serenity, the prosperity and beautiful maidenhood this tribe possessed. This distant tribe were noted for their great skill with the arrow and it was said they could slay a deer on the mountain, aiming from the prairie land below. So the cliff dwellers with their Death River and all could not deter them from setting out to fight them.

“They were tired of their prairie wigwams, exposed to the wintry blasts and the summer suns. They wanted comfort and determined to take the homes of the cliff dwellers for their own.

“Upon reaching the banks of the River, they called forth a challenge to the warriors of the cliffs. Now, though not skilled in archery, these braves were not cowards and at once answered the challenge of their enemies. The women and children clambered to the top of the cliff and hid back in the safe seclusion of the deep forest.

“Alas, the handsome men of the peaceful tribe were no match for the enemy, who were indescribably ugly and ferocious. After a few days and much fighting between the river’s bank and the cliffs, a sunset found them all completely wiped out--victims of the treacherous poisoned arrows of their opponents, who were now shouting with malicious glee the songs of triumph.

“The women and maidens hearing no more shouts from their loved ones came to the edge of the cliff and straightway were weighed down with terrible sorrow. Before their very eyes their braves were being rushed face downward in the terrific currents of Death River, while others had fallen by their own dwellings, which they had fought to protect.

“The enemy tribe then called them to prepare the homes anew, for they intended to seize the women also. They were going to take the trail over the range, knowing the dangers of the river.

“The women and maidens, aware of the length of time it took to cross the range, set about destroying their possessions. Arising before dawn on the morning that the enemy’s arrival was expected, they arrayed themselves in their most beautiful costumes.

“When all were assembled (some two hundred and more) the oldest woman of the tribe began to chant a hymn of death. It was taken up along the line by the older women first, the mothers with their babes and children, the maidens and girls and boys.

“Filled with pathos, the last wailing note lingered long in the air and finally died away in the roaring din of the waterfall. Paying their last homage to the four gods of their fathers, the heavens above, the earth below, the winds and the sea, they cried a prayer of farewell.

“As the approaching dawn flooded the world in a sea of light and as the sun looked silently on, with one accord they flung themselves into the rushing waters below!”