The daily sentinel., 1910-04-25
A LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL
GIRL WRITES A PRETTY
LEGEND Of THE VALLEY

Written by Miss Dora Harris, the
bright young daughter of Mr.. and
Mrs. James U. Harris. and one of the
members of the class in English. in
the local high school, of which class
Miss Scott is instructor. the follow
ing Indian legend, is extremely in
teresting and is written in very
clear, comprehensive and entertain
ing manner, and is we'll worthy of
publication:
An Indian Legend.
Explains the purple haze which
surrounds Mt. Garfield of an even
ing.)
Slowly, very slowly through the
tranquil air of evening the pale blue
smoke rose in single wavering lines
from the peaceful wigwams. The
warriors were all drawn together by
the signal of the peace pipe. All
around there was peace and quiet
Even the birds had hushed their calls,
and were now cheeping plaintively to
one another. The dull roar of the
river seemed changed almost to a
murmur. Only little Pearl Feather,
whose father was the great chief of
the tribe, sported in triumph along
the low bank of the stream, display
ing, with childish glee, a beautiful
bow and arrows. Some day he, too,
would be great chief and ride with
his warriors to battle.
Suddenly he paused in his move
ments and looked away to the east
ward, slowly scanning the low, gray
foothills, then raising his glance to-
hnt -
stand forth abruptly and look, with
its rugged face, far out over the level
valley Turning, the boy ran with
swift feet towards a wigwam, at the
door of which an old woman sat
swaying backward and forward and
droning softly to herself. On her
worn and rugged face were the marks
of many winters, and her thin, coarse
hair had grown white.
Grand mother" said little Pearl
Feather, pointing away toward the
east, "tell me what makes the purple
and red light on the mountain in the
evening. Where do the bright colors
come from, that fade slowly away
into darkness"
Come and sit by my side and I'll
tell you the story of our mountain.
l heard it many times when l was a
child as you are. Many, many sum-
mers ago there dwelt, here-in our
peaceful valley, a very beautiful
maiden alone with her father, an old
man. Her hair was long and straight,
and shining black like the crows
wing. Her eyes also were black and
sparkled like beads on the moccasin.
She was tall and slender. with a step
as light as the morning and hands
that forgot not their duty. The old
man called her Oweenee, which in
our language means Faithful One
day there came to the wigwam
mighty chief with his braves. He
was strong and tall and powerful,
bravest and boldest of all the war
riors. They were journeying with
feathers and war-paint far away to-
ward the sunset, to make war on
mighty tribe which dwelt beyond the
fartherest mountains. Pan-Puk-
Keewis was the chiefs name. When
he looked upon the maiden his heart
filled with love and longing, and in
the evening at the door of her wig
wan he sang softly to her this song,
taught by the birds and the flowers:
Thou. the wild-flower of the for
Thou, with eyes so soft and fawn-
like!
If thou only looked at me,
/ am happy. ! am happy
AS the lilies of the prairie
When they feel the dew upon them
when the sun rose over the noun
tain, the great chief made his de-
m rture. But he told the fair Oweenee
that he never would forget her: and
each evening he would send from the