The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1914-02-07
LEGEND OF oJ|BwAYs
By ELMER EDWARDS.

Lorg ago, before even Father Mar
| quette visited the beautiful upper lake
region, there was an Indian village
where the little town of Harbor
Springs, Mich, now stands.
In the days when Halli was chief
of the village, peace and prosperity
were enjoyed by the red men. TO
their very door Little Traverse Bay
brought fish in great abundance.
HALLS only daughter Winona, was
| famed throughout all that region for
her beauty and goodness. From child
hood her favorite among the young
| Ojibways had been Neoma. He was re-
nowned as the swiftest runner and
the most daring hunter of the tribe.
All the people looked for Neoma to
wed Winona and, when the old chief
was dead, rule in his stead. 1t was
then that trouble came to the peace.
full and happy village.
A little to the east, on the bank of
a beautiful stream. a willy Indian
named Motchimanitou came to make
his home. The stranger was false.
hearted, and in league with the spirits
Of evil. Soon he laid spell upon the
village. HALL boldly called NOTCH.
manitou to a council and when the
stranger departed, the old chief
emerged from his wigwam, his head
bowed and his face somber.
The next day Neoma went to the
chief and asked Winona's hand in mar
riage. "Once l am your son o Halli,
we will lead the warriors against the
evil one at the brook" the young brave
said.
may, nay, Neoma! We would be
powerless against the mighty NOTCH.
manitou. There is only one way. If
Winona becomes his wife he will no
longer be our enemy; instead of ours.
ing he will bless us"
1t was in vain that Neoma cried
out against that plan. The old chief
was firm.
For three days there was much ex.
citement in the village. On the morn.
ing of the fourth Neoma and his birch
canoe were gone. That was not all;
Winona had left her fathers wigwam.
The lovers made their way in the
canoe to small, uninhabited island
far out in Lake Michigan There the
young warrior built wigwam. From
the lake they obtained fish, and Neoma
visited the mainland in his canoe,
bringing back plenty of game. The
two were very happy all through the
golden autumn when, according to the
legends of thier tribe, Shawondasee,
the South Wind, ruled the land, and
From his pipe the smoke ascending
Filled the sky with haze and vapor,
Filled the air with dreamy softness,
Gaze a twinkle to the water,
Touched the rugged hills with smooth
ness,
Brought the tender Indian summer.
One day Neoma went to the main.
land on hunting expedition. He was
gone unit! sunset, bringing back in his
canoe the carcass of deer. The wig.
wan was deserted.
Neoma recalled Motchimanitou. He
fastened to that braves home and
soon learned that Winona was indeed
a prisoner there. She was confined in
a cave, and, because the entrance to
her prison was guarded by evil spirits,
all Neoma's efforts to rescue his bride
were in vain. Always Winona was
singing the weird death song of their
tribe. Thus did Neoma know that
hope had died in the maiden's breast
On summer morning Neoma
climbed to the top of tall pine that
stood near the caves mouth. Directly
beneath him a pool, formed by the
damming of the brook, sparkled and
cleaned in the rays Of sunlight that
stole down through the foliage, to
touch it's placid surface with caressing
fingers. Suddenly Neoma saw ar I'M
usual commotion below him. From the
cave came several warriors of his ma
tive village. They bore with them a
burden, and the young braves heart
broke when he saw that it was the
dead from of Winona The maiden had
died of grief, and the cruel Motchi-
manitou had given permission for her
people to carry her body away for
burial.
There was nothing for Neoma to
live for. He began to sing the same
plaintive death song that had been ever
! on the lips of his beloved. Still sing.
ing he threw himself down, to die IN
the pool below. So sad was it all that
the waters of the brook took up the
| weird chant. and still they sing it. In
! days of storm and wind the song rose
SO high that the Indians gave to the
stream the name of Roaring Brook.
Today the stream threads its way
through the woods to discharge it's
water in the bay. Near the bay the
stream widens, and there among the
gnarled roots of the venerable cedars,
crossed by decaying tree trunks, is
the spot where Neoma went to his
death If the tourist fingers there he
/ haor fha u,o;rJ dao3L