Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1914-02-26
LEGEND OF oJIBwAys
By ELMER EDWARDS.

Long 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. Halli's 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. It was then that trouble came to the peace full and happy village.
 A little to the east, on the bank of a beautiful stream, 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. Halli boldly called Motchi- 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 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 Motchi- manitou. There is only one way. If Winona becomes his wife he will no longer be our enemy; instead of curs- ing he will bless us."
 It 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 Necma 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 a 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, Gave 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 until sunset, bringing back in his canoe the carcass of a deer. The wig wam was deserted.
 Neoma recalled Motchimanitou. He hastened to that braves home and soon learned that Winona was indeed
 
 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 a summer morning Neoma climbed to the top of tall pine that stood near the caves mouth. Directly beneath him pool, formed by the damming of the brook, sparkled and gleamed in the rays of sunlight that stole down through the foliage, to touch its placid surface with caressing fingers. Suddenly Neoma saw an un' usual commotion below him. From the cave came several warriors of his na 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 tc 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 1t all that the waters of the brook took up the weird chant, and still they sing 1t. h days of storm and wind the song rose so high that the Indians gave to the stream the name of Roaring Brock.
 Today the stream threads it's way through the woods to discharge its water in the bay. Near the bay the stream widens, and there among ths gnarled roots of the venerable cedars crossed by decaying tree trunks, is the spot where Neoma went to his death. K the tourist fingers there he will hear the weird death song, al ways providing that he has in his pos session the key of imagination that un locks the gateway to the realm o