Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 7 | Page 4

lodge,
where he released the trader from his horse and fed him, but kept his
hands and legs hard bound, and paid no attention to his questions and
his appeals for liberty. Tying a strong and half-trained horse at his door,
Ta-in-ga-ro placed a wooden saddle on him, cut off the Spaniard's
clothes, and put him astride of the beast. After he had fastened him into
his seat with deer-skin thongs, he took Zecana's corpse from its
wrapping and tied it to his prisoner, face to face.
Then, loosing the horse, which was plunging and snorting to be rid of
his burden, he saw him rush off on the limitless desert, and followed on
his own strong steed. At first the Spaniard fainted; on recovering he
struggled to get free, but his struggles only brought him closer to the
ghastly thing before him. Noon-day heat covered him with sweat and
blood dripped from the wales that the cords cut in his flesh. At night he
froze uncovered in the chill air, and, if for an instant his eyes closed in
sleep, a curse, yelled into his ear, awoke him. Ta-inga-ro gave him
drink from time to time, but never food, and so they rode for days. At
last hunger overbore his loathing, and sinking his teeth into the dead

flesh before him he feasted like a ghoul.
Still they rode, Ta-in-ga-ro never far from his victim, on whose
sufferings he gloated, until a gibbering cry told him that the Spaniard
had gone mad. Then, and not till then, he drew rein and watched the
horse with its dead and maniac riders until they disappeared in the
yellow void. He turned away, but nevermore sought his home. To and
fro, through the brush, the sand, the alkali of the plains, go the ghost
riders, forever.

THE DIVISION OF TWO TRIBES
When white men first penetrated the Western wilderness of America
they found the tribes of Shoshone and Comanche at odds, and it is a
legend of the springs of Manitou that their differences began there. This
"Saratoga of the West," nestling in a hollow of the foot-hills in the
shadow of the noble peak of Pike, was in old days common
meeting-ground for several families of red men. Councils were held in
safety there, for no Indian dared provoke the wrath of the manitou
whose breath sparkled in the "medicine waters." None? Yes, one. For,
centuries ago a Shoshone and a Comanche stopped here on their return
from a hunt to drink. The Shoshone had been successful; the Comanche
was empty handed and ill tempered, jealous of the other's skill and
fortune. Flinging down the fat deer that he was bearing homeward on
his shoulders, the Shoshone bent over the spring of sweet water, and,
after pouring a handful of it on the ground, as a libation to the spirit of
the place, he put his lips to the surface. It needed but faint pretext for
his companion to begin a quarrel, and he did so in this fashion: "Why
does a stranger drink at the spring-head when one of the owners of the
fountain contents himself with its overflow? How does a Shoshone dare
to drink above me?"
The other replied, "The Great Spirit places the water at the spring that
his children may drink it undefiled. I am Ausaqua, chief of Shoshones,
and I drink at the head-water. Shoshone and Comanche are brothers.
Let them drink together."
"No. The Shoshone pays tribute to the Comanche, and Wacomish leads
that nation to war. He is chief of the Shoshone as he is of his own
people."
"Wacomish lies. His tongue is forked, like the snake's. His heart is

black. When the Great Spirit made his children he said not to one,
'Drink here,' and to another, 'Drink there,' but gave water that all might
drink."
The other made no answer, but as Ausaqua stooped toward the
bubbling surface Wacomish crept behind him, flung himself against the
hunter, forced his head beneath the water, and held him there until he
was drowned. As he pulled the dead body from the spring the water
became agitated, and from the bubbles arose a vapor that gradually
assumed the form of a venerable Indian, with long white locks, in
whom the murderer recognized Waukauga, father of the Shoshone and
Comanche nation, and a man whose heroism and goodness made his
name revered in both these tribes. The face of the patriarch was dark
with wrath, and he cried, in terrible tones, "Accursed of my race! This
day thou hast severed the mightiest nation in the world. The blood of
the brave Shoshone appeals for vengeance. May the water of thy tribe
be rank and bitter in their throats."
Then, whirling up an elk-horn club, he