The Lake and the
Sky
BY GEORGE WHARTON JAMES (1915)
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CHAPTER IV
INDIAN LEGENDS OF THE TAHOE REGION
As all students of the Indian are well aware these aboriginal and
out-of-door dwellers in the forests, canyons, mountains, valleys, and on lake
and seashores are great observers of Nature, and her many and varied phenomena.
He who deems the Indian dull, stolid and unimpressionable, simply because in the
presence of the White Race he is reserved and taciturn, little knows the
observing and reflecting power hidden behind so self-restrained a demeanor.
Wherever natural objects, therefore, are of a peculiar, striking, unusual,
unique, or superior character, it is reasonable to assume that the Indians,
living within sight of them, should possess myths, legends, folk-lore,
creation-stories or the like in connection with their creation, preservation, or
present-day existence.
This is found exemplified in the legends of Havasupais, Hopis, Navajos and
Wallapais as to the origin of the Grand Canyon of Arizona, of the Yohamities,
Monos, Chuc-Chances, and others, of the distinctive features of the Yosemite
Valley, the Hetch-Hetchy, etc.
While the present-day, half-educated, half-civilized Washoes are by no means
representatives of the highest elements of natural enlightenment among the
Indian race, they do possess legends about Tahoe, the following being the most
interesting.
All these stories, except the last, were gathered by Mrs. W.W. Price of Fallen
Leaf Lodge, from Indians with whom she has been very familiar for several years,
named Jackson and his wife Susan. There has been no attempt to dress them up in
literary fashion.
They are given as near to the Indians' mode of telling as possible. They are
wonderfully different from certain stories recently published in current
magazines, professing to be Legends of Lake Tahoe. These latter are pure
fiction, and to those familiar with Indian thought, reveal their origin in the
imaginative brain of white writers who have but faint conceptions of Indian
mentality. Mrs. Price is a graduate of Stanford University, and took great pains
to preserve the Indians' exact mode of expression. As she herself writes:
Long before the white man saw and wondered over the beauty of Tahoe, theorizing
over its origin and concocting curious tales about its "unfathomable" depths,
the Indians knew and loved it. And as among all other peoples, legends have
grown up to account for every phenomenon of Nature, so among the Washoe Indians
stories about Tahoe have been handed down from generation to generation.
I do not vouch for these legends. The modern Indian too often tells what he
thinks you want to know,—if only you will cross his hand with silver. But there
are touches here and there that make me feel that for the most part they are
remnants of very old legends.
THE ORIGIN OF TAHOE, FALLEN LEAF, AND OTHER LAKES
Long, long ago, before the white man came to Nevada, there lived in the
meadow over beyond Glenbrook a good Indian. But though he was good, he was much
annoyed by the Evil Spirit, who constantly interfered with all that he tried to
do.
Finally, he determined that he must move away and get over into the valleys of
California. But when he tried to escape, the Evil One was always there ready to
trip him in some way or other. In his trouble the Good Spirit came to his aid,
giving him a leafy branch which had certain magic qualities.
He was to start on his journey. If he saw the Evil One coming he was to drop a
bit of the branch and water would immediately spring up. The Evil One could not
cross water, and thus, being delayed by going around, would give the Indian time
to escape.
The Indian made his way well along to where Tallac Hotel now is, when, looking
back, he saw the Evil One off in the distance approaching with such strides that
his heart was filled with great fear. In his terror he tried to pluck a leaf but
it snapped off and he dropped almost his whole branch. To his delight and relief
the waters began to rise and soon "Tahoe"—Big Water—lay between him and his
enemy. Free-heartedly he hurried on his way up the canyon, but when he reached
the spot where the head of Fallen Leaf Lake lies, he turned to reassure himself.
Away off the Evil One was advancing.
A new terror filled his soul. In his hand there remained of his magic branch
only one little twig with a single leaf on it. Plucking the leaf, he threw it
down and watched it fall waveringly through the air. As it touched earth the
waters again began to rise and "Doolagoga"—Fallen Leaf—sprang into being and on
its surface floated the little leaf, as many leaves now float in the fall of the
year. Turning, he sped up the ravine, dropping bits of his twig as fear directed
him, and in his path, Lily, Grass, and Heather lakes came up to guard his way.
At last he was over the crest of the mountain and found himself safe in the
long-wished-for Valley of California.
THE LEGEND OF THE TWO BROTHERS
Once long ago in Paiuti-land, Nevada, there lived two brothers. The older
was a hunter and brought home much game. His wife, whose name was Duck, used to
cook this for him, but she was very stingy to the younger brother, and often
times he was hungry. When he begged her for food, she scolded him and drove him
out of the campoodie, saying, "Got none for you."
One day when the older brother was off hunting Duck was cleaning some fish. She
had been very cross to Little Brother, refusing to give him any food, and he was
terribly hungry. Presently he came creeping up behind her and when he saw all
the fish he became very angry. He took up a big club and before Duck could turn
around he hit her on the head and killed her. Paying no attention to her dead
body he cooked and ate all the fish he wanted and then lay down in the sunshine
on a big rock and went fast asleep.
By and by his Hunter Brother came home. Of course when he found his wife dead,
he was filled with great anger at his young brother, though his anger was
lessened when he thought of his wife's cruelty. He shook him very roughly and
said, "I no like you any more! I go away. Leave you alone!" But Little Brother
begged, "Don't be angry! Don't be angry! Let's go far away! I help you all the
time! Don't be angry!"
Gradually he persuaded the Hunter Brother to forgive him and they started off
together toward the "Big Water"—Lake Tahoe. On the way the Hunter Brother taught
the Little Brother how to shoot with a bow and arrow. By the time they reached
the spot now known as Lakeside both their belts were filled with squirrels that
they had shot.
At dusk they built a good fire and when there were plenty of glowing coals,
Hunter Brother dug a long hole, and filling it with embers, laid the squirrels
in a row on the coals covering them all up with earth.
He was tired and lay down by the fire to rest till the squirrels should be
cooked. With his head resting on his arms, the warmth of the fire soothing him,
he soon fell fast, fast asleep.
Little Brother sat by the fire and as the night grew darker, he grew hungrier
and hungrier. He tried to waken his brother, but the latter seemed almost like
one dead and he could not rouse him. At last he made up his mind he would eat by
himself. Going to the improvised oven, he began to dig up the squirrels,
counting them as they came to light. One was missing. Little Brother was
troubled.
"How that? My brother had so many, I had so many!"—counting on his fingers—"One
gone!" And he forgot how hungry he was as he dug for the missing squirrel.
All at once he came upon a bigger hole adjoining the cooking hole. While he
stood wondering what to do, out popped a great big spider.
"I'll catch you!" cried the spider.
"No, you won't!" said the boy, and up he jumped and away he ran, followed by the
spider. They raced over stock and stone, dodging about trees and stumbling over
fallen logs for a long time. At last Little Brother could run no more. The
spider grabbed him and carried him back to his hole, where he killed him.
It was almost daybreak when Hunter Brother awoke. He called his brother to bring
more wood, for the fire was almost out. Getting no answer he went to look at the
cooking squirrels.
Greatly surprised to see them lying there all uncovered, he, too, counted them.
Discovering one gone, he thought his brother must have eaten it and was about to
eat one himself when he saw the old spider stick his head out of the hole. Each
made a spring, but the Hunter Brother was the quicker and killed the wicked
spider with his knife.
Carefully he now went into the spider's hole. There, stretched out on the
ground, lay Little Brother dead! Taking him up in his arms, he carried him
outside. Now this Hunter Brother was a medicine-man of great power, so he lay
down with Little Brother and breathed into his mouth and in a few minutes he
came back to life and was all right. [Footnote: Susan who was telling this story
offered no reason why he had not restored Duck, his own wife, to life.]
The Hunter Brother was very happy to have his Little Brother alive again. He
built up the fire and while they sat eating their long-delayed meal Little
Brother told all that had happened to him.
The sun was quite above the horizon before the meal was finished, and soon
Hunter Brother was anxious to be moving on, so they took their way along the
lake shore.
On their way they talked and laughed one with another and seemed to agree very
well, until they had gone around the lake and reached where Tahoe City now is.
Here they quarreled and the Hunter Brother left Little Brother to return and go
up the Big Mountain—Tallac—where he had heard there were many squirrels. After
his departure, Little Brother decided to follow him and get him to make friends
again. So he trudged along the lake shore until he came to Emerald Bay.
