“Obey my word, O Ten-ie-ya, and your people shall be many as the blades of grass, and none shall dare to bring war into Ah-wah-nee. But look you ever, my son, against the white horsemen of the great plains beyond; for once they have crossed the western mountains, your tribe will scatter as the dust before a desert wind, and never come together again. Guard well your stronghold, O Ten-ie-ya, lest you be the last of the great chiefs of Ah-wah-nee.”
The faded eyes had the light that comes when the call of the Great Spirit sounds very near, and the feeble hand of the patriarch trembled as he raised his pipe above his head, and said:
“Great Spirit, I pray be good to my son, the chief of the Ah-wah-nee-chees. Toward the pines, north, cold wind treat him kindly; toward the rising sun, east, great sun shine upon his lodge in the early morning; toward the place where the sun goes in winter, south, bless my son; toward the land of the setting sun, west, waft on the breezes a peaceful sleep. And, lowering my pipe, I say, kind mother earth, when you receive my son into your warm bosom, hold him gently. Let the howl of the coyote, the roaring of the bear and the mountain-lion, and the sound of winds swaying the tops of the pine trees, be to him a sweet lullaby.”
Because of these last words of the dying seer, Ten-ie-ya guarded his mountain retreat as a she-bear guards the refuge of her young. With vague foreboding he saw the white horsemen coming nearer. They took the land that the Great Spirit had made for the people of his race. They burrowed into it like moles, and washed the sands of its rivers, searching for something yellow and shining that the Indian neither knew was there nor cared to know. They grazed their horses and their cattle upon the broad stretches that had been the Indian’s hunting-ground since time began. They even went so far, these pale-faced strangers, as to steal Indian women for their wives. And always they made their camps nearer and nearer to Ah-wah-nee.
While the vigor of youth remained, Ten-ie-ya did not fear these men of an alien race. He only hated them. With his band of lawless Grizzlies he stole forth in the night and drove away their horses to kill for food; and as they feasted, drunk with the taste of warm blood, their spirits were made bold, and the deep gorge rang with shouts of defiance.
But Ten-ie-ya grew old, and the white horsemen of the plains, now strong in number, were at the very walls of Ah-wah-nee. The words of the dying patriarch were ever in his ears, and he knew that the evil day was come.
“Toward the pines, north, cold wind treat him kindly.”
At last the white men climbed the western mountains, offering gifts in the name of the Great Father, their chief; and when they went away they led Ten-ie-ya captive to their camp. The young braves fled from Ah-wah-nee, across To-co-yah, the North Dome, to the home of the Mo-nos. It was well that Ten-ie-ya should go to the plains, they said; but they were young and could find plenty in the mountains; they would not go to be herded like horses in the white man’s camp.