Though he appeared to yield, the spirit of Ten-ie-ya was not broken. Like a wild beast in captivity, he chafed under restraint. With the cunning of his race, he watched his chance; and when it came, he returned to his stronghold in the Sky Mountains, bearing in his heart a fiercer hate for the white man, a hate made keener by defeat, a hate that burned for revenge.
But an evil spell seemed cast upon the children of Ah-wah-nee. They were scattered, and they did not rally round their chief. Again the white horsemen climbed the western mountains, this time without gifts. But day and night signal fires had burned upon the mountain tops; and when the messengers of the Great Father entered Ah-wah-nee they found the valley deserted, save for five dark figures that darted like shadows from tree to rock at the base of a jagged spur of the northern wall.
Feeling themselves secure because of the swollen river that lay between, the five scouts came into the open when discovered, and mocked the strangers; then disappeared up the side of a cliff so straight and pathless that no white man could follow. By fair promises carried to them by an Indian guide they were induced to come into camp, and three of them were found to be sons of Ten-ie-ya.
It does not speak for the faith of white men that one of the brothers was killed while held as hostage until the aged chief should come in and deliver himself to the messengers of the Great Father; and that only an uncertain aim saved another who tried to escape through the Cañon of the Arrow-wood, where his father was hiding. When he saw it was useless to resist further these fearless, faithless horsemen of the plains, who had stolen his lands and his women, who would not let him live in peace in his mountains, Ten-ie-ya came down from Le-ham-i-te, the Cañon of the Arrow-wood, by a trail that led into the valley through the branches of a giant oak.
The first sight that met the gaze of the twice-conquered chieftain was the dead body of his youngest son. He spoke no word, but lines of sorrow appeared in the hard, old face; and secretly, in the heart of the night, he had the young chief’s body carried away—none knew where. Once more he tried for his liberty; once more was captured. Then in a passion of grief and rage, he turned his bare breast to his captors, and cried:
“Kill me, white chief, as you have killed my son, as you would kill all my people if they would but come to you. You have brought sorrow to my heart. For me the sun shines no more. Kill me, white chief, and when I am dead I will call my people, that they shall come and avenge the death of their chief and his son. My spirit will follow your footsteps forever. I will not leave the spirit world, you will not see me, but I will follow you where you go and you will know it is the spirit of the old chief, and you will fear me and grow cold. This is the message of the Great Spirit.”
But Ten-ie-ya’s hour was not yet come. He was to die, for an act of treachery, at the hands of the Mo-nos, his mother’s people. Even so, the prophecy of the seer was fulfilled, for the white horsemen of the plains had crossed the western mountains, the tribe was scattered, never to come together again, and Ten-ie-ya was the last great chief of the Ah-wah-nee-chees.
Because his three sons were captured at its base, the triple peak in the northern wall was given the name Three Brothers.
THIS EDITION OF YOSEMITE LEGENDS WAS
DONE FOR PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
AT THE TOMOYÉ PRESS, SAN FRANCISCO, IN
THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FOUR
