“Every morning was Tu-toch-a-nu-lah to be found eagerly wending his way to the rocky dome where he first saw the lovely Tis-sa-ack. He laid love offerings of wild flowers and the fruit of the bread pine upon the rocky dome, and awaited her coming with all the ardor of one upon whose heart love has but newly smiled. But only when he was far distant from the dome on which she sat enthroned would the beautiful maiden appear before his dazzled vision.
“Pursue her as quickly as he might, he caught her not. He heard but the faint and far-away sound of her footsteps, gentle as the falling of an autumn leaf, and the soft rustle of her wings as the unpitying wind blew their snowy, bewildering down into his longing eyes. He might devour with passionate glances her beautiful, shining form; he might in thought revel in her glory of golden hair; he might even look from afar into the limpid depths of her gentle blue eyes, yet was he never to clasp his loved one to his bosom. Struck dumb by her wondrous beauty, never did he speak before her, and never again did her sweet-toned voice fall like the tinkle of rippling brooks upon his enamored ear.
“And with the full blossoming of the flower of love in the heart of the sagamore came neglect of duty. His all absorbing passion swallowed up all regard for the welfare of his people—all remembrance of the beautiful valley for which he had ever so tenderly cared. The world was lost and found in Tis-sa-ack. So all consuming was his passion for her, so constant his thoughts of her, that the crops of Yosemite were neglected—aye, forgotten, and they, being without rain and deprived of his tender care, drooped their delicate heads mournfully and shrank away and died. The breezes whistled and sighed sadly through the juiceless blades of the wild corn that rustled in shrivelled dry response that had naught of life in it. The grass and leaves lost their freshness and turned autumnal brown—sure harbinger of death. The flowers lost their freshness and beauty and their petals fell to the dry earth, one by one, while the bee no longer stored sweet honey in the hollow trees.
“Dazzled were the eyes of Tu-toch-a-nu-lah by the shining wings, golden hair and ivory throat of the beautiful maiden, and he saw none of this. Love had blinded him to all save its object.
“But the fair Tis-sa-ack looked down upon the unhappy neglected valley with eyes of sorrow, as she stood in the early morning upon the mighty dome. As she gazed she wept with compassion, and kneeling down on the smooth, unfeeling rock she besought the Great Spirit to be merciful unto the beautiful valley of Yosemite and bring forth again the beautiful flowers and green trees and shrubs, the delicate grasses, nodding firs and waving maize.
“Then, with an awful crash as of thunder, beneath her feet the great dome was riven asunder, and the melting snows of the Nevada gushed through the wonderful gorge as if by magic! A lovely lake formed between the steep walls of living rock, and a gently murmuring river started therefrom on its meandering, life-giving course through the parched and thirsty valley.
“And then came a wonderful transformation. The valley was infused with new life. The flowers and trees, the withered grass and the yellowing maize raised their dying heads and smiled with joy as the stream of life crept silently through the parched soil at their shrunken roots. The breeze was laden with the perfumed thanks of the blossoms; the freshened blades of the wild corn rustled and shivered with pleasure as the moisture laden air softly caressed them. The mighty trees were thrilled with delight as the sap, with velvet footfall, ran up their trunks, bringing life and energy and renewed vigor. All was peace and happiness again, and the valley of the Yosemite was once more verdant and beautiful.
“But the mysterious maiden, for whom the valley had so sadly suffered—she who had so successfully appealed to the Manitou—was seen no more. As she flew swiftly as flies the swallow, away toward the western skies, there to fade from the sachem’s sight forever, myriads of delicate downy tufts were wafted from her lovely wings. They fell upon the margin of the new and beautiful lake, and where they fell may to-day be seen thousands on thousands of fragrant little white violets.
“And Tu-toch-a-nu-lah is still wandering sadly about the world seeking her whom he loved and lost. Ere he left his ancestral home, to return no more, that the noble race of Yosemite might never forget him he carved the outlines of his god-like head upon the haughty rock that bears his name. There it will forever stand, steadfastly gazing toward the dome whereon he found and lost Tis-sa-ack, the beloved—the first and last love of his noble heart.
“Sometimes, when the fragrant morning breeze sweeps gently round and round the rocky dome, the maidens of the Yosemite whisper one to another, saying: