We fished with a hooked stick for some time, and were rewarded by bringing up a ragged blanket and a shattered gunstock. All around the rim of the opening were incrustations of salt, and the brackish water trickled over, and ran in little rivulets down the huge sides. At the base of the rock, a dead buffalo was fast in the mud, having died where he mired, while licking the Great Spirit's brackish altar.
WACONDA DA—GREAT SPIRIT SALT SPRING.
As no remarkable spot in Indian land should ever be brought before the public without an accompanying legend, I shall present one, selected out of several such, which has attached itself to this. To make tourists fully appreciate a high bluff or picturesquely dangerous spot, it is absolutely essential that some fond lovers should have jumped down it, hand-in-hand, in sight of the cruel parents, who struggle up the incline, only to be rewarded by the heart-rending finale. This, then, is
THE LEGEND OF WACONDA.
Many moons ago—no orthodox Indian story ever commenced without this expression—a red maiden, named Hewgaw, fell in love. (And I may here be permitted to quote a theory of Alderman Sachem's, to the effect that Eve's daughters generally fall into every thing, including hysterics, mistakes, and the fashions.) Hewgaw was a chief's daughter, and encouraged a savage to sue for her hand who, having scalped but a dozen women and children, was only high private or "big soldier." Chief and lover were quickly by the ears, and the fiat went forth that Wa-bog-aha must bring four more scalps, before aspiring to the position of son-in-law. This seemed as impossible as Jason's task of old. War had existed for some time, and, as there was no chance for surprises, scalp-gathering was a harvest of danger.
There seemed no alternative but to run for it, and so, gathering her bundle, Hewgaw sallied out from the first and only story of the paternal abode, as modern young ladies, in similar emergencies, do from the third or fourth. Through the tangled masses of the forest, the red lovers departed, and just at dawn were passing by the Waconda Spring, into whose waters all good Indians throw an offering. Wa-bog-aha either forgot or did not wish to do so. Instantly the spring commenced bubbling wrathfully. So far, the Great Spirit had guided the lovers; now, he frowned. An immense column of salt water shot out of Waconda high into air, and its brackish spray dashed furiously into the faces of Wa-bog-aha and Hewgaw, and drove them back.
The saltish torrent deluged the surrounding plains—putting every thing into a pretty pickle, as may well be imagined. The ground was so soaked that the salt marshes of Western Kansas still remain to tell of it, and, a portion of the flood draining off, formed the famous "salt plains." Along the Arkansas and in the Indian Territory, the incrustations are yet found, covering thousands of acres. The Kansas River, for hours, was as brackish as the ocean, its strangely seasoned waters pouring into the Missouri, and from thence into the Mississippi. It was this, according to tradition, which caused such a violent retching by the Father of Waters, in 1811. The current flowed backward, and vessels were rocked violently—phenomena then ascribed by the materialistic white man to an earthquake.
Too late the luckless pair saw their mistake, and started for the summit of Waconda, just as the angry father put in his very unwelcome appearance. Had they avoided looking toward the spring, all, perchance, might yet have been well. Without exception, the medicine men had written it in their annals that no eye but their own must ever gaze back at Waconda, after once passing it. Tradition explains that this was to avoid semblance of regret for gifts there offered the Great Spirit. Sachem, however, is of the opinion that in giving these orders the medicine men had the gifts in their eye, and simply wished time to put them in their pockets. Hewgaw could not resist the temptation to peep. Immediately around the rock all was quiet, while without the narrow circle the descending torrents were dashed fiercely by the winds. The beasts of the plains, in countless numbers, came rushing in toward the Waconda, their forms white with coatings of salt, and probably representing the largest amount of corned meat ever gathered in one place.