SINCE the peaks of Sky Mountains were little hills, the Ah-wah-nee-chees have lived in the deep, grassy valley the white man knows as Yo-sem-i-te. Eastward of To-co-yah, the Acorn Basket Rock, live the Mo-nos; and for a thousand years the sachems of the Ah-wah-nee-chees and the sachems of the Mo-nos smoked the pipe of peace together.

In the autumn when the Great Spirit swept through Ah-wah-nee with a breath of frost, painting the leaves all scarlet and gold and brown, scattering tufts of snow-white cloud across the blue sky, and weaving a web of bluish haze among the green pine tops, the Ah-wah-nee-chee braves prepared for the last great hunt of the year. The feast of the manzanita berries was past, and the feast of acorns, and after the autumn hunt came the feast of venison.

As the time of the feast drew near, runners were sent across the mountains, carrying a bundle of willow sticks, or a sinew cord or leaf of dried grass tied with knots, that the Mo-nos might know how many suns must cross the sky before they should go to Ah-wah-nee to share the feast of venison with their neighbors.

And the Mo-nos gathered together baskets of piÑon nuts, and obsidian arrow-heads, and strings of shells, to carry with them to give in return for acorns and chinquapin nuts and basket willow, which do not grow on the farther side of Sky Mountains and which the Great Spirit has given in plenty to the children of Ah-wah-nee.

At the feast the great chiefs sat side by side and the smoke of their pipes curled into a single spiral in the air. And when all were gorged with food, they danced about the fire chanting the mighty deeds of their ancestors, or sat upon the ground playing the ancient hand game, he-no-wah, staking their arrows and their bearskin robes, their wampum and their women upon the hand that held the hidden willow stick. Not only in their pastimes were they friends. When the Great Spirit wafted a soul to the happy land in the West, the runners went again across the Sky Mountains and the tribes gathered together to join in the funeral dance and mingle their voices in the funeral wail. In grief, as in joy, they were friends,—for a thousand years.

But the law of the mountain and the forest is not a law of peace, and it was the will of the Great Spirit that they should not dwell always in harmony.

The Ah-wah-nee-chees numbered more men than women; and from time to time bands of young braves, in the flush of primal strength, swept through the country with the ungoverned madness of a bullock herd, carrying away women from the villages they raided.

When the Mo-no men came to Ah-wah-nee to the feasts of the manzanita berry and of acorns and of venison, they brought their women with them. These mountain women were pleasing to the eye, erect as the silver fir that grows upon the mountain side, clean-limbed and free of motion as the panther; and more than all others were they coveted by the Ah-wah-nee-chees, who chafed under a friendship that thwarted desire.

And the story is told that at a certain feast of venison Wa-hu-lah, a Mo-no maiden, stirred the fancy of a young warrior of Ten-ie-ya’s band. Spring, the love season of Nature’s children, had passed the young warrior many times since he came to manhood, and he had not heeded her soft whisper. But never before had he seen Wa-hu-lah, the Mo-no maiden.

Now, through all the time of feasting, he watched eagerly for the love sign in Wa-hu-lah’s eyes; but he saw there only the depth and the darkness and the mystery of a pool hidden in the heart of a forest of pines, which no ray of sunlight pierces.

Love was dead in the heart of Wa-hu-lah. On her face could still be seen dim traces of mourning, lines of pitch and ashes not yet worn away, though there had been two seasons of grass and flowers since her voice rose in the funeral wail beside the pyre of her dead lover. She had not died as the dove does when her mate is gone; but she could not forget, and as she sat among the feasters sorrow throbbed in her heart like the ceaseless whirr of a grouse’s wing. The Ah-wah-nee-chee warrior sought in vain for an answering sign, and when the days of feasting were over Wa-hu-lah went away with her father.

Day and night the Ah-wah-nee-chee thought of his love; the face of Wa-hu-lah was ever before his eyes; and he knew that he must follow her and bring her to his lodge. But already the snow-clouds resting on the peaks of Sky Mountains were scattering their burden, soft and white as the down of Tis-sa-ack’s wings. Valley and forest lay lifeless under a thick blanket, and the trails were choked with snow.

The Ah-wah-nee-chee’s love smouldered through the winter months, with naught but the memory of Wa-hu-lah’s sad, unanswering eyes to feed upon. Far away, in the wig-wam of her father, Wa-hu-lah nursed her grief.

At last spring came, with soft, straying winds that breathe of new life. Birds sang in the trees as they built their nests; squirrels chattered softly among the rocks; Too-loo-lo-we-ack, the Rushing Water, babbled of the joys of summer; and Yo-wi-we dashed from the heights to carry the message of love brought by the sun from the southland to all the valley.

While yet the trails were heavy with melting snows, the Ah-wah-nee-chee warrior stole away from his lodge one night and set his face toward the rising sun, yonder to the eastward of To-co-yah; and ere the day god had wrapped himself in his flaming cloud blanket in the far-off West, the Ah-wah-nee-chee was smoking the peace pipe with the chief of the Mo-nos, Wa-hu-lah’s father.

Before the sun again strode the bald peaks of the Sky Mountains, he was gone; and when the women came forth to make ready the morning meal, the old chief saw that Wa-hu-lah was not among them; and he knew that the spirit of the peace pipe had been violated.

Wa-hu-lah made no struggle when she found herself borne along in the arms of her captor. Her heart beat like the heart of a hunted thing that feels the hunter near and cover far away, but her face showed no sign. It was useless to resist; but had the Ah-wah-nee-chee looked into the still, sad depths of her eyes, he would have seen there a glittering spark, the fire of a woman’s lasting hate.

Along the heavy trail he toiled, and not until he reached the kinder paths that Spring had cleared did he let Wa-hu-lah’s feet rest upon the ground. Then she walked before him, silent, submissive, but with the spark still glowing in her downcast eyes.

Silent, submissive, she followed as he led the way to the place he had prepared for her,—a woodland bower, pine carpeted, roofed with boughs of oak and alder, the couch of branches spread with deerskin.

Silent, submissive, she ate of the food he brought her, fresh bear meat and acorn bread, and grass roots fattened by the melting snows.

Silent still, but with submission changed to defiant purpose, she watched him go away and take his place among the braves of his tribe who ate as the women prepared their food. Hunger possessed him and he gave no thought to caution. At another time his quick ear might have caught the sound of twigs snapping under the pressure of a moccasined foot; now it heard only the hiss of meat thrown upon live coals.

The moon floated high above Cloud’s Rest and the valley was full of light, yet none saw the dark figure that crept stealthily, warily, into the shadow of the crouching chaparral, keeping with the wind that blew from, not toward, the camp-fire. Once only Wa-hu-lah paused, and turned to see that she was not discovered; and from her eyes shot one swift look that would have killed, could looks deal death. Then she sped forward on the trail that led from Ah-wah-nee, with its blossoming dogwood and azalea, its buckthorn and willow, to the snows of the higher mountains, the home of her people.

Swiftly she ran, frightened by the night shapes that danced before her in the path, nor daring to slacken her pace or give a backward glance. But scarce had she passed through the spray thrown across the trail by Py-we-ack, the White Water, when she heard wild shouts rising from the half-darkness below, shouts that told her the Ah-wah-nee-chees knew that she was gone, had started in pursuit. Behind her on the trail her footprints lay naked on the yielding earth, and she knew that here in Ah-wah-nee the men of Ten-ie-ya’s band knew every path that she might choose, every tree and rock where she might find a hiding-place. Already the race was won. Nearer they came, her Ah-wah-nee-chee captor and a score of braves who joined with boisterous shouts this chase that had no need of cunning since for a weak prey there was no escape.

Among the trees they caught uncertain glimpses of the fleeing figure, but at last Wa-hu-lah bounded into a clear, broad stretch of moonlight where the trees fall back to let the river widen to a calmer course after its reckless plunge from the cliff above.

The pool that shines emerald bright by day lay still and black with the pale gold moon upon its breast. Straight for its bank Wa-hu-lah ran, and as her foot touched the rocky ledge, her pursuers sprang with a cry of triumph into the open. Not a moment did the maiden dare to lose. Stooping, she unloosed the canoe that floated in the shadow of the ledge, a canoe used by the Ah-wah-nee-chees in crossing the Emerald Pool.

Stepping into the shallow bark, Wa-hu-lah pushed it from the shore, and with quick strokes drove it toward the middle of the stream, where she knew the water ran swift and deep and strong.

Like some strange night bird the canoe skimmed the surface of the pool, the girl erect, defiant, her long black hair tossing, winglike, on the wind. Drawn by the current it glided on, dark and silent, toward Py-we-ack, where the water with a second leap dashes itself to death upon the rocks.

Along the shelving bank the baffled Ah-wah-nee-chee ran, but swifter ran the dark and silent figure in the stream; and even as the young chief plunged into the icy water in one last effort to reclaim his stolen bride, the boat slipped over the edge of the cliff and went to pieces on the rocks, where the white spirits of the water threw themselves around the maiden and hid her in a shroud of spray.

Thus Wa-hu-lah proved herself faithful to her Mo-no lover, and the Ah-wah-nee-chee was cheated of his bride.