Teponah was the son of Wild Eagle, chief of the Minetarees, a branch tribe of the Southern Sioux. He was a handsome youth and a strong athlete, whose muscles were like the oak; and his arrows flew straight and strong where he wished them. Beloved was Teponah by all of the maidens, for soft was his voice and cunning were all his expressions.
His wooing he made for ill purpose, and many a flower that bloomed to shed its fragrance in the camp of fond parents was plucked from its stem and crushed by the sensual Teponah. Like the siren that sits on the beach and plays its sweet melodies to entice admirers to their destruction was the handsome son of Wild Eagle: whose eyes were like flashes of love and whose tongue was as musical as the trills of the woods’ sweetest songster, but whose heart was as cold as the blasts of winter.
One evening, when the sun had fallen behind the backs of the mountains, Teponah repaired to the brook which babbles its way down the valley—the trysting place—to meet Monetah, the beautiful daughter of old Shewaugan, whose eyesight was lost in defending Wild Eagle in a fight with the Dakotahs. Monetah came not; for she saw a queer light when she approached the mouth of the valley, and frightened was she from her ruin.
While waiting the coming of Shewaugan’s beautiful daughter, darkness had climbed down the valley, and Teponah was shrouded with night. Casting his eyes to the heavens, he saw a troop of sorrowing maidens clad in robes of white, gossamer texture. On their heads were the leaves of autumn, and in their hands were brown twigs from the pine tree. Circling down towards him and throwing a mellow light about them, Teponah saw the pale faces of those he had mocked with deception. Then the shadowy forms disappeared, but the light in the valley grew much brighter, until day seemed to bask in delight o’er the mountains.
From the head of the valley Teponah saw coming towards him a being whose beauty bewitched him. His eyes were dazed by the light of her face, and his heart leapt with emotion. She came like the measure of song, with rhythm in every footstep; and when she spoke it was with a voice whose cadence was sweeter than music. She approached Teponah and sat down by his side, and he saw that her form was ethereal. The robes which she wore were like the hues of the rainbow, and in her beautiful hair, which trailed at her feet, were the jewels which flash from the heavens.
With melody that falls on the ear like the sound of a distant flow of waters, mingling its musical splashing with the songs which float through the forests, thus spoke the Bright Being to the handsome Teponah:
“From my home in the happiest grounds for hunting; from the fields where bloom the merriest maidens; from the land where flows the purest water have I come to seek your favor. Take my hand, O handsome, brave Teponah; let me follow in your footsteps; let your sweet voice woo and win me, for I cannot be without you.”
Then she clasped her arms about him, and her breath she poured upon him till the woods were filled with incense, till Teponah spoke and answered:
“Bright Being, my heart leaps out towards you. I will follow in your footsteps; I will woo as you have won me, and will be a husband to you.”
Giving her hand to Teponah, she led him up the mountain, while a pathway cleared before them and her light shone like a sunbeam, and her touch was warm and thrilling. Thus they climbed the steep-sloped mountain till they gained its rugged summit and stood upon the rocks which overlooked the valley.
Then, before his raptured vision, dropped a golden ladder, with its base upon the summit and its top reaching to the heavens. Ascending on its rounds, she beckoned him to follow; but when he raised his foot the golden mirage faded, and headlong was he flung from the crag down to the valley.
When the hot sun came upon him, the craving birds that search the valleys found Teponah’s bloody body, and they made a feast upon it till the blistered bones were only left to mark the lover’s fatal step.
Note - The spot where Teponah is represented as having taken the fatal step, in his efforts to follow the witch of the mountain, is on the summit of Hot Springs Mountain, about fifty yards from the observatory. The east side terminates abruptly and forms a precipitous bluff, at the head of which is a large stone on which it is said the golden ladder rested.
“The trysting spot in the valley” was in Happy Hollow, through which flows a beautiful brook, of the clearest and sweetest water.
