In the mountains of the Ozarks, in a cave as dark as midnight and so deep it could not be sounded, lived the Dragon Mogmothon, who feasted on the souls of the departed. His eyes were like globes of livid fire, which lighted up the cavern, and his voice was the thunder of the heavens. When he walked the earth his head was hid in the clouds, and his feet were so large that they covered the valleys. His breath was so hot that it set fire to the forest and, when angered, the lightning flashed from his eyes and the clouds were riven asunder. When the storm burst over the mountains, Mogmothon fought with the Great Spirit; but when the sun, which he sought to steal, broke through the rifts again, it was the sign that the vanquished Dragon had returned to his cavern. His power was seen in the earthquake, and his cruelty in the disease and pestilence he scattered.
Thus lived the monster Mogmothon, the Fiery Dragon, and all the tribes were in dejection, wailing for the souls of the departed. Then they called a council of all nations for a period of invocation to the Father of all people, to compass the destruction of the Dragon. For seven years the councils offered sacrifice, till they purged themselves of all transgressions, and the Father looked upon them with an eye of love and pity. Then He resolved to fight Mogmothon, to call the winds from their abiding, and to summon all just spirits. The sun should withhold his brightness until the air was frigid, and the atmosphere was turgid.
With a voice of strong intention the Great Spirit called the Dragon; called until the forests trembled and the mountains shook like leaves in autumn. The winds were freighted with the winter and blew a sheet of frosted ice across the heavens. Then the fierce and mighty Dragon heard the challenge of the Great Spirit, and, shaking his sides with rage till the earth heaved like the waves of the ocean, he came forth from his cave breathing flames and sulphurous vapors. His voice was like the roar of the tornado and, swinging his ponderous limbs over the valleys and mountains, he stretched his massive head into the clouds and hurled defiance at the Father of all people.
The battle then began and waged until its fury blackened the air through which hurled the engines of the savage combat. The deep-toned thunder was the voice of Mogmothon, and his darts were pointed with the fire that never dies. Occasionally, through the rifts and fragments of the black clouds, could be seen the blaze of pestilential flames, and the arrowy shafts of fiery worlds vaulting from the hands of the Great Father, smiting the armored hide of the Dragon.
For seven days this mighty contest lasted, until all the stars were gathered in the hand of the Great Spirit and hurled at Mogmothon; then the chill and freezing air numbed the arms and froze the breath of the Evil Spirit; turned his eyes of fire into orbs of ice, and his blood was stiff and turgid. Heavy and blinded like the mortally wounded bear, Mogmothon, the Evil Spirit, plunged about without a purpose, until weak of limb and stricken sorely he fell like the avalanche that swoops down the crag, or the hurricane blast that levels the forest.
Thus ended the fight and the Dragon was thrown in his cavern where, wounded and shorn of his power, he languished like one whose soul is lost forever. The Great Spirit closed the cave that Mogmothon might never again reappear upon earth to breathe his poisonous vapors nor feed upon the spirits of the departed. He cannot die, but the anguish from his pains becomes sometimes so great that the Dragon lashes the walls of his underground prison until the earth trembles, and volumes of flame and smoke issue from the peaks of the mountains.
Although Mogmothon can never again walk the earth to destroy its people, yet the Great Spirit has placed a sign in the sky to remind all Indians of His fight and victory with the Evil Spirit. When the thunder roars and the lightning flashes through the black portentous clouds it is the image of the battle; and when the bow of beautiful colors throws its graceful arch like a shadow on the sky, it is the token that the Great Spirit spans the earth with peace.
From the spot where fell the Dragon the Father broke the crust of the earth, and from the rent gushed forth the healing waters of life which shall flow forever as His special gift to all His people.
Note
This legend is one of the oldest in the ancient history of the tribes which occupied the Hot Springs valley. It was natural for these ignorant children of the forest to believe in the personality of the storm and all the violent changes of nature.
That there have been active mountains, or volcanoes, in the Ozark range, admits of little doubt. The evidence of this fact does not depend entirely upon the tufa which covers Hot Springs Mountain particularly, many feet in depth, but a stronger proof is found in the layers of undoubted lava running through the largest stones. This lava is unmistakable and can be accounted for upon no other reasonable hypothesis than that of an extinct volcano.
It is a singular fact that of the many tribes of Indians who have visited the Hot Springs, each one has had some legend or tradition locating a mysterious cave under Hot Springs Mountain. This belief was general, and the variety of these legends gives good reason to believe that they were not transmitted from one tribe to another, but that each one had a separate and distinct origin.
