Squaw's Rock

Those who are acquaiated with the upper portion of the Russian River Valley can not havo failed to reaiark a peeiiliarly precipitons bluff, somo five hundred feet in height, which overhangs the western bank of the stream at a point about ten miles north of Cloveidalc and six of seven from Hopland or Sanel. Those who have riddea in the stage from Clovordalo to ükiah at the present day over the new tollroad running along the eastern bank of the river, guin a clear view of this precipitous bluft' while passing over that portion of the road known as the Blue Slide - a geological freak whlch lies jnst opposite to Squaw's Rock, and has aequired its reputation from the glacier-like movement of the blue clay composing that portion of the riverward slope, necessitating continued repairs of the roadway, and consütuting tho acutest thorn in the side of the stage drivers who ply between Cloverdale and Eel lliver. Either the driver or some fellow passenger, if you happen to ba traveling on the stage, will probably volunteer to give you the traditional particulars of how the Squaw's Rock acquired ita name. These particulars, however, are usually extremely nieagre, and all that seems to bo certainly known about the matter is that, some forty years ago- before the discovery of gold, in fact, and when white settlers were few and far between - an Indian maiden was beloved by a white youth, the affection being mutual, but distasteful to the maiden's tribe, who put every obstacle in the way of a unión; that the maiden was eventually compelled to marry a suitor chosen for her by the tribe, and that, in a iit of despair, she threw herself, liko another Sappho, from the top of the preeipice which bears her name, and was dashed to pieces on the bowlders of the river's bed. This poetic legend might still have remained shrouded in historie vagueness had not chance thrown me in the way of obtaining further particulars from an authentic source, which investedthe story with a tragic and dramatic force which was not hinted at in its original form. Some years aeo, while living in the neighborhood o? Cloverdale, I made the acquaintanee of an Indian of more than ordinary intelligence, whose natural reticence was thawod by some services which I was enabled to do him, and whose confidence I won farerfough to succeed in making him utiiold in a disjointed manner the real history of the occurrences from which Squaw's Rock took its name, and which I now reproduce for the benefit of my readers, weaving the story into a more connected form than was given me by old Santiago. It wan some time in thetwentics that John Wiflard, tho captain of a trader, who brought the commodjtics of civilizci] life into Monterey, and there bartered them for hides, got tired of his seafaring lifc, as many more have done before and after him in California, married himself to a señorita with broad acres and fat kine, and settled down into a steady-going rancher in Üie valley of the Russian River. A son was born to the pair, a stalwart youth, whose robus, out-of-door vaquero lifa made him both strong and handsome. It was universally conceded that Frank Willard, at the age of twenty, was as fine a specimen of a youth as could be found nortli of tlie bay, or, for that matter, south of it either. His freo and generous disposition made him as great a favorite with the male portion of the community as his good looks did with the female. Of course, at that susceptible age t was cmly natural that he should pay particular atteution to the latter, and as compatriota of his own station were not nurncrous in those. thinly settled regióos, perhaps it was but natural that lic sliould cast his o,p upon such femalcs as tlicre were. The paternal hacienda of the Willards lay in the neighborhood of the Healdsburg of the present day; and to thenorth in the vicinitv of Sane] and Ukiah there dwolt at that time a strong tribe of Indians, romavkabl for line pfayaimiC and in all rcspects considerably above the avérflige of Califorïiian aborigines. Dnring one of his cqui'sirian waiKlcriiijrs young Frank Willard cainc upon one of the rancherías of tliis triljc, at that time situated upon the western bank of the Rustían Riyex, aml witliin a few hunilrcd yards of the prcripiee now known as Squaw's Kmk. Il wiis thére that he ;ncountered Benita, daughJer of Uig Buil, one of the .siib-L-hicfs ol thé tribe, a maideu of rare beaufy, with a complexión as pure aml cleai as a Castilian and a forro ol wonilcrfu] syroinotry andgrace. At that imprcssionable ac to sic was to love. Yonug Willard saw his fate, and the flame was reaiproeatoB. But thcra mv the usual (liiliciiltius in the way. Not only wero the youth's parenti scandn-lized b.'yond expréssion at fbö idt'a of thcir son allying hiiusclf to an Indiaü, but tlifl Iudiaus thrmsclves, with tribal pridé, resentcil tbfl ilca of such a unión. Still love, as usual, laughed at lock.smiths, and Frank's abseuce froni tho hacienda upon riding expeditions of questionabie utility bcamo more and more notieeablu as tha weeks wore on. There were stolen interviews with Benita m the chaparral near the ranchería, at one of which tha loving conple were surprised by the oli chief, when Frank was warned that suoh interviews must cease forever, under pain of the dire resentment of the tribe. The fair Benita had, he was told, been betrothed to Domingo, a ullaiu ui her race, and the nuptial ceremony was to be performed in the eourso of a week, on which occasion a grand fandango was to be held, at which the whole tribe would partieipate. From that time forth Benita was not perniitted to go outside the bounds of tha ranchería, though a solitary horseraan, presumed to be Frank Willard, cotild still be seen daily riding among tho adjacont hills. At length the day of the fandango arrived. ThelargeadWie building in which the orgy was to be held, was filled at an early hour of the evening with as motlcy an assemblage of squaws and bucks as ever appeared at such a gathenng. The weeping Benita was led in, bedecked with as much poor finery as the wardrobe of the tribe afforded, and at her side stood Domingo with a triuniphant expression on his coarse and repulsivo countcnance. Dancing was engaged in around a fire built on the ground in the centerof the building (it was winter), the smoke from which ascended in wreaths to the cone-shaped ceiling through a hole in which it issued to the upen air. Squaws danced with squaws, and bucks with bucks, as the invariable custom is. Under the inllucnce of agardiente, of which there was a liberal supply, the orgy waxed wild and furioiL1), Suddenly it was remarked that Benita had disappcared wliile Domingo was engaged iu dancing. In an instant a deafenins lmwl was set up, and the motley gathering rushed pell-mell from the tmüding, spreading hither and thither with piue torches and glowing firebrands in quest of the missing maiden. Presently a shout went up from an outlying quarter. A general rush was made thither. Just at the limits of the ranchería stood a horse, on which was soatod Frank Willard, while running towards it, and now only a few yards awav, appeared Benita, A second or two more and she would have reaehed tho horse and been swune into the saddle y the strong arm of her lover, wku, . hapless f ate! anarrow whizzed through the air, piercing the flank of the animal. With a bound the spirited beast leaped forward, the abrupt movement throwing the poor youth out of the saddlo. In an instant he was on his feet, with one arm round the maiden, while with his revolver he covered tho approaching Indiana. Six shots rang out in sharp succession, and threo ewarthy forms feil groaning to the ground. Hut what chance had the poor boy against the superior numbers of the now maddeaed barbarians? Frank was quickly overpowered, bound with rushes, and a council held over his prostrate body. Some counseled despatching him instantly. then and there, but this was overruled by the older heads of the tribe. After a short consultation, four of the stoutest Indians raised him from the ground and began to bear him out of the ranchería. They took tle direction of the river, making straight for the preoipice which overhangs it at a teight of 500 feet, followcd by the entire tribe. Arrived at the edge of the bluff, the two stontest Indians took the body of the youth by the he:id and feet, and swinging him buekward and forw&rd three times launched him out into the stream, whose hoarse murmur could be heard 600 feet below. 'ihe next instant a femnle figure sprang forward froni the throng of I ndiaux that had presSbd close up to the brink of the precipice, and, with a wild, deBpairing shriek, ltuptd down after the body of her lover. It was Bonita. Her body was fotind next ïtiorning, dashed into an unrccognizable mass upon the bowlders below. The body of poor Frank Willard was found a few days later tome miles down the stream, eaught on a snag below where Clovcrdale now is. Thero Were no marks of violcnce on it, as he had been swung clear into the river, which was then in flood, and as the rushes with which he had been bound had been washed oft" there was no evidence that he had been murdered in the way he was. It was thought he had been wounded while attempting to ford the swollen stream. It was early in the forties when the incident happened. Most of those who took part in it are, doubtless, by this time either dead or dispersed. Tiiy informant, old Santiago, did not admit having taken any ovort part in the matter, so I poiild only ) hank htm for his narrative, and for having given new interest to the precipice known as the Squaw's Koci.-Êoberl Duncan Milne, in San Francisco Argonaut. - Mrs. Belva Lockwood is a gradúate of the National University Law School, and practices at the bar of the Supreme Court of the United States. She is counsel for more than two thousand persons who are interested in the pent-ion law. She has defended murderera and othor crimináis before the most obstinate juries. Her fint husband died of consumption, and her late husband was an in valid for many years ]nvious to his departure f rotn her sido. She is about lifty, with iron gray hair, and has a pleasant, animatud face. - WtmIUngtvn Star. ? ? ?¦ - For two centnries the entirc indtistrv of Mittenwald, a town of Bavaria, -hut in by snow-clad mountains and dense forests, haseen violin making, for which the surrounding forests furnish the best of material. Everyyard is erossed by a labyrinth of ropes andpoles, on which hundreds of violins are huno; to dry. Every kind of stringed instn"ment, from the linest violin to the chrajinst banjo, is manufactured aud shipped in large quantities to all parta of the civilized world. - The latest freak for femalo head. gear in New York is called tho pensii- bonnet. It has a hugo rosette, sinnilatliifi apen wíjxt, on the top, and is aflected by fashioi"ble young ladies.