THE STREAM THAT RAN AWAY
In a short and shallow canyon on the front of Oppapago running eastwardtoward the sun, one may find a clear brown stream called the creek ofPinon Pines. That is not because it is unusual to find pinon trees onOppapago, but because there are so few of them in the canyon of thestream. There are all sorts higher up on the slopes,--long-leaved yellowpines, thimble cones, tamarack, silver fir and Douglas spruce; but herethere is only a group of the low-heading, gray nut pines which theearliest inhabitants of that country called pinons.
The canyon of Pinon Pines has a pleasant outlook and lies open to thesun, but there is not much other cause for the forest rangers toremember it. At the upper end there is no more room by the stream borderthan will serve for a cattle trail; willows grow in it, choking the pathof the water; there are brown birches here and ropes of white clematistangled over thickets of brier rose. Low down the ravine broadens out toinclose a meadow the width of a lark's flight, blossomy and wet andgood. Here the stream ran once in a maze of soddy banks and watered allthe ground, and afterward ran out at the canyon's mouth across the mesain a wash of bone-white boulders as far as it could. That was not veryfar, for it was a slender stream. It had its source really on the highcrests and hollows of Oppapago, in the snow banks that melted and seepeddownward through the rocks; but the stream did not know any more of thatthan you know of what happened to you before you were born, and couldgive no account of itself except that it crept out from under a greatheap of rubble far up in the canyon of the Pinon Pines. And because ithad no pools in it deep enough for trout, and no trees on its bordersbut gray nut pines; because, try as it might, it could never get acrossthe mesa to the town, the stream had fully made up its mind to runaway.
"Pray what good will that do you?" said the pines. "If you get to thetown, they will turn you into an irrigating ditch and set you towatering crops."
"As to that," said the stream, "if I once get started I will not stop atthe town." Then it would fret between its banks until the spangledfrills of the mimulus were all tattered with its spray. Often at the endof the summer it was worn quite thin and small with running, and notable to do more than reach the meadow.
"But some day," it whispered to the stones, "I shall run quite away."
If the stream had been inclined for it, there was no lack of goodcompany on its own borders. Birds nested in the willows, rabbits came todrink; one summer a bobcat made its lair up the bank opposite the brownbirches, and often deer fed in the meadow. Then there was a promise ofbetter things. In the spring of one year two old men came up into thecanyon of Pinon Pines. They had been miners and partners together formany years, they had grown rich and grown poor, and had seen many hardplaces and strange times. It was a day when the creek ran clear and thesouth wind smelled of the earth. Wild bees began to whine among thewillows, and the meadow bloomed over with poppy-breasted larks. Thensaid one of the old men, "Here is good meadow and water enough; let usbuild a house and grow trees. We are too old to dig in the mines."
"Let us set about it," said the other; for that is the way with two whohave been a long time together: what one thinks of, the other is fordoing. So they brought their possessions and made a beginning that day,for they felt the spring come on warmly in their blood; they wished todig in the earth and handle it.
These two men who, in the mining camps where they were known, werecalled "Shorty" and "Long Tom," and had almost forgotten that they hadother names, built a house by the water border and planted trees. Shortywas all for an orchard, but Long Tom preferred vegetables. So they dideach what he liked, and were never so happy as when walking in thegarden in the cool of the day, touching the growing things as theywalked and praising each other's work.
"This will make a good home for our old age," said Long Tom, "and whenwe die we can be buried here."
"Under the pinon pines," said Shorty. "I have marked out a place."
So they were very happy for three years. By this time the stream hadbecome so interested it had almost forgotten about running away. Butevery year it noted that a larger bit of the meadow was turned under andplanted, and more and more the men made dams and ditches to govern itsrunning.
"In fact," said the stream, "I am being made into an irrigating ditchbefore I have had my fling in the world. I really must make a start."
That very winter by the help of a great storm it went roaring down themeadow over the mesa, and so clean away, with only a track of muddysand to show the way it had gone. All the winter, however, Shorty andLong Tom brought water for drinking from a spring, and looked for thestream to come back. In the spring they hoped still, for that was theseason they looked for the orchard to bear. But no fruit set on thetrees, and the seeds Long Tom planted shriveled in the earth. So by theend of summer, when they understood that the water would not come backat all, they went sadly away.
Now what happened to the creek of Pinon Pines is not very well known toany one, for the stream is not very clear on that point, except that itdid not have a happy time. It went out in the world on the wings of thestorm and was very much tossed about and mixed up with other waters,lost and bewildered. Everywhere it saw water at work, turning mills,watering fields, carrying trade, falling as hail, rain, and snow, and atthe last, after many journeys, found itself creeping out from under therocks of Oppapago in the canyon of Pinon Pines. Immediately the littlestream knew itself and recalled clearly all that had happened to itbefore.
"After all, home is best," said the stream, and ran about in its chokedchannels looking for old friends. The willows were there, but grownshabby and dying at the top; the birches were quite dead, but stoodstill in their places; and there was only rubbish where the whiteclematis had been. Even the rabbits had gone away. The little stream ranwhimpering in the meadow, fumbling at the ruined ditches to comfort thefruit-trees which were not quite dead. It was very dull in those daysliving in the canyon of Pinon Pines.
"But it is really my own fault," said the stream. So it went onrepairing the borders with the best heart it could contrive.
About the time the white clematis had come back to hide the ruin of thebrown birches, a young man came and camped with his wife and child inthe meadow. They were looking for a place to make a home. They lookedlong at the meadow, for Shorty and Long Tom had taken away their houseand it did not appear to belong to any one.
"What a charming place!" said the young wife, "just the right distancefrom town, and a stream all to ourselves. And look, there arefruit-trees already planted. Do let us decide to stay."
Then she took off the child's shoes and stockings to let it play in thestream. The water curled all about the bare feet and gurgleddelightedly.
"Ah, do stay," begged the happy water, "I can be such a help to you, forI know how a garden should be irrigated in the best manner."
The child laughed and stamped the water up to his bare knees. The youngwife watched anxiously while her husband walked up and down the streamborder and examined the fruit-trees.
"It is a delightful place," he said, "and the soil is rich, but I amafraid the water cannot be depended upon. There are signs of a greatdrought within the last two or three years. Look, there is a clump ofbirches in the very path of the stream, but all dead; and the largestlimbs of the fruit-trees have died. In this country one must be able tomake sure of the water supply. I suppose the people who planted themmust have abandoned the place when the stream went dry. We must go onfarther." So they took their goods and the child and went on farther.
"Ah, well," said the stream, "that is what is to be expected when onehas a reputation for neglecting one's duty. But I wish they had stayed.That baby and I understood each other."
He had quite made up his mind not to run away again, though he could notbe expected to be quite cheerful after all that had happened; in fact,if you go yourself to the canyon of the Pinon Pines you will notice thatthe stream, where it goes brokenly about the meadow, has quite amournful sound.
Basket Woman: A Book of Indian Tales for Children Page 5
