Countless ages ago, in truth so far in the dawn of time past, that the years would almost equal the number of grains of sand on the seashore, the Great Spirit of the Universe, for some unknown reason, grew very angry. In his wrath He caused a terrible earthquake to shake the rock ribbed hills and deep valleys of the Yellow Creek country, as if they were giant living monsters in the last tremors of death.

In those days a mammoth boulder, standing proudly and majestically atop the highest hill on the south side of Yellow Creek became exceedingly alarmed, and said to the small rocks near it,

With one mighty effort the giant, upright boulder started to sway and roll, but only landed in the center of the creek at the foot of the precipitous hill. Then the earth ceased to shake, and these craggy hills have been tranquil and in peace for all the many ages, that have followed this terrible geological chill.

Then the red hunter came and lingered long in these delightful hills and valleys, and in their strange language named this sparkling stream of water Yellow Creek.

The monster boulder still standing proud and erect in the creek channel, they christened "Stigwanish" or Standing Rock.

This ancient sentinel and guidepost had been, as long as these red children of the forest could recall, the central meeting place where the hunting tribes could assemble at the end of each autumnal hunting season, and all travel happily homeward through the endless wilderness to their wigwams where the sun sets in the west.

But as time went on, instead of traveling home as a happy group, jealousy silently crept in to cause dissension among them, and many refused to listen to wise council or patient meditation. Tradition relates that these dusky hunters of the red deer and wild turkey, turned on each other with war clubs, tomahawks, and many arrows. They turned with such deadly effect—that their chieftains saw that if this egregious blunder was not soon corrected all the tribes that came to these hunting grounds from north and south of the Ohio River would soon be exterminated from the face of the earth. It was proposed and agreed upon that the greatest chief of the northern Algonquin tribe, and the most powerful chief of the southern Cherokee warriors would meet at the Standing Rock. Here they would decide, for once and all time, the ownership of all the hunting land on both sides of the great Ohio River, for a distance that their best runner could travel between sunrise and sunset. The longest day of summer, when the sun was overhead, was the time set aside for these two chieftains to meet. They arrived promptly on time for much was at stake.

After much powwowing and smoking of many pipes it was finally determined they would be unable to decide the perplexing question amicably, but only a test of skill, strength and bravery by fighting until one tribe or the other was exterminated. It was here also agreed that each tribe was to choose a favorite tree, and bring as many warriors to the final fight, as the tree chosen had leaves on its branches. Each warrior was to bring his own choice of weapons; but was not allowed to bring any witnesses to the deadly combat, who did not represent a leaf of the tribe’s chosen tree.

The longest day of the year arrived and when the sun was overhead, the Algonquins were present and had picked as their chosen tree the hickory. They had carefully chosen warriors for each leaf, ready and waiting at the Standing Rock—a well organized group of several hundred husky warriors eager for the fray.

The next day came the Cherokees, whose number filled the valley like a huge flock of passenger pigeons, or droves of locusts, for they had chosen as their tree, the green hemlock of the southland, and had been several moons counting the tiny leaves and carefully picking an equal number of red warriors of proven strength and endurance to fight this battle to the finish.

Each of these Cherokee warriors carried in his deer skin knapsack a bald eagle, with legs and wings bound securely with deer hide thongs. Whether they brought these noble birds as an offering to the Great Spirit was the question the Algonquins could not solve, until the morning of the following day.

A Cherokee prophet edged his way to and mounted the Standing Rock. Then ordering all to be silent and listen, he spoke saying,

To all the assembled dusky warriors it looked as if the Algonquins would be completely wiped out of existence and the chiefs of the latter tribe were anxiously darting hither and thither. Finally, an Algonquin prophet who had been in his wigwam edged through the crowd. He wore a bonnet of many eagle feathers, and around his neck a necklace of dried bear paws and over his broad shoulders he wore a long trailing deer skin robe. He was seen moving towards the Standing Rock chanting ever louder and louder for all the assembled tribes to listen to the words that the Great Spirit would put on his tongue,

As each tribe had eaten very little for several days, it was quickly and freely agreed to abide by the Great Spirit’s words. The Algonquins suggested that as the Cherokees were the greatest in number that they go to the hill tops and drive the deer into the valley, while they would gather the wood for the fire to roast the venison, and furnish an abundance of pleasing herbs to make the meat more savory and delectable. This consumed almost two more days, and the Cherokees were nearly famished so that they lay resting and sleeping while the Algonquins were busy as beavers roasting the venison, cutting it into large pieces with plentiful herbal dressing.

All was ready for the feast and the Cherokees demanded that they be allowed to gorge themselves first. This freely agreed to by the Algonquins, they being thankful to be allowed to show this courtesy. They strongly urged the Cherokees to eat until their stomachs were round as pumpkins and their hunger fully appeased.

The Cherokees having feasted to the point of gluttony, again lay down to rest and sleep until the Algonquins had satisfied their hunger, but the bearers of the hickory leaf watched them with anxious eyes and heavy hearts.

The Cherokees soon began to snore loudly, and it was noticed shortly after beginning to snore that none seemed to move or breathe, and all were silent for all had been poisoned to death by the toxic herbs the dusky cooks had placed inside the roasting deers on the recommendation of their medicine man.

Again the now proud and haughty Algonquin prophet walked among the dead Cherokees whose bodies covered the valley as far as the eye could see. He shook his magical deer hoof rattle close to their heads and finally pronounced all these Cherokees deaf to his magical sounds, and now after long gazing into the low sun on the western hill top for a new inspiration from the Great Spirit, at last he shouted in a triumphant voice,

It is useless to add that all these things came to pass as the inspired prophet had told his red warriors. Instead of a land of amity and peace, it became the "dark and bloody hunting ground." Hemlock clothe our rocky hillsides and our nut trees like the wood duck and passenger pigeon have sickened and disappeared—lost forever.

Only the sphinx like, gray old Standing Rock remains as a mute witness to this ancient tragedy when reason, was not applied, and force ruled and both sides lost.