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Tte Maid of Pend d'Oreille 
 
 §^n Indian Idyl 
 
 Le Moqueur - Y^iu^ ^ 
 
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 Cowboy Edition 
 
 Dedicated to those daring souls who made 
 the Nell) IVest possible 
 
 Limited to One Thousand Copies 
 Bound by the Author 
 
 Numbe 
 
 61d. 
 
 Seattle, Washington 
 
 Copyright, 1 910 
 
 BY 
 
 L. Byrd Mock 
 
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 COPYR.OH.T.O'. J. ROGNON.1910 
 
 urin 
 

 t>y 
 
 Maid of Pend J'Oreille^ 
 
 By 
 
 Le Moqueur 
 
 ( 'With apologies to Killing ) 
 
 •-^iH 
 
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 N the mirrored Pend d'Oreille* 
 An Indian princess used to stray 
 Every morning just at sunrise 
 With her maidens blithe and gay. 
 In the water went they bathing 
 Till their bronze skins shone like gold 
 In the mellow morning sunlight, 
 Revealing forms of perfect mold. 
 
 On the banks of Pend d'Oreille 
 Sit these maidens half the day. 
 Toying with their long black tresses. 
 Donning all their rich array 
 Of beads and feathers, blankets gay; 
 Stood they there in proud display. 
 Gazing in their river mirror. 
 Clear-cut in the sun as day. 
 
 On the mirrored Pend d'Oreille, 
 Where speckled sunfish leap and play 
 And the Indians, clad in buckskins, 
 By the waters love to stray, 
 And the wild deer seeks to slaken 
 His hot thirst at close of day. 
 And the eagle soars above them. 
 Marking out a fawn for prey. 
 
 From the bosom of the lake 
 A boat creeps slowly, like a snake. 
 Leaving wrought out far behind 
 A silver ribbon in its wake. 
 Suddenly o'er rapids swift 
 Darting through the dashing spray. 
 The boat leaps like a flying fish 
 Down the canyoned Pend d'Oreille. 
 
 * Pronounced Pon-do-Ray. 
 
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From the boat a Hudson trapper 
 
 Leaps ashore on Pend d'Oreille. 
 
 Frightened at this apparition. 
 
 The red-skin maidens ran away. 
 
 All except the stately princess. 
 
 Who stood in wonder at the way 
 
 A white man spoke and looked and acted. 
 
 This stranger from the Hudson Bay. 
 
 "He is a god; I must obey," 
 Thought this maiden in dismay. 
 Gazing at the pale-faced stranger. 
 Not a word she dared to say. 
 But the stranger gave her trinkets. 
 Won her heart, though she knew not 
 The meaning of the words he uttered. 
 It seemed like some enchanted spot. 
 
 Captive to the maiden's beauty. 
 He forgot his tradesman's duty; 
 Taught her words in his own language. 
 Making love in white man's way. 
 Sang he many lilting lovesongs — 
 Songs whose meaning would convey 
 All his love and admiration 
 For this maid of Pend d'Oreille. 
 
 On a sunny autumn day. 
 With breezes balmy as in May, 
 Left without a word of warning. 
 This trapper from the Hudson Bay. 
 When the maiden came at evening, 
 'Neath the pale moon's silvery ray. 
 She sought in vain her Northern lover, 
 Down the mirrored Pend d'Oreille. 
 
:OPYRIGHT, O. J. ROGNON. 1910 
 
On the banks of Pend d' Oreille 
 Stood this princess day by day. 
 Gazing down the crystal river 
 For her lord from Hudson Bay. 
 Stood alone and sadly sighing, 
 "Skookum tilicum gone away," 
 And the canyon caught the echo, 
 Down the mirrored Pend d'Oreille. 
 
 "Come you back, you Hudson trapper. 
 Come you back to Pend d'Oreille, 
 To the mirrored Pend d'Oreille, 
 Where the shifting shadows play. 
 And trees and mountains stand reflected 
 In the water clear as day. 
 And the wild deer loves to wander 
 Down the banks of Pend d'Oreille." 
 
 But no more came he to say 
 Love words by the Pend d'Oreille. 
 Worn to wanness with long watching. 
 Broken-hearted at his stay. 
 Plunged she headlong in the canyon 
 Where the swirling waters play. 
 "Great Spirit took her," said the Indians, 
 As they searched down Pend d'Oreille. 
 
 On the banks of Pend d'Oreille, 
 Where the Indians love to stray; 
 And at nightfall in the shadows 
 They to the Great Spirit pray. 
 And the pine and fir and tamarack, 
 Tinged with moonlight, all convey 
 A subtle charm and mystic grandeur 
 To the mirrored Pend d'Oreille. 
 
Down the placid Pend d'Oreille 
 
 Float the swans at close of day. 
 
 Like a snowdrift on the river. 
 
 In slow, mournful cadence chant they 
 
 Requiems for the soul departed. 
 
 Waiting for its final flight 
 
 To the realms of the Great Spirit, 
 
 Akumkiniku-i-hight. 
 
 From the mirrored Pend d'Oreille 
 Where the shifting shadows play. 
 Can't you hear strange voices calling? 
 Calling from the Pend d'Oreille? 
 From the river to the bay, 
 On a sunlit summer day, 
 Where the wild deer dash like thunder 
 Down the mirrored Pend d'Oreille? 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 926 842 1