When time was ruled not by the
clock,
There were two Indian boys, Broken
Arrow and Falling Rock.
They rode their ponies and knew no
grief,
For they were the sons of a great
Indian chief.
But on the chief the marks of time
did show,
And knew that from this life he
soon must go.
So in his teepee he held his court,
And told them that his time was
short.
A new chief he had to choose,
One would win and one must loose.
For these two young and courageous
braves he had a test,
To be sure his people would be
ruled by only the best.
Out into the forest they must go,
Their honor, valor and courage to
show,
To rid it of the most ferocious
beasts.
And until this was accomplished
they should not cease,
With nothing but a hunting knife,
To prove their worth and save their
life.
And by the skins they did return,
The proper choice he could discern.
Now the sun had set many times,
And of the boys there were no
signs.
This caused the chief much concern.
Then one day Broken Arrow did
return.
Many tales he told of his valor
great,
Which the skins he returned did
substantiate.
The chief was proud of what he
heard,
But from Falling Rock there was no
word.
Now the chief knew he had little
time,
But of Falling Rock there was no
sign.
The sun did rise and the sun did
set,
But he knew that he could not make
a decision yet.
Then one morning, it was no
surprise,
The old warrior did not rise.
He was off to his Happy Hunting
Ground,
And Falling Rock could not be
found.
After they laid the old chief to
rest,
Broken Arrow was not sure if he had
won the test.
He vowed he would not assume
command,
If Falling Rock was not at hand.
But for the time they did need a
chief.
How could he rule in disbelief?
Falling Rock he must locate,
Lest he would have to abdicate.
With him all the braves he took,
And for his brother they did look.
Through the forest far and wide,
Up and down each mountain side.
Though they pondered every trail,
Still their search was to no avail.
They returned without success,
Though Broken Arrow had done his
best.
He grew old, but never shook his
doubt,
Then one day his time ran out.
His title passed to his only son
And still the question, had he won?
In compliance with his father's
last request,
For Falling Rock he took up the
quest.
And though their search was again
in vain,
This tribal custom would remain.
Before a chief from a brave could
be made,
Into the forest for Falling Rock
the tribe would pervade.
And after many, many years this
custom still remains,
Even in this age of cars and
planes.
As your daddy drives on your sunny
rides,
Through the woods and over the
mountain sides,
From the family car, for which he
is probably still in hock,
You will see many signs asking you
to "WATCH FOR FALLING ROCK".!