Many, many years ago the Spokane area was a large lake which took several days to cross. There were great villages around the lake and also on the various islands. The woods abounded in game and the water was full of fish. There was plenty for all.
One bright morning tragedy struck. The earth started rumbling and shaking. The startled Indians fled before the waters as huge waves pitched into the air, overturning boats and engulfing villages. The game suffocated as they tried to escape to higher ground. Many died of starvation and thirst. Mount Spokane, the Little Mountain that grew big overnight, gathered some to her care. Then the earth sucked the whole lake into the "Below World." The lake was gone.
When the sun shone again, the few people that remained alive came down from the "Little Sun Mountain," and followed a tiny trickle of water to what is now Spokane.
The earth reeked with the smell of dead fish and game. Too weak to flee, and not knowing where to go, the Indians eked out a meager existence until spring. When spring came the mountains looked kindly upon the suffering people. The winter snows melted and soon a roaring river cut its way over the rocks, bringing new life to the country. The river made a falls and the spray of the waters held a rainbow. The people said, "This will be our home. " Ever since that time, there has been a rainbow in the spray of the rushing water. Some say, "It is a promise of blessing as long as we are a blessing to others ... in the Friendly City, Spokane.
