Current River winds it way through the blue hills of the Ozarks. Fed by numerous springs, its clear, cold water is a paradise for fisherman. One of the loveliest of these springs is now called Blue Spring.
Long ago, Indian villages dotted the banks of the streams where children played in the cool water. During these times there was no Blue Spring.
One of the famous chiefs who lived with his tribe along the banks of Current River was Chief Quadariva. His wigwam, with those of his warriors, was pitched on a bluff overlooking the river near where Blue Spring now pours forth.
Quadariva had only one child, a daughter. She grew up with the children of other warriors and with them spent many happy hours swimming and playing in the waters of the river. The daughter loved the sparkling stream more than all the other children. Long after the others had become tired of swimming, Quadariva's daughter would swim and dive in the cool, clear depths. She was a far better swimmer than any of her playmates. In the early morning she would steal out quietly and run to her lovely stream and plunge into the rushing waters. Thus Quadariva's daughter grew up. She spent most of her waking hours playing along the river bank. At sight of the stream or the mere mention of its name around the camp fire, her eyes would light up with a love uncontrollable. It seemed that the water of the great stream was life itself to this water elf.
One day in the spring, when the leaves were fresh with a polished green and the dogwood bloom dotted the hillside with snow white blossom, a party of Indian hunters stopped at Quadariva's camp. They rested for a few days and told great tales of the wide plains covered with thousands of buffaloes. They displayed their trophies of the chase, lovely buffalo skins that were to be made into robes as protection against the winter winds.
Quadariva and his daughter listened to their tales in silence. Among the hunters was a young man about the age of Quadariva's daughter. As she listened to the stories of the great hunting in the far land of the setting sun, Quadariva's daughter's eyes kept searching out those of the handsome young hunter.
After a few days of rest, the party moved on toward their own homes. One member of the party did not leave. The young hunter remained to play along the stream with Quadariva's daughter. All summer long he stayed and every moment of his waking hours was spent with the forest maid.
Quadariva frowned upon this courtship, but the young man persisted and was encouraged by the daughter. Quadariva loved his daughter more than anything else in the world and resented any attention paid by anyone who might take her away from him.
The chief's love for his daughter caused him to hate the young warrior who he feared might take his daughter out of his home. The raving of the angry father did no good. His daughter would steal away quietly from the camp and meet her lover along the water's edge, where they would play the whole day through.
The old chief could not bear it any longer. In his rage he took his daughter and forcefully imprisoned her in a cave at the foot of the hill.
Her young heart could not stand this imprisonment. She loved her warrior, and her gay young spirit rebelled against the dark cold walls. Most of all she missed her lovely stream. She pined and fretted for the sight of its cool green waters. Every day she prayed to the Great Spirit for the sight of her stream. She could gaze across the hills but her sight was shut off from the stream. She prayed that the Great Spirit might send a stream near her that would be more beautiful than any she had ever seen.
One day as she prayed she heard a gurgling sound of rushing water. In the midst of her prayer she stopped and turned around. There was the most beautiful fountain her eyes had ever beheld. Its waters were the bluest she had ever seen, more beautiful than that of her stream. It came bursting forth from the rocks above her, made its way out of the door of the cave, and started down toward her lovely river as though it were inviting her to follow. She clapped her hands with glee and hurried to bathe her fever-heated body in its blue waters. She could hardly believe that her prayers had been answered.
And thus was born Blue Spring, the most beautiful water of any Ozark spring, born from the prayers of a wild water elf who prayed to the Great Spirit for a stream more beautiful than any that had ever been created.