When the first settlers came to Corn Rock, there was a native living there. Not by the Rock itself, but about a mile away, though the land was so flat he could see it clear from his house. Every day he would walk before the sun, and walk in a straight line from the door of his house to the Rock. The passing of his moccasins over the years hardened the earth, and made a straight path between the standing grass.
The settlers, when they came, didn't exactly buy the land off of him; he said it wasn't his. He was old then, his hair grey-going-to-white and his face lined, back stooped with years, and he planted beans and squash and corn in a little field back behind the house, and hunted some. They called him Corn Wolf, and he asked only to be left to his place. So they did. They set up houses and stores on that path, and that became Indian Trail.
By and by, Corn Wolf died; though stories differ on the why and how. The Corn Rock ceased to be the anchor of Indian Trail, because they put a house up at one end, and the Rock was in the field in the back. Corn Wolf's house was torn down to make way for the first post office. Then there was not much there to say that there had ever been a Corn Wolf. Only the legend.