They had
left him and proceeded on their journey. He mounted again and when
he arrived at the sandy hollow, sure enough, there, deep in the
sand, were the tracks of his son filled to the top with water. He
drank and drank until he had drained the last one. Then he arose
and continued on the trail, and near sundown he came in sight of
their little tent away up on the side of the ridge. His horse
suddenly staggered and fell forward dead, having died of thirst.
From there he proceeded on foot. When he got to where the tent
stood he entered, only to find it empty. "I guess my son intends
to come here and have his last talk with me," thought the father.
He had eaten nothing for three days, and was nearly famished. He
lay down, but the pangs of hunger kept sleep away. He heard
footsteps outside and lay in readiness, thinking it might be an
enemy. Slowly opening the covering of the door, his son looked in
and seeing his father lying awake, drew back and ran off up the
ridge, but soon returned bringing a small parcel with him. When he
entered he gave the parcel to his father and said: "Eat, father; I
stole this food for you, so I could not get very much." The father
soon ate what his son had brought. When he had finished, the son
said: "Tomorrow morning the relatives of my mother will come over
here and take you down to the village.
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