The father and mother were not alone. The dog walked softly behind them. The warrior did not look back, but his squaw called to him: “I am here. I am strong. I will follow you to the gate of the Happy Hunting Grounds.”
Then the trail became rough and steep. The wild cactus tore their moccasins. The thorn tree caught their blankets and tore their flesh.
The wife was weary and cried: “Let us rest. Let us wait.” She fell on her face in the trail.
When she arose no one was before her. She said: “I will go and find our children; then I will come back to the trail and find my husband.”
The warrior was now alone. No, not alone, for his dog, footsore and heated with the long journey, kept at his heels. His master had not known that he had followed. Now in the dark night his dog pressed his head against him to comfort him.
The trail led westward, but the morning sun cast no long shadows of the wife and children. They had not taken up the trail again.
And still forever toward the west went the two, the Indian and his dog. Moons and suns rose and set. At last, across the wide plains, he saw two great rocks, like tall trees. These marked the gateway of the Happy Hunting Grounds. Tired, sick, and nearly fainting with weariness, the Indian kept on his way. [[259]]Tired, hungry, and very weak, behind him came the faithful dog.
At the gateway the Indian raised his voice and cried: “I am here. The Great Spirit called me; I have come.”
The watchman opened the gate and, taking the brave by the hand, led him past the two great rocks that held the wonderful gate.
“Where are those who were with you at the first?” asked the watchman.