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Updated: June 11, 2025
The two Indians stopped before Kut-le, and Alchise jerked a thumb at the stranger. "Sabe no white talk," he said. Kut-le passed the stranger a cigarette, which he accepted without comment. A rapid conversation followed between the three Indians. "He is an Apache," explained Kut-le, finally, to Rhoda. "His name is Injun Tom.
The squaws worked busily, cutting the meat into strips which they hung over their shoulders to sun dry during the day. Alchise cleansed a length of mule's intestine in the spring, to serve as a canteen. Rhoda gave small heed to these preparations. She was too ill and feverish even to be disgusted by them. She refused to eat but drank constantly from the spring.
"Oh, Alchise took them back. We must stay here a while till your mob of friends disperses. I couldn't feed them and I wanted to pacify the Navajos and get some supplies from them. Alchise will fix it up with them." And here on this dizzy brink of the desert Kut-le did pause as if for a long, long holiday. The wisdom of the proceeding did not trouble him at all.
Alchise shared this eagerly with Rhoda and Kut-le, though already he had eaten with the squaws. The day was still gray when the three set out on a long day's trip in search of game. The way this morning led up a cañon deep and quiet, with the night shadows still dark and cool within it. The air was that of a northern day of June.
"Make as if you wanted to shift your blankets toward the cat's-claw bush behind you!" went on the whispered voice. Obediently, Rhoda sat erect. Alchise turned slowly to light a cigarette out of the wind. Rhoda yawned, rose sleepily, looked under her blanket and shook her, head irritably, then dragged her blankets toward the neighboring cat's-claw. Again she settled herself to sleep.
Rhoda gave one glance at Injun Tom and Alchise writhing with their wounds, at Porter's fingers tightening at Kut-le's throat, then she seized the canteen she had filled for Porter and started madly down the trail. The screaming squaws gave no heed to her.
"No!" she said softly, under her breath. Kut-le's eyes deepened. He turned and picked up his rifle. "Bring your friend back to dinner, Alchise," he said. "Our little holiday must end right here." They reached the camp at noon and while the squaws made ready for breaking camp, Rhoda sat deep in thought. Before her were the burning sky and desert, with hawk and buzzard circling in the clear blue.
He resumed the daily expeditions with Rhoda and Alchise which provided text for the girl's desert learning. Rhoda's old despondency, her old agony of prayer for immediate rescue had given way to a strange conflict of desires. She was eager for rescue, was conscious of a constant aching desire for her own people, and yet the old sense of outrage, of grief, of hopelessness was gone.
"And what was Molly doing?" "She maybe help 'em run," said Alchise, coming forward. The relief in Kut-le's voice increased Rhoda's anger. "No such thing! She was persuading me not to go! Kut-le, you give Alchise orders not to touch Molly again. I won't have it!" "Oh, that's not necessary," said Kut-le serenely. "Indians are pretty good to their women as a general thing.
Night came and the weary, weary crossing of a craggy, heavily wooded mountain. Kut-le did not relinquish his burden. He seemed not to tire of the weight of the slender body that lay now in helpless stupor. If the squaws or Alchise felt fatigue or impatience as Kut-le held them to a pace on the tortuous trail that would nearly have exhausted a Caucasian athlete, they gave no sign.
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