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Updated: July 2, 2025
"Well!" exclaimed Kut-le. "What can we do for you, Jim?" The stranger, a rough tramp-like fellow in tattered overalls, wiped his face, on which was a week's stubble. "I'd always thought you was about white, Cartwell," he said, "but I see you're no better than the rest of them. What are you going to do with me?" Kut-le eyed his unbidden guest speculatively.
"Is there any hunting at all in this open desert country?" asked DeWitt. "I certainly hate to go back to New York with nothing but sunburn to show for my trip!" "Coyotes, wildcats, rabbits and partridges," volunteered Cartwell. "I know where there is a nest of wildcats up on the first mesa. And I know an Indian who will tan the pelts for you, like velvet.
Overhead a hawk dipped in its reeling flight. Cartwell watched the girl keenly. Her pale face was very lovely in the brilliant morning light, though the somberness of her wide, gray eyes was deepened. That same muteness and patience in her trouble which so touched other men touched Cartwell, but he only said: "There never was anything bigger and finer than this open desert, was there?"
For half an hour the three, with Li Chung hovering in the background, worked over the girl. Then as they saw her stupor change to a natural sleep, Katherine gave a sigh that was almost a sob. "She's all right!" she said. "O Kut-le, if you hadn't come at that moment!" Cartwell shook his head. "It might have gone hard with her, she's so delicate.
He looked curiously from Rhoda's white face to Cartwell's inscrutable one. "Do you think you ought to have attempted this trip, Rhoda?" he asked gently. "Oh, we've taken it very slowly," answered the Indian. "And we are going to turn back now." "I don't think I've overdone," said Rhoda. "But perhaps we have had enough." "All right," said Cartwell. "If Mr.
And Rhoda, returning his gaze, caught the depth and splendor of his eyes. And that wordless joy of life whose thrill had touched her the first time that she had met young Cartwell rushed through her veins once more. He was the youth, the splendor, the vivid wholesomeness of the desert! He was the heart itself, of the desert. Kut-le laid his hand on hers.
She opened her eyes and finally, as the call continued, she crept languidly from her bed and peered from behind the window-shade. Cartwell, in his khaki suit, his handsome head bared to the hot sun, leaned against a peach-tree while he watched Rhoda's window. "I wonder what he wakened me for?" she thought half resentfully. "I can't go to sleep again, so I may as well dress and have breakfast."
"Your frankness is almost almost impertinent, Mr. Cartwell." "I don't mean it that way at all!" protested the Indian. "It's just that I saw so plainly what was going on in your mind and it piqued me. If it will be one bit pleasanter for you with Billy, I'll go right out and hunt him up for you now." The young man's naïveté completely disarmed Rhoda. "Don't be silly!" she said.
Nor did she dream how many weary days and hours she one day was to pass with this same brazen sky over her, this same broad shoulder under her head. Cartwell looked down at the delicate face lying against his breast, at the soft yellow hair massed against his sleeve. Into his black eyes came a look that was passionately tender, and the strong brown hand that supported Rhoda's shoulders trembled.
"I've attended to the sting. Tell Mrs. Jack to have hot water ready." As Cartwell sprang up the porch steps, Mrs. Newman ran out to meet him. She was a pretty, rosy girl, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. "Rhoda! Kut-le!" she cried. "Why didn't I warn her! Put her on the couch here in the hall, Kut-le. John, tell Li Chung to bring the hot-water bottles. Here, Rhoda dear, drink this!"
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