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Updated: July 2, 2025
"I can't bear this!" she cried. "I'm going mad! I'm going mad!" All the camp turned startled faces toward the girl, and Rhoda recovered her self-possession. She ran to Kut-le and laid her hand on his arm, lifting a lovely, pleading face to his. "O Kut-le! Kut-le!" in the tone that she had used to Cartwell. "Can't you see that it's no use? He is white, Kut-le! Let me go with him!
"Jack's working too hard. I want him to go to the coast for a while and let me run the ditch. But he won't. He's as pig-headed as a Mohave." "Are the Mohaves so pig-headed then?" asked DeWitt, smiling. Cartwell returned the smile with a flash of white teeth. "You bet they are! My mother was part Mohave and she used to say that only the Pueblo in her kept her from being as stiff-necked as yucca.
"It was good of you all to bother so about me. What have you been doing all day?" "Over at the ditch with Jack and Cartwell. Say, Rhoda, the young fellow who rescued you is an Indian!" DeWitt dropped into a big chair by the hammock. He watched the girl hopefully. It was such a long, long time since she had been interested in anything! But there was no responsive light in the deep gray eyes.
Then, "I've met her at last," he said. "It makes me believe in Fate." Katherine's pretty lips parted in amazement. "Goodness! Are you often taken this way!" she gasped. "Never before!" replied Cartwell serenely. "Jack said she'd broken her engagement to DeWitt because of her illness, so it's a fair war!" "Kut-le!" exclaimed Katherine. "Don't talk like a yellow-backed novel!
However, this Cartwell chap seems all right. And he rescued you from a beastly serious situation!" "I don't know that I'm as grateful for that as I ought to be," murmured Rhoda, half to herself. "It would have been an easy solution." Her words stung DeWitt. He started forward and seized the small thin hands in both his own. "Rhoda, don't!" he pleaded huskily. "Don't give up! Don't lose hope!
And yet for some reason. Cartwell alone was able to rouse her listless eyes to interest. Even DeWitt found himself eagerly watching the young Indian, less to guard Rhoda than to discover what in the Apache so piqued his curiosity. He had to admit, however reluctantly, that Kut-le, as he and Rhoda now called him with the others, was a charming companion.
Gee, I'm glad I ran out of tobacco this morning and thought a two-mile tramp across the desert for it worth while!" The three were on the porch now. The young man in flannels, who had said little but had obeyed orders explicitly eyed Cartwell curiously. "You're Newman's engineer, aren't you?" he asked. "My name's DeWitt. You've put us all under great obligations, this morning."
There was protest in his voice against Rhoda's being interested in an Indian's suggestion. Both Rhoda and Cartwell felt this and there was an awkward pause. This was broken by a faint halloo from the corral and DeWitt rose abruptly. "I'll go down and meet Jack," he said. "We'll do a lot of stunts if you're willing," Cartwell said serenely, his eyes following DeWitt's broad back inscrutably.
DeWitt, impelled by that curious sense of liking for the young Indian that fought down his aversion, said, "The music was bully, Cartwell!" but Cartwell only smiled as if at the hint of patronage in the voice and strolled to his own room. Rhoda slept late the following morning.
Cartwell took the extended hand. "Well, you know," he said carefully, "a scorpion sting may or may not be serious. People have died of them. Mrs. Jack here makes no more of them than of a mosquito bite, while Jack goes about like a drunken sailor with one for a day, then forgets it. Miss Tuttle will be all right when she wakes up. I'm off till dinner time, Mrs. Jack.
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