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Updated: May 15, 2025
His guests left as much heartened by his cheerfulness and good will as they were by the actual physical comforts he had given them. The trail to Chira was long and hard. They reached the little town at dusk and Carlos set out at once in search of his friend, Philip. He found him easily. He was half Mexican, half Pueblo.
"Nope! You're way off, Alchise. I'm going where I can get some white man's medicine the quickest. I'm not so afraid of getting caught as I am of her getting a bad run of fever. I have friends at Chira." Alchise fell back, muttering disappointment. White man's medicine was no good. He cared little about Rhoda but he adored Kut-le.
A many-colored girdle confined the dress at the waist. Her legs and feet were covered with high, loose moccasins. Her black hair hung free on her shoulders. "You been much sick," the woman went on, "much sick," stooping to straighten Rhoda's blanket. "Where am I?" asked Rhoda. "At Chira. You eat breakfast?" Rhoda caught the woman's hand. "Who are you?" she asked. "You have been very good to me."
I loathed them all so except Molly. But after Chira a change came. I got stronger than I ever dreamed of being. And I began to understand Kut-le's methods. He had realized that physically and mentally I was at the lowest ebb and that only heroic measures could save me. He had the courage to apply the measures." "God!" muttered John. Rhoda scarcely heeded him.
From black openings in its front owls hooted. But otherwise there was neither sight nor sound of living thing. The desert far below and beyond lay like a sea of death. Rhoda unconsciously drew nearer to DeWitt. "Where are the dogs? At Chira the dogs barked all night. Indians always have dogs!" "It must be very late," whispered DeWitt. "Even the dogs are asleep!"
"And at Chira," went on Rhoda, whispering as did DeWitt, "owls didn't hoot from the windows." "Let's go closer," suggested John. Rhoda thrust cold little fingers into his hand. The doors were empty and forlorn. The terraced walls, built with the patient labor of the long ago, were sagged and decayed. Riot of greasewood crowned great heaps of débris.
If only she could feel now the touch of his powerful arms as he carried her the long sick miles to Chira. Trembling with longing, her gaze fell upon the man sleeping at her feet. She drew a sudden troubled breath. Must she renounce this new rapture of living? Must she? "Have I found new life in the desert only to lose it?" she whispered. "O Kut-le! Kut-le!"
"'Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain," he muttered, "'or the wheel broken at the cistern or the pitcher broken at the fountain, or the wheel " Rhoda threw her arm across her eyes. "Oh, not that, John! I can't bear that one!" Again, she stood upon the roof at Chira, looking up into Kut-le's face.
"Well," the host went on, "Chira is the only place round here except my ranch where he could get a new outfit. He's part Pueblo, you know, too. I'd start for there if I was you." Carlos entered to hear this suggestion. "I've got a friend at Chira," he said, "who might help us. He's a half-breed." The tired men took eagerly to this forlorn hope.
"And the actual sickness was not the worst," Rhoda continued after describing her experiences up to her sickness at Chira; "it was the delirium of fear and anger. Kut-le forced me beyond the limit of my strength. Night after night I was tied to the saddle and kept there till I fainted. Then I was rested only enough to start again. And it angered and frightened me so! I was so sick!
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