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Updated: June 18, 2025
Without a glance at her, Kut-le turned his pony almost in its tracks and made for the mesa. "Cut him off! He'll get away from us!" It was DeWitt's voice, and "John! John DeWitt!" Rhoda cried. But the young Indian had gaged his distance well.
At Gonzales the people of Dewitt's Colony had a little four-pounder, which they used to protect themselves from the Indians. Colonel Ugartchea, a Mexican, was sent to take it away from them. Every colonist hastened to its rescue. It was retaken, and the Mexicans pursued to Bexar. Just at this time Austin returned from his Mexican dungeon. No hearing had been granted him.
At last Rhoda said coolly: "Will you get fresh water while I bank in the fire?" DeWitt's face relaxed. He smiled a little grimly. "I'll do anything for you but that one thing promise not to kill the Indian." "The desert has changed us both, John," said Rhoda. "It has taken the veneer off both of us!" "Maybe so," replied DeWitt.
"If you find the Indian," he said succinctly, "he's mine!" There was a moment's silence in the crowd. These men were familiar with elemental passion. DeWitt's feeling was perfectly correct in their eyes. The pause came as each pictured himself in DeWitt's place with the image of the delicate Eastern girl suffering who knew what torments constantly before him. "If Mr.
He was sending ends down the field and I remember being thrilled, after beating a certain bunch of them, at hearing him say: 'You in the brown jersey, come over here in the first squad. "DeWitt's team beat Cornell 44-0. For years there hung on the walls of the Osborn Club at Princeton a splendid action picture of Dana Kafer making one of the touchdowns in that game.
The Indian's voice came in jerks as he eased DeWitt to the ground. "He's just fainted. He's put up a tremendous fight for a man in his condition!" As he spoke he was tying DeWitt's hands and ankles with his own and DeWitt's handkerchiefs. Rhoda would have run to DeWitt's aid but Cesca's hand was tight on her arm.
And DeWitt doesn't want just the shell of you. I have the real you! O Rhoda, the real you will belong to me if you are seven times DeWitt's wife! Can't you realize that forever and ever you are mine, no matter how you fight or what you do?" But Rhoda scarcely heard him. She was with DeWitt, struggling across the parching sands. "O Kut-le! Kut-le! What shall I do! What shall I do!"
Old Lady Kane, great-aunt of the Marquis of Edbury, was particularly my tormentor, through her plain-spoken comments on my father's legal suit; for I had to listen to her without wincing, and agree in her general contempt of the Georges, and foil her queries coolly, when I should have liked to perform Jorian DeWitt's expressed wish to 'squeeze the acid out of her in one grip, and toss her to the Gods that collect exhausted lemons. She took extraordinary liberties with me.
I'm just a sick wreck." "Rhoda," and DeWitt's earnest voice was convincing, "Rhoda, I'd pass up the healthiest, finest girl on earth for you, just sick you. Why, can't you see that your helplessness and dependence only deepen your hold on me? Who wants a thing as fragile and as lovely as you are to make a home! You pay your way in life just by living!
You all have lost your realness to me, somehow. I shan't mind going, much." DeWitt's strong face worked but his voice was steady. "I never shall leave you," he said simply. "You are the one woman in the world for me. I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me." Rhoda shook her head. "You ought to go away, John, and forget me. You ought to go marry some fine girl and have a home and a family.
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