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Updated: May 8, 2025
Kut-le's glowing eyes contracted. "You are not surprised!" he exclaimed a little fiercely, "You must have seen how it has been with me ever since you came. And you have been so so bully to me!" Rhoda looked helplessly into the young man's face. She was so fragile that she seemed but an evanescent part of the moonlight. "But," she said slowly, "you must know that this is impossible.
And yet she was very hopeful. If her friends could come as close to her as they did before the mesa, they must be learning Kut-le's methods. Surely the next time luck would not play so well for the Indian. Rhoda woke in the morning to the sound of song. Marie knelt on the ground before a sloping slab of stone and patiently kneeded corn with a smaller stone.
Molly puckered up her own face in her effort to understand, and scratched her head. "Don't sabe that," she said. "Wash my face!" repeated Rhoda in astonishment. "Of course you understand." Molly laughed. "No! You no wash! No use! You just get cold heap cold!" "Molly!" called Kut-le's authoritative voice.
All your joy seems swallowed up in your thirst for revenge. All right, my friends. Only, wherever you go, I go too!" Billy Porter shook his head with a muttered "Gosh!" as if the ways of women were quite beyond him. "I think you had better ride on to the ranch with Carlos," said DeWitt, "while we take up Kut-le's trail. This will be no trip for a woman." "You're foolish!" exclaimed Jack.
Rhoda drew her hands from the young Indian's clasp and walked to the edge of the camp. The hot pulse that the touch of Kut-le's lips sent through her body startled her. "I hate him!" she said to herself. "I hate him! I hate him!" The trail that night was unusually difficult and Rhoda had to be rested frequently. At each stop, Kut-le tried to talk to her but she maintained her silence.
Kut-le's eyes were on the girl, inscrutable and calm as the desert itself, but still he did not speak. Billy Porter wiped his forehead again and again on a cloth that bore no resemblance to a handkerchief. "I can't put up any kind of an argument. All I can say is I don't see how any one like you could do it, Miss Rhoda! Just think! His folks is Injuns, dirty, blanket Injuns!
Here, however, she pushed him away and walked unsteadily to her horse. Kut-le's hands dropped to his side and he stood in the moonlight watching the frail boyish figure clamber with infinite travail into the saddle. From the pine wood, the trail led downward. The rubbing and the broth had put new life into Rhoda, and for a little while she kept a clear brain.
Don't you realize that the folks that believed in you and was fond of you has had to give up their faith in you? Don't you understand that you've lost all your white friends? But I suppose that don't mean anything to an Injun!" A look of sadness passed over Kut-le's face. "Porter," he said very gently, "I counted on all of that before I did this thing.
"There isn't a cent in the camp." Kut-le turned to Rhoda. "You get the point of the conversation, I hope?" Rhoda's eyes were blazing. She had gotten the point, and yet Jim was a white man! Anything white was better than an Indian. "I'd take my chances with Mr. Provenso," she said, joyfully conscious that nothing could have hurt Kut-le more than this reply. Kut-le's lips stiffened.
The lines of weariness and pain that never could be fully erased were all for her, she thought with a little catch of her breath. Then with a pitying, affectionate look at the sleeping man came a whimsical smile. Once she had thought no one could equal John in physical vigor. Now she pictured Kut-le's panther strength and endurance, and smiled. She looked at the watch. Five hours till dawn.
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