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Kut-le turned to the right and Alchise sprang to his aid. In the shelter of the trees, Kut-le twisted a handkerchief across Rhoda's mouth; and in reply to her outraged eyes, he said: "I don't mind single visitors as a rule but I haven't time to fuss with one now." Together the two men carried Rhoda up the cañon-side.
She lunged at DeWitt with catlike fury, but at a sharp word from Kut-le she turned to Rhoda and stood guard beside the girl. Rhoda stood helplessly watching the battle as one watches the horrors of a nightmare. Kut-le and DeWitt now were fighting as two wolves fight.
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.
Alchise would have relieved him of his burden, willingly, but Kut-le would not listen to it. Molly trotted anxiously by the young Apache's side, constantly moistening the girl's lips with water. Rhoda was quite delirious now. She murmured and sometimes sobbed, trying to free herself from Kut-le's arms. "I'm not sick!" she said, looking up into the Indian's face with unseeing eyes.
"But you aren't really giving them up," urged Kut-le. "It really is I who make the sacrifice of my race!" "And that is the reason for one of my fears," cried Rhoda. "I am afraid that some day you would find the price too great and that our marriage would be wrecked." "Even if I went back for a few months each year, would that make you unhappy?" asked Kut-le. "Kut-le!" exclaimed Rhoda.
Her fear almost robbed her of her reason. After what seemed to her endless hours, the horses were stopped suddenly. She felt her fastenings removed. Then Kut-le lifted her to the ground where she tumbled, helpless, at his feet. He stooped and took the gag from her mouth. Immediately with what fragment of strength remained to her, she screamed again and again.
Kut-le say cut off nose, kill 'em with cactus torture, if Injuns not good to white squaw." The touch was the touch of a woman and Molly, though a squaw, had a woman's understanding. Rhoda gave a little sob. "Kut-le, he good!" Molly went on. "He a big chief's son. He strong, rich. You no be afraid. You look heap pretty." Involuntarily Rhoda glanced at herself. The new clothes were very comfortable.
When you and I get away from him," she looked at the silent Indian with an expression of daring that brought a glint of amusement to his eyes, "I'll be able to live off the trail better than you!" "Gee!" exclaimed Porter admiringly. "Of course, in one way it's no credit to me at all," Rhoda went on, stirring the rabbit stew she was warming up. "Kut-le " she paused.
"I was a fool!" exclaimed Rhoda. Kut-le rose and took a stride or two up and down the ledge. Then he folded his arms across his chest and stopped before Rhoda, who leaned weakly against the boulder. "I am going to tell you what my ideas are," he said. "You are intelligent and will understand me no matter how bitter my words may make you at first. Now look here.
Let me go back to my own people! O Kut-le, let me go! O let me go!" Kut-le looked down at the hand on his arm. Rhoda was too excited to notice that his whole body shook at this unwonted touch. His voice was caressing but his face remained inscrutable. "Dear girl," he answered, "he is not your kind! He might originally have been of your color, but now he's streaked with yellow. Let him go.
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