“Just remember,” said Rhoda quickly, “that I’ve asked you not to shoot to kill!”

Again the hard light gleamed in DeWitt’s eyes.

“I shall have a few words with him first, then I shall shoot to kill.  There is that between that Indian and me which a woman evidently can’t understand.  I just can’t see why you take the stand you do!”

“John dear,” cried Rhoda, “put yourself in his place.  With all the race prejudice against you that he had, wouldn’t you have done as he has?”

“Probably,” answered Dewitt calmly.  “I also would have expected what he is going to get.”

A sudden sense of the bizarre nature of their conversation caused Rhoda to say comically: 

“I never knew that you could have such bloody ideas, John!”

DeWitt was glad to turn the conversation.

“I am so only occasionally,” he said.  “For instance, instead of shooting the rabbit for supper, I’m going to try a figure-four trap.”

They returned to their little camp on the upper terrace and Rhoda sat with wistful gray eyes fastened on the desert while John busied himself with the trap-making.  He worked with the skill of his country boyhood and the trap was cleverly finished.

“It’s evident that I’m not the leader of the expedition any more,” said Rhoda, looking at the trap admiringly.

John shook his head.

“I’ve lost my faith in myself as a hero.  It’s one thing to read of the desert and think how well you could have managed there, and another thing to be on the spot!”

The day passed slowly.  As night drew on the two on the mesa top grew more and more anxious.  There was little doubt but that they could live for a number of days at the old pueblo, yet it was evident that the ruin was far from any traveled trail and that chances of discovery were slight except by Kut-le.  On the other hand, they were absolutely unprepared for a walking trip across the desert.  Troubled and uncertain what to do, they watched the wonder of the sunset.  Deeper, richer, more divine grew the colors of the desert, and in one supreme, flaming glory the sun sank from view.

DeWitt with his arm across Rhoda’s shoulders spoke anxiously.

“Don’t you still think we’d better start tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she answered, “I suppose so.  What direction shall we take?”

“East,” replied DeWitt.  “We’re bound to strike help if we can keep going long enough in one direction.  We’ll cook a good supply of rabbits and I’ll fix up one of those bowl-like ollas with my handkerchief, so we can carry water in it as well as in the two canteens.  I think you had better sleep in the little room there tonight and I’ll lie across the end of the trail here.”

Rhoda sighed.

“I’ve nothing better to suggest.  As you say, it’s all guesswork!”

They set the rabbit trap by the spring, then Rhoda, quite recovered from her nervousness of the night before, entered her little sleeping-room and made ready for the night.  The front of the room had so crumbled away that she could see John’s dark form by the trail, and she lay down with a sense of security and fell asleep at once.