Jack spoke through his teeth obstinately.

“I’ve sweated blood over this thing as long as I propose to.  If Rhoda wants to marry Kut-le, that’s her business.  I always did like Kut-le and I always shall.  I’ve done my full duty in trying to get Rhoda back.  Now that she says that she cares for him, it’s neither your nor my business—­nor DeWitt’s.  But I want them to come back to the ranch with me and let Katherine give them a nice wedding.”

“But—­but—­” spluttered Porter.  Then he stopped as the good sense of Jack’s attitude suddenly came home to him.  “All right,” he said sullenly.  “I’m like DeWitt.  I pass.  Only—­if you try to take this Injun back to the ranch, he’ll never get there alive.  He’ll be lynched by the first bunch of cowboys or miners we strike.  Miss Rhoda nor you can’t stop ’em.  You want to remember how the whole country is worked up over this!”

Rhoda whitened.

“Do you think that too, Jack and Kut-le?”

For the first time, Jack spoke to Kut-le.

“What do you think, Kut-le?” he said.

“Porter’s right, of course,” answered Kut-le.  “My plan always has been to slip down into Mexico and then go to Paris for a year or two.  I’ve got enough money for that.  I’ve always wanted to do some work in the Sorbonne.  By the end of two years I think the Southwest will be willing to welcome us back.”

Nothing could have so simplified the situation as Kut-le’s calm reference to his plans for carrying on his profession.  He stood in his well-cut clothes, not an Indian, but a well-bred, clean-cut man of the world.  Even Porter recognized this, and with a sigh he resigned himself to the inevitable.

“You folks better come down to the monastery and be married,” he said.  “There’s a padre down there.”

“Gee!  What’ll I say to Katherine!” groaned Jack.

“Katherine will understand,” said Rhoda.  “Katherine always loved Kut-le.  Even now I can’t believe that she has altogether turned against him.”

Jack Newman heaved a sigh.

“Well,” he said, “Kut-le, will you and Rhoda come down to the monastery with us and be married?” His young niece was solemn.

“Yes,” answered Kut-le, “if Rhoda is agreed.”

Rhoda’s face still wore the look of exaltation.

“I will come!” she said.

Kut-le did not let his glance rest on her, but turned to Billy.

“Mr. Porter,” he said courteously, “will you come to my wedding?”

Billy looked dazed.  He stared from Kut-le to Rhoda, and Rhoda smiled at him.  His last defense was down.

“I’ll be there, thanks!” he said.

“There is a side trail that we can take my horses down,” said Kut-le.

They all were silent as Kut-le led the way down the side trail and by a circuitous path to the monastery.  He made his way up through a rude, grass-grown path to a cloistered front that was in fairly good repair.  Here they dismounted and waited while Kut-le pulled a long bell-rope that hung beside a battered door.  There was not long to wait before the door opened and a white-faced old padre stood staring in amazement at the little group.