Kut-le talked rapidly, now in Spanish and now in English, and at last the padre turned to Rhoda with a smile.

“And you?” he asked.  “You are quite willing?”

“Yes,” said Rhoda, though her voice trembled in spite of her.

“And you?” asked the padre, turning to Jack and Billy.

The two men nodded.

“Then enter!” said the padre.

And with Cesca and Molly bringing up the rear, the wedding party followed the padre down a long adobe hallway across a courtyard where palms still shaded a trickling fountain, into a dim chapel, with grim adobe walls and pews hacked and worn by centuries of use.

The padre was excited and pleased.

“If,” he said, “you all will sit, I will call my two choir-boys who are at work in the olive orchard.  They are not far away.  We are always ready to hold service for such as may wish to attend.”

He disappeared through the door of the choir loft and returned shortly, followed by two tall Mexican half-breeds, clad in priceless surplices that had been wrought in Spain two centuries before.  They lighted some meager candles before the altar and began their chant in soft, well-trained voices.

The padre turned and waited.  Kut-le rose and, taking Rhoda’s hand, he led her before the aged priest.

To the two white men the scene was unforgetable.  The dim old chapel, scene of who could tell what heart-burnings of desert history; the priest of the ancient religion; standing before him the two young people, one of a vanishing and one of a conquering race, both startlingly vivid in the perfection of their beauty; and, looking on, the two wide-eyed squaws with aboriginal wonder in their eyes.

It was but a moment before Kut-le had slipped a ring on Rhoda’s finger; but a moment before the priest had pronounced them man and wife.

As the two left the priest, Jack kissed Rhoda solemnly twice.

“Once for Katherine,” he said, “and once for me.  I don’t understand much how it all has come about, but I know Kut-le, and I’m willing to trust you to him.”

Kut-le gave Jack a clear look.

“Jack, I’ll never forget that speech.  If I live long enough, I’ll repay you for it.”

“And an Indian keeps his promises,” said Rhoda softly.

Billy Porter was not to be outdone.

“Now that it’s all over with, I’ll say that Kut-le is a good fighter and that you are the handsomest couple I ever saw.”

Kut-le chuckled.

“Cesca, am I such a heap fool?”

Cesca sniffed.

“White squaws no good!  They—­”

But Molly elbowed Cesca aside.

“You no listen to her!” she said.

“O Molly!  Molly!” cried Rhoda.  “You are a woman!  I’m glad you were here!” And the men’s eyes blurred a little as the Indian woman hugged the white girl to her and crooned over her.

“You no cry!  You no cry!  When you come back, Molly come to your house, take care of you!”