After a moment Rhoda wiped her eyes, and Kut-le, who had been giving the old padre something that the old fellow eyed with joy, took the girl’s hand gently.

“Come!” he said.

At the door the others watched them mount and ride away.  The two sat their horses with the grace that comes of long, hard trails.

“Maybe I’ve done wrong,” said Jack.  “But I don’t feel so.  I’m awful sorry for DeWitt.”

“I’m awful sorry for DeWitt,” agreed Porter, “but I’m sorrier for myself.  I’m older than DeWitt a whole lot.  He’s young enough to get over anything.”

When they had ridden out of sight of the monastery, Kut-le pulled in his horse and dismounted.  Then he stood looking up into Rhoda’s face.  In his eyes was the same look of exaltation that made hers wonderful.  He put his hand on her knee.

“We’ve a long ride ahead of us,” he said softly.  “I want something that I can’t have on horseback.”

Rhoda laid her hand on his.

“You meant it all, Rhoda?  It was not only to save my life?”

“Do you have to ask that?” said Rhoda.

“No!” answered Kut-le simply.  “You see I waited for you.  I knew that they would bring you back.  And if you had not spoken, I would rather have died.  I had made up my mind to that.  O my love!  It has come to us greatly!”

Then, as if the flood, controlled all these months, had burst its bonds, Kut-le lifted Rhoda from her saddle to his arms and laid his lips to hers.  For a long moment the two clung to each other as if they knew that life could hold no moment for them so sweet as this.  Then they mounted and, side by side, they rode off into the desert sunset.