In an incredibly short time he was entering the peach orchard that surrounded the ranch-house.  A young man in white flannels jumped from a hammock in which he had been dozing.

“For heaven’s sake!” he exclaimed.  “What does this mean?”

Rhoda was too ill to reply.  Cartwell did not slack his giant stride toward the house.

“It means,” he answered grimly, “that you folks must be crazy to let Miss Tuttle take a walk in clothes like this!  She’s got a scorpion sting in her foot.”

The man in flannels turned pale.  He hurried along beside Cartwell, then broke into a run.

“I’ll telephone to Gold Rock for the doctor and tell Mrs. Newman.”

He started on ahead.

“Never mind the doctor!” called Cartwell.  “I’ve attended to the sting.  Tell Mrs. Jack to have hot water ready.”

As Cartwell sprang up the porch steps, Mrs. Newman ran out to meet him.  She was a pretty, rosy girl, with brown eyes and curly brown hair.

“Rhoda!  Kut-le!” she cried.  “Why didn’t I warn her!  Put her on the couch here in the hall, Kut-le.  John, tell Li Chung to bring the hot-water bottles.  Here, Rhoda dear, drink this!”

For half an hour the three, with Li Chung hovering in the background, worked over the girl.  Then as they saw her stupor change to a natural sleep, Katherine gave a sigh that was almost a sob.

“She’s all right!” she said.  “O Kut-le, if you hadn’t come at that moment!”

Cartwell shook his head.

“It might have gone hard with her, she’s so delicate.  Gee, I’m glad I ran out of tobacco this morning and thought a two-mile tramp across the desert for it worth while!”

The three were on the porch now.  The young man in flannels, who had said little but had obeyed orders explicitly eyed Cartwell curiously.

“You’re Newman’s engineer, aren’t you?” he asked.  “My name’s DeWitt.  You’ve put us all under great obligations, this morning.”

Cartwell took the extended hand.

“Well, you know,” he said carefully, “a scorpion sting may or may not be serious.  People have died of them.  Mrs. Jack here makes no more of them than of a mosquito bite, while Jack goes about like a drunken sailor with one for a day, then forgets it.  Miss Tuttle will be all right when she wakes up.  I’m off till dinner time, Mrs. Jack.  Jack will think I’ve reverted!”

DeWitt stood for a moment watching the tall, lithe figure move through the peach-trees.  He was torn by a strange feeling, half of aversion, half of charm for the dark young stranger.  Then: 

“Hold on, Cartwell,” he cried.  “I’ll drive you back in the buckboard.”

Katherine Newman, looking after the two, raised her eyebrows, shook her head, then smiled and went back to Rhoda.

It was mid-afternoon when Rhoda woke.  Katherine was sitting near by with her sewing.

“Well!” said Rhoda wonderingly.  “I’m all right, after all!”