Kut-le, while this was being done, stood quietly by the blanket, his fine face stern and intent.  When Rhoda opened her eyes, he put aside the two squaws, knelt and raised the girl’s head and held a cup of the rich broth to her lips.  It was cold, yet it tasted good, and Rhoda finished the cup without protest, then struggled to a sitting position.  After a moment Kut-le raised her gently to her feet.  Here, however, she pushed him away and walked unsteadily to her horse.  Kut-le’s hands dropped to his side and he stood in the moonlight watching the frail boyish figure clamber with infinite travail into the saddle.

From the pine wood, the trail led downward.  The rubbing and the broth had put new life into Rhoda, and for a little while she kept a clear brain.  For the first time it occurred to her that instead of following the Indians so stupidly she ought to watch her chance and at the first opportunity make a wild dash off into the darkness.  Kut-le was so sure of her weakness and cowardice that she felt that he would be taken completely by surprise and she might elude him.  With a definite purpose in her mind she was able to fight off again and again the blur of weakness that threatened her.

As the trail widened in the descent, Kut-le rode in beside her.

“Feeling better?” he asked cheerfully.

Rhoda made no reply.  Such a passion of hatred for the man shook her that words failed her.  She turned a white face toward him, the eyes black, the nostrils quivering with passion.

Kut-le laughed softly.

“Hate me, Rhoda!  Hate me as much as you wish!  That’s a heap more hopeful than indifference.  I’ll bet you aren’t thinking of dying of ennui now!”

What fiend, thought Rhoda, ever had induced her to make a friend of this savage!  She clung to the pommel of her saddle, her eyes fastened on him.  If only he would drop dead as he sat!  If only his Indians would turn on him and kill him!

They were riding through the desert now, desert thick-grown with cactus and sage-brush.  Suddenly a far away roar came to Rhoda’s ears.  There was a faint whistle repeated with increasing loudness.  Off to the north appeared a light that grew till it threw a dazzling beam on the strange little waiting group.  The train passed, a half-dozen dimly lighted Pullmans.  The roaring decreased, the whistle sounded lower and lower and the night was silent.  Rhoda sat following the last dim light with burning eyes.  Kut-le led the way from the difficult going of the desert to the road-bed.  As Rhoda saw the long line of rails the panic of the previous night overwhelmed her.  Like a mad thing, unmindful of the strap about her waist she threw herself from the saddle and hung against the stolid pony.  Kut-le dismounted and undid the strap.  The girl dropped to the ties and lay crouched with her face against the steel rail.

“O John!  O John DeWitt!” she sobbed.