Rhoda took the towel silently, and the young Indian, after waiting a minute as if in hope of a word from her, left the girl to her difficult toilet.  When Rhoda had finished she picked up the field-glasses that Kut-le had left on her blankets and with her back to the Indians sat down on a rock to watch the desert.

The sordid discomforts of the camp seemed to her unbearable.  She hated the blue haze of the desert below and beyond her.  She hated the very ponies that Alchise was leading up from water.  It was the fourth day since her abduction.  Rhoda could not understand why John and the Newmans were so slow to overtake her.  She knew nothing as yet of the skill of her abductors.  She was like an ignorant child placed in a new world whose very ABC was closed to her.  After always having been cared for and protected, after never having known a hardship, the girl suddenly was thrust into an existence whose savage simplicity was sufficient to try the hardiest man.

Supper was eaten in silence, Kut-le finally giving up his attempts to make conversation.  It was dusk when they mounted and rode up the mountain.  Near the crest a whirling cloud of mist enveloped them.  It became desperately cold and Rhoda shivered beneath her Navajo but Kut-le gave no heed to her.  He led on and on, the horses slipping, the cold growing every minute more intense.  At last there appeared before them a dim figure silhouetted against a flickering light.  Kut-le halted his party and rode forward; Rhoda saw the dim figure rise hastily and after a short time Kut-le called back.

“Come ahead!”

The little camp was only an open space at the canon edge, with a sheepskin shelter over a tiny fire.  Beside the fire stood a sheep-herder, a swarthy figure wrapped from head to foot in sheepskins.  Over in the darkness by the mountain wall were the many nameless sounds that tell of animals herding for the night.  The shepherd greeted them with the perfect courtesy of the Mexican.

“Senors, the camp is yours!”

Kut-le lifted the shivering Rhoda from her horse.  The rain was lessening but the cold was still so great that Rhoda huddled gratefully by the little fire under the sheepskin shelter.  Kut-le refused the Mexican’s offer of tortillas and the man sat down to enjoy their society.  He eyed Rhoda keenly.

“Ah!  It is a senorita!” Then he gasped.  “It is perhaps the Senorita Rhoda Tuttle!”

Rhoda jumped to her feet.

“Yes!  Yes!  How did you know?”

Kut-le glared at the herder menacingly, but the little fellow did not see.  He spoke up bravely, as if he had a message for Rhoda.

“Some people told me yesterday.  They look for her everywhere!”

Rhoda’s eyes lighted joyfully.

“Who?  Where?” she cried.

Kut-le spoke concisely: 

“You know nothing!” he said.

The Mexican looked into the Apache’s eyes and shivered slightly.