She spent the following day on the roof.  Curled on her Navajo she watched the changing tones on the mountains and listened to the soft voices of the Pueblo women in the street below.  Naked brown babies climbed up and down the ladders and paddled in the shallow river Indian women with scarlet shawls across their shoulders filled their ollas at the river and stood gossiping, the brimming ollas on their heads.  In the early morning the men had trudged to the alfalfa and melon fields and returned at sundown to be greeted joyfully by the women and children.

Kut-le spent the day at Rhoda’s side.  They talked but little, though Rhoda had definitely abandoned her rule of silence toward the Indian.  Her mind during most of the day was absorbed in wondering why she so enjoyed watching the life in this Indian town and why she was not more impatient to be gone.

As the sun dropped behind the mountain Marie appeared on the roof, her black eyes very bright.

“Half-breed Philip find white squaw’s handkerchief.  Give to white men, maybe!  Marie see Philip get handkerchief from little girl.”

Kut-le gave Rhoda an inscrutable look, but she did not tell him that she shared his surprise.

“Well,” said Kut-le calmly, “maybe we had better mosey along.”

They descended to find Marie hastily doing up a bundle of bread and fruit.  While Kut-le went for blankets Rhoda, at Marie’s request, donned her old clothing of the trail.  She had been wearing the squaw’s holiday outfit.  Very shortly, with a hasty farewell to Marie, they were in the dusky street.  “Shall I gag you,” asked Kut-le, “or will you give me your word of honor to give neither sign nor sound until we get to the mountain, and to keep your face covered with your Navajo?”

Rhoda sighed.

“Very well, I promise,” she said.

In a very short time they had reached the end of the little street and were climbing an arroyo up into the mountain.  When they reached the pinons Kut-le gave the coyote call.  It thrilled Rhoda with the misery of the night of her capture.  Almost immediately there was an answering call and close in the shadow of the pinon they found Alchise and the two squaws.  Molly ran to Rhoda with a squeal of joy and patted the girl’s hand but Alchise and Cesca gave no heed to her greeting.

The ponies were ready and Rhoda swung herself to her saddle, with a thrill at the touch of the muscular little horse.  And once more she rode after Kut-le with the mystery of the night trail before her.

The sound of water falling, the cheep of wakening birds, the subtle odor of moisture-drenched soil roused Rhoda from her half sleep on the horse’s back at the end of the night’s journey.  The trail had not been hard, through an endless pine forest for the most part.  Kut-le drew rein beside a little waterfall deep in the mountain fastness.  Rhoda saw a chaos of rock masses huge and distorted, as if an inconceivably cruel and gigantic hand had juggled with weights seemingly immovable; about these the loveliness of vine and shrub; above them the towering junipers dwarfed by the rocks they shaded; and falling softly over the harsh brown rifts of rock, the liquid green and white of a mountain brook which, as it reached the level, rushed away in a roar of foam.