The Indian spoke with such dignity, with such tragic sincerity, that Porter gave him a look of surprise and Rhoda felt hot tears in her eyes.  Kut-le turned to the girl.

“You can see that I can’t let you talk alone with Porter, but go ahead and say anything you want to in my hearing.  Molly, you bring the white man some dinner and fix him some trail grub.  Hurry up, now!”

He seated himself on the rampart and lighted a cigarette.  Porter sat down meditatively, with his back against the mountain wall.  He was discomfited.  Kut-le had guessed correctly as to the circumstances of his finding the camp.  He had no idea where his friends might have gone in the twenty-four hours since he had left them.  When he stumbled on to Kut-le he had had a sudden hope that the Indian might take him captive.  The Indian’s quiet reception of him nonplussed him and roused his unwilling admiration.

Rhoda sat down beside Porter.

“How is John?” she asked.

“He is pretty good.  He has lasted better than I thought he would.”

“And Katherine and Jack?” Rhoda’s voice trembled as she uttered the names.  It was only with the utmost difficulty that she spoke coherently.  All her nerves were on the alert for some unexpected action on the part of either Billy or the Indians.

“Jack’s all right,” said Billy.  “We ain’t seen Mrs. Jack since the day after you was took, but she’s all to the good, of course, except she’s been about crazy about you, like the rest of us.”

“Oh, you poor, poor people!” moaned Rhoda.

Porter essayed a smile with his cracked lips.

“But, say, you do look elegant, Miss Rhoda.  You ain’t the same girl!”

Rhoda blushed through her tan.

“I forgot these,” she said; “I’ve worn them so long.”

“It ain’t the clothes,” said Billy, “and it ain’t altogether your fine health.  It’s more—­I don’t know what it is!  It’s like the desert!”

“That’s what I tell her,” said Kut-le.

“Say,” said Billy, scowling, “you’ve got a nerve, cutting in as if this was a parlor conversation you had cut in on casual.  Just keep out of this, will you!”

Rhoda flushed.

“Well, as long as he can hear everything, it’s a good deal of a farce not to let him talk,” she said.

“Farce!” exclaimed Billy.  “Say, Miss Rhoda, you ain’t sticking up for this ornery Piute, are you?”

Rhoda looked at the calm eyes of the Indian, at the clean-cut intelligence of his face, and she resented Porter’s words.  She answered him softly but clearly.

“Kut-le did an awful and unforgivable thing in stealing me.  No one knows that better than I do.  But he has treated me with respect and he has given me back my health.  I thank him for that and—­and I do respect him!”

Kut-le’s eyes flashed with a deep light but he said nothing.  Porter stared at the girl with jaw dropped.