They stood in silence for a time, each one busy with the picture DeWitt’s words had conjured.  Then DeWitt emptied the pipe he had been smoking.

“Yonder is our peak, by Jove!  It looked just so in the moonlight last night.  I didn’t recognize it by daylight.  If you’re rested, we’ll start now.  You must be dead hungry!  I know I am!”

Refreshed and hopeful, they swung out into the wonder of the moonlit desert.  They soon settled to each other’s pace and with the full moon glowing in their faces they made for the distant peak.

“Now,” said John, “tell me the whole story!”

So Rhoda, beginning with the moment of her abduction, told the story of her wanderings, told it simply though omitting no detail.  Nothing could have been more dramatic than the quiet voice that now rose, now fell with intensity of feeling.  DeWitt did not interrupt her except with a muttered exclamation now and again.

“And the actual sickness was not the worst,” Rhoda continued after describing her experiences up to her sickness at Chira; “it was the delirium of fear and anger.  Kut-le forced me beyond the limit of my strength.  Night after night I was tied to the saddle and kept there till I fainted.  Then I was rested only enough to start again.  And it angered and frightened me so!  I was so sick!  I loathed them all so—­except Molly.  But after Chira a change came.  I got stronger than I ever dreamed of being.  And I began to understand Kut-le’s methods.  He had realized that physically and mentally I was at the lowest ebb and that only heroic measures could save me.  He had the courage to apply the measures.”

“God!” muttered John.

Rhoda scarcely heeded him.

“It was then that I began to see things that I could not see before and to think thoughts that I could not have thought before.  It was as if I had climbed a mental peak that made my old highest ideals seem like mere foothills!”

The quiet voice led on and on, stopping at last with Porter’s advent that afternoon.  Then Rhoda looked up into DeWitt’s face.  It was drawn and tense.  His eyes were black with feeling and his close-pressed lips twitched.

“Rhoda,” he said at last, “I thought most of the savage had been civilized out of me.  But I tell you now that if ever I get a chance I shall kill that Apache with my bare hands!”

Rhoda laid her hand on DeWitt’s arm.

“Kut-le, after all, has done me only a great good, John!”

“But think how he did it!  The devil risked killing you!  Think what you and we all have suffered!  God, Rhoda, think!” And DeWitt threw his arm across his face with a sob that wrenched his shoulders.

Inexpressibly touched, Rhoda stopped and drew John’s face down to hers, rubbing it softly with her velvet cheek.

“There, dear, there!  I can’t bear to see you so!  My poor tired boy!  You have all but killed yourself for me!”