“If we were sure just where the camp lay,” she said, “I would go on for help.  But as we aren’t certain, I’m afraid to be separated from you, John.”

John looked up fiercely with his haggard eyes.

“Don’t you dare to move six inches from me, Rhoda.  It will kill me to lose you now.”

“Of course I won’t,” said Rhoda.  “I’ve had my lesson about losing myself in the desert.  But you must have some sleep before we go any farther.”

Rhoda spoke with a cheerfulness she did not feel.  She looked about for a comfortable resting-place but the desert was barren.

“There’s no use trying to find a comfortable bed,” she said.  “You had better lie down right where you are.”

“Honey,” said John, “I’ve no idea of sleeping.  It will be time enough for that when we reach camp.  But if you think you could stand guard for just ten minutes I will lie flat in the sand and rest.  You take my watch and time me.”

“That’s splendid!” said Rhoda, helping him to clear of rocks and cactus a space long enough to lie in.

“Just ten minutes,” said DeWitt, and as he spoke he sank to sleep.

Rhoda stood in the moonlight looking into the man’s unconscious face.  His new-grown beard gave him a haggard look that was enhanced by the dark circles under his eyes.  That wan face touched Rhoda much more than the healthy face of former days.  The lines of weariness and pain that never could be fully erased were all for her, she thought with a little catch of her breath.  Then with a pitying, affectionate look at the sleeping man came a whimsical smile.  Once she had thought no one could equal John in physical vigor.  Now she pictured Kut-le’s panther strength and endurance, and smiled.

She looked at the watch.  Five hours till dawn.  She would let John have the whole of that time in which to sleep.  His ten minutes would be worse than useless, while to find the camp after the moon had set would be quite out of the question.  Her own eyes were wide and sleepless.  She sat in the sand beside DeWitt until driven by the cold to pace back and forth.  John slept without stirring; the sleep of complete exhaustion.  Rhoda was not afraid, nor did she feel lonely.  The desert was hers now.  There was no wind, but now and again the cactus rustled as if unseen wings had brushed it.  The dried heaps of cholla stirred as if unseen paws had pressed them.  From afar came the demoniacal laughter of coyotes on their night hunts.  But still Rhoda was not afraid.

At first, in the confusion of thoughts that the day’s events had crowded on her, her clearest sense was of thankfulness.  Then she fell to wondering what had happened to Porter and Kut-le.  Suddenly she caught her breath with a shiver.  If Porter won there could be but one answer as to Kut-le’s fate.  John’s attitude of mind told that.  Rhoda twisted her hands together.

“I will not have him killed!” she whispered.  “No!  No!  I will not have him killed!”