"Let her go with you, Jim Provenso! You know as well as I do that she
is safer with an Apache! Anything else?"

"Yes, this else!" Jim's voice rose angrily. "If ever we get a chance
at you, we'll hang you sky high, see? This may go with Injuns but not
with whites, you dirty pup!"

Suddenly Kut-le rose and, dropping his blanket, stood before the white
man in his bronze perfection.

"Provenso, you aren't fit to look at a decent woman! Don't put on dog
just because you belong to the white race. You're disreputable, and
you know it. Don't speak to Miss Tuttle again; you are too rotten!"

The prospector had risen and stood glaring at Kut-le.

"I'll kill you for that yet, you dirty Injun!" he shouted.

"Shucks!" sniffed the Indian. "You haven't the nerve to injure
anything but a woman!"

Jim's face went purple.

"For two bits I'd knock your block off, right now."

"There isn't a cent in the camp." Kut-le turned to Rhoda. "You get the
point of the conversation, I hope?"

Rhoda's eyes were blazing. She had gotten the point, and yet--Jim was
a white man! Anything white was better than an Indian.