All the camp turned startled faces toward the girl, and Rhoda recovered
her self-possession. She ran to Kut-le and laid her hand on his arm,
lifting a lovely, pleading face to his.

"O Kut-le! Kut-le!" in the tone that she had used to Cartwell. "Can't
you see that it's no use? He is white, Kut-le! Let me go with him!
Let me go back to my own people! O Kut-le, let me go! O let me go!"

Kut-le looked down at the hand on his arm. Rhoda was too excited to
notice that his whole body shook at this unwonted touch. His voice was
caressing but his face remained inscrutable.

"Dear girl," he answered, "he is not your kind! He might originally
have been of your color, but now he's streaked with yellow. Let him
go. You are safer here with me!"

Rhoda turned from him impatiently.

"It's quite useless," she said to Jim; "no pleading or threat will move
him. But I do thank you--" her voice breaking a little. "Go back with
Alchise and tell them to come for me quickly!"

Some responsive flash of sympathy came to Jim's bleared eyes.

Rhoda stood watching Alchise marshall him out of the camp. She moaned
helplessly:

"O my people, my own people!" and Kut-le eyed her with unfathomable
gaze.