to desperation.

The difficulties of the camp life would have been unbearable to her had
not her natural fortitude and her intense pride come to her rescue.
The estimate of her that Kut-le had so mercilessly presented to her the
first day of her abduction returned to her more and more clearly as the
days wore on. At first she thought of them only with scorn. Then as
her loneliness increased and she was forced back upon herself she grew
to wonder what in her had given the Indian such an opinion. There was
something in the nakedness of the desert, something in its piercing
austerity that forced her to truthfulness with herself. Little by
little she found herself trying to acquire Kut-le's view of her.

Her liking for Molly grew. She spent long afternoons with the squaw,
picking up desert lore.

"Do you like to work, Molly?" she asked the squaw one afternoon, as she
sorted seed for Molly to bruise.

"What else to do?" asked Molly. "Sit with hands folded on stomach, so?
No! Still hands make crazy head. Now you work with your hands you no
so sorry in head, huh?"

Rhoda thought for a moment. There was a joy in the rude camp tasks
that she had assumed that she never had found in golf or automobiling.
She nodded, then said wistfully:

"You think I'm no good at all, don't you, Molly?"

Molly shrugged her shoulders.