"Are you really civilized, Kut-le?" she asked one afternoon when the
young man had brought a little white desert owl to her hammock for her
inspection.

Kut-le tossed the damp hair from his forehead and looked at the sweet
wistful face against the crimson pillows. For a moment Rhoda felt as
if his young strength enveloped her like the desert sun.

"Why?" he asked at last. "You said the other day that I was too much
civilized."

"I know, but--" Rhoda hesitated for words, "I'm too much civilized
myself to understand, but sometimes there's a look in your eyes that
something, I suppose it's a forgotten instinct, tells me means that you
are wild to let all this go--" she waved a thin hand toward cultivated
fields and corral--"and take to the open desert."

Kut-le said nothing for a moment, though his face lighted with joy at
her understanding. Then he turned toward the desert and Rhoda saw the
look of joy change to one so full of unutterable longing that her heart
was stirred to sudden pity. However, an instant later, he turned to
her with the old impassive expression.

"Right beneath my skin," he said, "is the Apache. Tell me, Miss Rhoda,
what's the use of it all?"

"Use?" asked Rhoda, staring at the blue sky above the peach-trees. "I
am a fit person to ask what is the use of anything! Of course,
civilization is the only thing that lives. I can't get your point of