"Yes, you are white and I am red. But before all that, you are a woman
of exquisite possibilities and I am a man who by all of nature's laws
would make a fitting mate for you. You can love me, when you are well,
as you could love no other man. And I--dear one, I love you
passionately! I love you tenderly! I love you enough to give up my
race for you. I am an Indian, Rhoda, but first of all I am a man.
Rhoda, will you marry me?"

A thrill, poignant, heart-stirring, beat through Rhoda's veins. For
one unspeakable moment there swept through her spirit a vision of
strength, of beauty, of gladness, too wild and sweet for words. Then
came the old sense of race distaste and she looked steadily into the
young man's face.

"I cannot marry you, Kut-le," she said.

Kut-le said nothing more. He stood staring at the far desert, his fine
face somber and with a look of determination in the contracted eyes and
firm-set lips that made Rhoda shiver, even while her heart throbbed
with pity. Tall, slender, inscrutable, as alien to her understanding
as the call of the desert wind or the moon-drenched desert haze, she
turned away and left him standing there alone.

She made her slow way to the ranch-house. Kut-le did not follow.
Rhoda went to bed at once. Yet she could not sleep, for through the
silence Kut-le's deep voice beat on her ears.

"I love you passionately! I love you tenderly! I am an Indian, but
first of all I am a man!"