to recover her hands.

"I loathe you!" she panted. "I loathe you! I loathe you!"

But Kut-le would not free the cold little hands.

"But do you fear me, too? Answer me! Do you fear me?"

The moon had risen and Rhoda looked into the face that bent above hers.
This was a naked savage with hawk-like face. Yet the eyes were the
ones that she had come to know so well, half tragic, somber, but clear
and, toward her, tender, very, very tender. With a shuddering sigh,
Rhoda looked away. But against her own volition she found herself
saying:

"I'm not afraid now! But I loathe you, you Apache Indian!"

Something very like a smile touched the grim mouth of the Apache.

"I don't hate you, you Caucasian!" he answered quietly.

He chafed the cold hands for a moment, in silence. Then he lifted her
to her saddle. But Rhoda was beyond struggle, beyond even clinging to
the saddle. Kut-le caught her as she reeled.

"Don't tie me!" she panted. "Don't tie me! I won't fight! I won't
even scream, if you won't tie me!"

"But you can't sit your saddle alone," replied Kut-le. "I'll have to
tie you."