Once more he lifted her to the horse. Once more with the help of his
silent companion he fastened her with blankets. Once more the journey
was begun. For a little while, distraught and uncertain what course to
pursue, Rhoda endured the misery of position and motion in silence.
Then the pain was too much and she cried out in protest. Kut-le
brought the horses to a walk.

"You certainly have about as much spunk as a chicken with the pip!" he
said contemptuously. "I should think your loathing would brace you up
a little!"

Stung by the insult to a sudden access of strength, as the Indian had
intended her to be, Rhoda answered, "You beast!" but as the horses
swung into the trot she made no protest for a long hour. Then once
more her strength failed her and she fell to crying with deep-drawn
sobs that shook her entire body. After a few moments of this, Kut-le
drew close to her.

"Don't!" he said huskily. "Don't!" And again he laid his hand on her
shoulder.

Rhoda shuddered but could not cease her sobs. Kut-le seemed to
hesitate for a few moments. Then he reached over, undid Rhoda's
fastenings and lifted her limp body to the saddle before him, holding
her against his broad chest as if he were coddling a child. Then he
started the horses on. Too exhausted to struggle, Rhoda lay sobbing
while the young Indian sat with his tragic eyes fastened steadily on
the mysterious distances of the trail. Finally Rhoda sank into a
stupor and, seeing this, Kut-le doubled the speed of the horses.