eyes. To the left were great overhanging walls with cactus growing
from every crevice; to the right, depth of cañon toward which she dared
not look but only trusted herself prayerfully to her steady little
horse.

As the trail led higher and darkness settled, the cold grew intense and
Rhoda cowered and shivered. Yet through her fear and discomfort was
creeping surprise that her strength had endured even this long. In a
spot where the trail widened Kut-le dropped back beside her and she
felt the warm folds of a Navajo blanket about her shoulders. Neither
she nor the Indian spoke. The madness of the night before, the fear
and disgust of the afternoon gave way, slowly, to a lethargy of
exhaustion. All thought of her frightful predicament, of her friends'
anxiety, of Kut-le's treachery, was dulled by a weariness so great that
she could only cling to the saddle and pray for the trail to end.

Kut-le, riding just ahead, glanced back constantly at the girl's dim
figure. But Rhoda was beyond pleading or protesting. The trail
twisted and undulated on and on. Each moment Rhoda felt less certain
of her seat. Each moment the motion of the horse grew more painful.
At last a faint odor of pine-needles roused her sinking senses and she
opened her heavy eyes. They had left the sickening edge of the cañon
and Alchise was leading them into a beautiful growth of pines where the
mournful hooting of owls gave a graveyard sadness to the moon-flecked
shadows.

Here, in a long aisle of columnar pines, Kut-le called the first halt.
Rhoda reeled in her saddle. Before her horse had stopped, Kut-le was
beside her, unfastening her waist strap and lifting her to the ground.
He pulled the blanket from his own shoulders and Molly stretched it on