the soft pine-needles. Rhoda, half delirious, looked up into the young
Indian's face with the pathetic unconsciousness of a sick child. He
laid her carefully on the blanket. The two squaws hurriedly knelt at
Rhoda's side and with clever hands rubbed and manipulated the slender,
exhausted body until the girl opened her languid eyes.

Kut-le, while this was being done, stood quietly by the blanket, his
fine face stern and intent. When Rhoda opened her eyes, he put aside
the two squaws, knelt and raised the girl's head and held a cup of the
rich broth to her lips. It was cold, yet it tasted good, and Rhoda
finished the cup without protest, then struggled to a sitting position.
After a moment Kut-le raised her gently to her feet. Here, however,
she pushed him away and walked unsteadily to her horse. Kut-le's hands
dropped to his side and he stood in the moonlight watching the frail
boyish figure clamber with infinite travail into the saddle.

From the pine wood, the trail led downward. The rubbing and the broth
had put new life into Rhoda, and for a little while she kept a clear
brain. For the first time it occurred to her that instead of following
the Indians so stupidly she ought to watch her chance and at the first
opportunity make a wild dash off into the darkness. Kut-le was so sure
of her weakness and cowardice that she felt that he would be taken
completely by surprise and she might elude him. With a definite
purpose in her mind she was able to fight off again and again the blur
of weakness that threatened her.

As the trail widened in the descent, Kut-le rode in beside her.

"Feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.