without regard to class or color. And not knowing why, the white girl
bowed her head on the squaw's fat shoulder and sobbed a little. A
strange look came into Molly's face. She was childless and had worked
fearfully to justify her existence to her tribe. Few hands had touched
hers in tenderness. Few voices had appealed to her for sympathy.
Suddenly Molly clasped Rhoda in her strong arms and swayed back and
forth with her gently.

"You no cry!" she said. "You no cry, little Sun-head, you no cry!"

"Molly, dear kind Molly, won't you help me to get back to my own
people? Suppose it was your daughter that a white man had stolen! O
Molly, I want to go home!"

Molly still rocked and spoke in the singsong voice one uses to a
sobbing child.

"You no run 'way! Kut-le catch right off! Make it all harder for you!"

Rhoda shivered a little.

"If I once get away, Kut-le never will catch me alive!"

Molly chuckled indulgently.

"How you run? No _sabe_ how eat, how drink, how find the trail!
Better stay with Molly."

"I would wait till I thought we were near a town. Won't you help me?
Dear, kind Molly, won't you help me?"