"Oh!" in evident relief. "And what was Molly doing?"

"She maybe help 'em run," said Alchise, coming forward.

The relief in Kut-le's voice increased Rhoda's anger.

"No such thing! She was persuading me not to go! Kut-le, you give
Alchise orders not to touch Molly again. I won't have it!"

"Oh, that's not necessary," said Kut-le serenely. "Indians are pretty
good to their women as a general thing. They average up with the
whites, I guess. Molly, get up and help Cesca with these!" He flung
some newly killed rabbits at the gaping squaw, who still lay where she
had fallen.

Rhoda, trembling and glowering, walked unsteadily up and down beneath
the cottonwoods. The details of her new existence, the dirt, the
roughness, were beginning to sink in on her. She paced back and forth,
lips compressed, eyes black. Kut-le stood with his back against a
cottonwood eying the slender figure with frank delight. Now and again
he chuckled as he rolled a cigarette with his facile finger. His hands
were fine as only an Indian's can be: strong and sinewy yet supple with
slender fingers and almond-shaped nails.

He smoked contentedly with his eyes on the girl. Inscrutable as was
his face at a casual glance, had Rhoda observed keenly she might have
read much in the changing light of his eyes. There was appreciation of
her and love of her and a merciless determination to hold her at all
costs. And still as he gazed there was that tragedy in his look which
is part and portion of the Indian's face.