rude metate and showed Rhoda the grinding roll that flattened and broke
the little grains. Despite her weak fingers Rhoda took to the work
easily. As she emptied out the first handful of meal, a curious sense
of pleasure came to her. Squatting before the metate, she looked at
the little pile of bruised seeds with the utmost satisfaction. Molly
poured more seeds on the metate and Rhoda began again. She was hard at
her task, her cheeks flushed with interest, when Kut-le returned.
Rhoda did not see the sudden look of pleasure in his eyes.

"You will tire yourself," he said.

Rhoda did not answer, but poured another handful of seed on the metate.

"You'll begin to like the life," he went on, "by the time you are
educated enough to leave us." He turned teasingly to Cesca. "You
think the white squaw can cross the desert soon by herself?"

Cesca spat disdainfully.

"No! White squaw no good! All time sit, sit, no work! Kut-le heap
fool!"

"Oh, Cesca," cried Rhoda, "I'm too sick to work! And see this meal
I've made! Isn't it good?"

Cesca glanced disdainfully at the little heap of meal Rhoda had bruised
out so painfully.

"Huh!" she grunted. "Feed 'em to the horses. Injuns no eat 'em!"