"To sacrifice one's race is a serious thing. I can't think of anything that would make that worth while. Here comes Mr. DeWitt. It must be dinner time. John, come up and see a little desert owl at close range. Kut-le has all the desert at his beck and call!" Kut-le persuaded Rhoda to change the morning rides, which seemed only to exhaust her, to the shortest of evening strolls. Nearly always DeWitt accompanied them. Sometimes they went alone, though John was never very far distant. One moonlit night Kut-le and Rhoda stood alone at the corral bars. The whole world was radiant silver moonlight on the desert, on the undulating alfalfa; moonlight filtering through the peach-trees and shimmering on Rhoda's drooping head as she leaned against the bars in the weary attitude habitual to her. Kut-le stood before her, erect and strong in his white flannels. His handsome head was thrown back a little, as was his custom when speaking earnestly. His arms were folded across his deep chest and he stood so still that Rhoda could see his arms rise and fall with his breath. "It really is great work!" he was saying eagerly. "It seems to me that a civil engineer has tremendous opportunities to do really big things. Some of Kipling's stories of them are bully." "Aren't they!" answered Rhoda sympathetically. "There is a big thing in my favor too. The whites make no discrimination against an Indian in the professions. In fact every one gives him a boost in passing!" "Why shouldn't they? You have as good a brain and are as attractive as any man of my acquaintance!" The young man drew a quick breath. "Do you really mean that?" "Of course! Why shouldn't I? Isn't the moonlight uncanny on the desert?" But Kut-le did not heed her attempt to change the subject. "There are unlimited opportunities for me to make good, now that the government is putting up so many dams. I believe that I can go to the top with any man, don't you, Miss Rhoda?" "I do, indeed!" replied Rhoda sincerely. "Well, then, Miss Rhoda, will you marry me?" Rhoda raised her head in speechless amazement. Kut-le's glowing eyes contracted. "You are not surprised!" he exclaimed a little fiercely, "You must have seen how it has been with me ever since you came. And you have been so--so bully to me!" Rhoda looked helplessly into the young man's face. She was so fragile that she seemed but an evanescent part of the moonlight. "But," she said slowly, "you must know that this is impossible. I couldn't think of marrying you, Kut-le!" There was a moment's silence. An owl called from the desert. The night wind swept from the fragrant orchard. When he spoke again, Kut-le's voice was husky. "Is it because I am an Indian?" "Yes," answered Rhoda, "partly. But I don't love you, anyhow." "But," eagerly, "if you did love me, would my being an Indian make any difference? Isn't my blood pure? Isn't it old?"