The Heart of the Desert (Kut-Le of the Desert)Morrow, Honoré
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The Heart of the Desert (Kut-Le of the Desert)
Morrow, Honoré
Indians of North America -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Love stories; Western stories
The silent nights of stars, the laborious crests that tossed sudden and
unspeakable views before the eyes, the eternal canons that led beneath
ranges of surpassing majesty, roused in her a passion of delight that
could find expression only in her growing physical prowess. She lived
and ate like a splendid boy. Day after day she scaled the ranges with
Kut-le and Alchise; tenderly reared creature of an ultracivilization as
she was, she learned the intricate lore of the aborigines, learned what
students of the dying people would give their hearts to know.
Kut-le wakened Rhoda at dawn one day. She prepared the breakfast of
coffee, bacon and tortilla. Alchise shared this eagerly with Rhoda and
Kut-le, though already he had eaten with the squaws. The day was still
gray when the three set out on a long day's trip in search of game.
The way this morning led up a canon deep and quiet, with the night
shadows still dark and cool within it. The air was that of a northern
day of June.
Rhoda tramped bravely, up and up, from cactus to bear grass, from bear
grass to stunted cedar, from cedar to pines that at last rose
triumphant at the crest of a great ridge. Here Rhoda and Kut-le flung
themselves to the ground to rest while Alchise prowled about
restlessly. Across a hundred miles of desert rose faint snow-capped
peaks.
Kut-le watched Rhoda's rapt face for a time. Then, as if unable to
keep back the words, he said softly:
"Rhoda! Stay here, always! Marry me and stay here always!"
Rhoda looked at the beautiful pleading eyes. She stirred restlessly;
but before she could frame an answer Alchise appeared, followed by a
lean old Indian all but toothless who wore a pair of tattered overalls
and a gauze shirt. The two Indians stopped before Kut-le, and Alchise
jerked a thumb at the stranger.
"_Sabe_ no white talk," he said.
Kut-le passed the stranger a cigarette, which he accepted without
comment. A rapid conversation followed between the three Indians.
"He is an Apache," explained Kut-le, finally, to Rhoda. "His name is
Injun Tom. He says that Newman and Porter hired him to trail us but he
is tired of the job. They foolishly advanced him five dollars. He
says they are camping in the valley right below here."
Rhoda sprang to her feet.
"Where are you going?" smiled Kut-le. "He says they are going to shoot
me on sight!"
Under her tan Rhoda's face whitened.
"Would they shoot you, Kut-le, even if I told them not to?"
At the sight of the paling face the young man murmured, "You dear!"
under his breath. Then aloud, "Not if I were your husband."
"How can I marry a savage?" cried Rhoda.
Kut-le put his hand under the cleft chin and lifted the sweet face till
it looked directly into his. His gaze was very deep and clear.
"Am I nothing but a naked savage, Rhoda?" he said. "Am I?"
Rhoda's eyes did not leave his.
"No!" she said softly, under her breath.
Kut-le's eyes deepened. He turned and picked up his rifle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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