"But, say, you do look elegant, Miss Rhoda. You ain't the same girl!" Rhoda blushed through her tan. "I forgot these," she said; "I've worn them so long." "It ain't the clothes," said Billy, "and it ain't altogether your fine health. It's more--I don't know what it is! It's like the desert!" "That's what I tell her," said Kut-le. "Say," said Billy, scowling, "you've got a nerve, cutting in as if this was a parlor conversation you had cut in on casual. Just keep out of this, will you!" Rhoda flushed. "Well, as long as he can hear everything, it's a good deal of a farce not to let him talk," she said. "Farce!" exclaimed Billy. "Say, Miss Rhoda, you ain't sticking up for this ornery Piute, are you?" Rhoda looked at the calm eyes of the Indian, at the clean-cut intelligence of his face, and she resented Porter's words. She answered him softly but clearly. "Kut-le did an awful and unforgivable thing in stealing me. No one knows that better than I do. But he has treated me with respect and he has given me back my health. I thank him for that and--and I do respect him!" Kut-le's eyes flashed with a deep light but he said nothing. Porter stared at the girl with jaw dropped. "Good Lord!" he cried. "Respect him! Wouldn't that come and get you! Do you mean that you want to stay with that Injun?" A slow flush covered Rhoda's tanned cheeks. Her cleft chin lifted a little. "At the very first chance," she replied, "I shall escape." Porter sighed in great relief. "That's all right, Miss Rhoda," he said leniently. "Respect him all you want to. I don't see how you can, but women is queer, if you don't mind my saying so. I don't blame you for feeling thankful about your health. You've stood this business better than any of us. Say, that squaw seems to be puttin' all her time on making up my pack. Can't I negotiate for something to eat right now? Tell her not to put pison into it." Kut-le grinned. "Maybe Miss Tuttle will fix up something for you, so you can eat without worrying." "Well, she won't, you know!" growled Porter. "_Her_ wait on me! She ain't no squaw!" "Oh, but," cried Rhoda, "you don't know how proud I am of my skill! I can run the camp just as well as the squaws." Then, as Porter scowled at Kut-le, "He didn't make me! I wanted to, so as to be able to take care of myself when I escaped. When you and I get away from him," she looked at the silent Indian with an expression of daring that brought a glint of amusement to his eyes, "I'll be able to live off the trail better than you!" "Gee!" exclaimed Porter admiringly. "Of course, in one way it's no credit to me at all," Rhoda went on, stirring the rabbit stew she was warming up. "Kut-le--" she paused. Of what use was it to try to explain what Kut-le had done for her! She toasted fresh tortillas and poured the stew over them and brought the steaming dish to Porter. He tasted of the mess tentatively.