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 moon was rising and DeWitt watched Rhoda as she sat with her hands
clasping her knee in the boyish attitude that had become a habit.
"You are simply fascinating in those clothes, Rhoda. You are like a
beautiful slender boy in them."
"They are very comfortable," said Rhoda, in such a sedate
matter-of-fact tone despite her blush that DeWitt chuckled. He threw
his arm across her shoulder and hugged her to him ecstatically.
"Rhoda! Rhoda! You are the finest ever! I can't believe that this
terrible nightmare is over! And to think that instead of finding you
all but dead, you are a thousand times more fit than I am myself.
Rhoda, just think! You are going to live! To live! You will not be
my wife just for a few months, as we thought, but for years and years!"
They stood in silence for a time, each one busy with the picture
DeWitt's words had conjured. Then DeWitt emptied the pipe he had been
smoking.
"Yonder is our peak, by Jove! It looked just so in the moonlight last
night. I didn't recognize it by daylight. If you're rested, we'll
start now. You must be dead hungry! I know I am!"
Refreshed and hopeful, they swung out into the wonder of the moonlit
desert. They soon settled to each other's pace and with the full moon
glowing in their faces they made for the distant peak.
"Now," said John, "tell me the whole story!"
So Rhoda, beginning with the moment of her abduction, told the story of
her wanderings, told it simply though omitting no detail. Nothing
could have been more dramatic than the quiet voice that now rose, now
fell with intensity of feeling. DeWitt did not interrupt her except
with a muttered exclamation now and again.
"And the actual sickness was not the worst," Rhoda continued after
describing her experiences up to her sickness at Chira; "it was the
delirium of fear and anger. Kut-le forced me beyond the limit of my
strength. Night after night I was tied to the saddle and kept there
till I fainted. Then I was rested only enough to start again. And it
angered and frightened me so! I was so sick! I loathed them all
so--except Molly. But after Chira a change came. I got stronger than
I ever dreamed of being. And I began to understand Kut-le's methods.
He had realized that physically and mentally I was at the lowest ebb
and that only heroic measures could save me. He had the courage to
apply the measures."
"God!" muttered John.
Rhoda scarcely heeded him.
"It was then that I began to see things that I could not see before and
to think thoughts that I could not have thought before. It was as if I
had climbed a mental peak that made my old highest ideals seem like
mere foothills!"
The quiet voice led on and on, stopping at last with Porter's advent
that afternoon. Then Rhoda looked up into DeWitt's face. It was drawn
and tense. His eyes were black with feeling and his close-pressed lips
twitched.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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