"Rhoda," he said at last, "I thought most of the savage had been civilized out of me. But I tell you now that if ever I get a chance I shall kill that Apache with my bare hands!" Rhoda laid her hand on DeWitt's arm. "Kut-le, after all, has done me only a great good, John!" "But think how he did it! The devil risked killing you! Think what you and we all have suffered! God, Rhoda, think!" And DeWitt threw his arm across his face with a sob that wrenched his shoulders. Inexpressibly touched, Rhoda stopped and drew John's face down to hers, rubbing it softly with her velvet cheek. "There, dear, there! I can't bear to see you so! My poor tired boy! You have all but killed yourself for me!" DeWitt lifted the slender little figure and held it tensely in his arms a moment, then set her gently down. "A woman's magnanimity is a strange thing," he said. "Kut-le will suffer," said Rhoda. "He risked everything and has lost. He has neither friends nor country now." "Much he cares," retorted DeWitt, "except for losing you!" Rhoda made no answer. She realized that it would take careful pleading on her part to win freedom for Kut-le if ever he were caught. She changed the subject. "Have you found living off the desert hard? I mean as far as food was concerned?" "Food hasn't bothered us," answered John. "We've kept well supplied." Rhoda chuckled. "Then I can't tempt you to stop and have some roast mice with me?" "Thank you," answered DeWitt. "Try and control your yearning for them, honey girl. We shall be at camp shortly and have some white man's grub." "How long since you have eaten, John?" asked Rhoda. She had been watching the tall fellow's difficult and slacking steps for some time. "Well, not since last night, to tell the truth. You see I was so excited when I struck Porter's trail that I didn't go back to the camp. I just hiked." "So you are faint with hunger," said Rhoda, "and your feet are blistered, for you have done little tramping in the hot sand before this. John, look at that peak! Are you sure it is the right one?" DeWitt stared long and perplexedly. "Rhoda girl," he said, "I don't believe it is, after all. I am the blamedest tenderfoot! But don't you worry. We will find the camp. It's right in this neighborhood." CHAPTER XVII THE HEART'S OWN BITTERNESS "I'm not worrying," answered Rhoda stoutly, "except about you. You are shaking with exhaustion while I am as fit as can be." "Oh, don't bother about me!" exclaimed John. "I'm just a little tired." But Rhoda was not to be put off. "How much did you sleep last night?" "Not much," admitted DeWitt. "I haven't been a heavy sleeper at times ever since you disappeared, strange as that may seem!" Then he grinned. It was pleasant to have Rhoda bully him.