"Don't be afraid," whispered Kut-le. "Nothing can happen to you while I am taking care of you."
Rhoda looked into his eyes proudly.
"I am not afraid," she said, reaching for a fresh handhold with trembling fingers.
The jutting rocks were sharp. Kut-le from his ledge saw Rhoda look at her hold then turn white. Her nails were torn to the quick and bleeding. She swayed with only an atom of gravity lacking to send her to death below. Instantly Kut-le was back beside her, his sinewy hand between her shoulders, supporting and lifting her to the ledge above. As they neared the top the broken surface became prickly with cactus and Rhoda winced with misery as the thorns pierced and tore her flesh. But finally, in what actually had been an incredibly short time, they emerged on the plateau, where the two squaws huddled high above the pursuers.
"They think they have you now!" said Kut-le, as Rhoda dropped panting to the ground. "We must move out of here before they investigate the mesa top."
He allowed, however, a few minutes' breathing spell for Rhoda. She sat quietly, though her gray eyes were brilliant with excitement. It seemed to her but a matter of a few hours now when she would be with her own. Yet she could not but notice with that curious observance of detail which comes at moments of intensest excitement the varied colors of the distances that opened before her. The great mesa on which she sat was a mighty peninsula of chalcedony that stretched into the desert. It was patched by rocks of lavender, of yellow, and of green, and belled over by the intensity of the morning blue above.
"Come!" said Kut-le. "There will be little rest for us today."
Rhoda rose, took a few staggering steps, then sat down.
"I can't start yet," she said. "I'm too worn out."
Kut-le's expression was amused while it was impatient.
"I suppose you may be sleepy, but I think you can walk a little way. Hurry, Rhoda! Hurry!"
Rhoda sat staring calmly into the palpitating blue above.
"I hate to have you carry me," she said after a moment, "but I don't feel at all like walking!"
Her tired face was irresistibly lovely as she looked up at the Apache, but by an effort he remained obdurate.
"You must walk as long as you can," he insisted. "We have got to hustle today!"
"I really don't feel like hustling!" sighed Rhoda.
"Rhoda!" cried Kut-le impatiently, "get up and walk after me! Cesca, see that the white squaw keeps moving!" and he handed his rifle to the brown hag who took it with evident pleasure. Molly ran forward as if to protest but at a look from Kut-le she dropped back.