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.
"By Hen!" he exclaimed, and he set upon the stew as if half starved, while Rhoda watched him complacently.
Seeing him apparently thus engrossed, Kut-le turned to speak to Alchise. Instantly Porter dropped the stew, drew a revolver and fired two rapid shots, one catching Alchise in the leg, the other Injun Tom. Before he could get Kut-le the young Indian was upon him.
"Run, Rhoda, run!" yelled Porter, as he went down, under Kut-le.