The man, after two or three attempts, staggered to his feet and stood swaying.
"God help me!" he said. "I can do no more!"
"Yes, you can, John! Yes, you can! Perhaps there is a whole fountain of water there on the mesa!"
The glazed look returned to DeWitt's eyes.
"'Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain,'" he muttered, "'or the wheel broken at the cistern—or the pitcher broken at the fountain, or the wheel—'"
Rhoda threw her arm across her eyes.
"Oh, not that, John! I can't bear that one!"
Again, she stood upon the roof at Chira, looking up into Kut-le's face. Again the low wailing of the Indian women and the indescribable depth and hunger of those dear black eyes. Again the sense of protection and content in his nearness.
"O Kut-le! Kut-le!" she moaned.
Instantly sanity returned to John's eyes.