Kut-le smiled to himself. It was hard even for him to realize that this plucky girl who passed so simply over such an ordeal as he knew she must have endured could be the Rhoda of the ranch. But he said only:
"We'll make for the timber line and let you rest for a while."
At mid-morning they left the desert and began to climb a rough mountain slope. At the piñon line, Kut-le called a halt. Never before had shade seemed so good to Rhoda as it did now. She lay on the pine-needles looking up into the soft green. It was unspeakably grateful to her eyes which had been so long tortured by the desert glare. She lay thus for a long time, her mental pain for a while lost in the access of physical comfort. Shortly Molly, who had been working rapidly, brought her a steaming bowl of stew. Rhoda ate this, then with her head pillowed on her arm she fell asleep.
She was wakened by Molly's touch on her arm. It was late afternoon. Rhoda looked up into the squaw's face and drew a quick hard breath as realization came to her.
"Molly! Molly!" she cried. "I'm in terrible, terrible trouble, Molly!"
The squaw looked worried.
"You no go away! Kut-le heap sorry while you gone!"
But Rhoda scarcely heeded the woman's voice. She rolled over with her hot face in the fragrant needles and groaned.
"O Molly! Molly! I'm in terrible trouble!"
"What trouble? You tell old Molly!"