In a moment, Jack was grasping one of her hands and John DeWitt the other, while Billy Porter and Carlos shook each other's hands excitedly.
"Gee whiz!" cried Jack. "John said you were in superb condition, but I didn't realize that it meant this! Why, Rhoda, if it wasn't for your hair and eyes and the dimple in your chin, I wouldn't know you!"
"Are you all right?" asked DeWitt anxiously. "Where in the world did you come from? Where have you been?"
"Were you hurt much in the fight?" cried Rhoda. "Oh!" looking about at the eager listeners, "that was the most awful thing I ever saw, that fight! And Billy Porter, you are all right, I see. How shall I ever repay you all for what you have done for me!"
"Gosh!" exclaimed Porter. "I'm repaid just by looking at you! If that pison Piute hasn't made monkeys of us all, I'd like to know who has! How did you get away from him?"
"He let me go," answered Rhoda simply.
The men gasped.
"What was the matter with him!" ejaculated Porter, "Was he sick or dying?"
"No," said Rhoda mechanically; "I guess he saw that it was useless."
"And he dropped you in the desert without water or food or horse!" cried DeWitt. "Oh, that Apache cur!"