He disappeared through the door of the choir loft and returned shortly, followed by two tall Mexican half-breeds, clad in priceless surplices that had been wrought in Spain two centuries before. They lighted some meager candles before the altar and began their chant in soft, well-trained voices.
The padre turned and waited. Kut-le rose and, taking Rhoda's hand, he led her before the aged priest.
To the two white men the scene was unforgetable. The dim old chapel, scene of who could tell what heart-burnings of desert history; the priest of the ancient religion; standing before him the two young people, one of a vanishing and one of a conquering race, both startlingly vivid in the perfection of their beauty; and, looking on, the two wide-eyed squaws with aboriginal wonder in their eyes.
It was but a moment before Kut-le had slipped a ring on Rhoda's finger; but a moment before the priest had pronounced them man and wife.
As the two left the priest, Jack kissed Rhoda solemnly twice.
"Once for Katherine," he said, "and once for me. I don't understand much how it all has come about, but I know Kut-le, and I'm willing to trust you to him."
Kut-le gave Jack a clear look.
"Jack, I'll never forget that speech. If I live long enough, I'll repay you for it."
"And an Indian keeps his promises," said Rhoda softly.
Billy Porter was not to be outdone.