AN ESCAPE
Rhoda sprang away from Kut-le and they both ran to the other side of
the rampart. Billy Porter, worn and tattered but still looking very
well able to hold his own, stood staring into the cave where the squaws
eyed him open-mouthed and Alchise, his hand on his rifle, scowled at
him aggressively. Porter's eye fell on Injun Tom.
"U-huh! You pison Piute, you! I just nacherally snagged your little
game, didn't I?"
"Billy!" cried Rhoda. "O Billy Porter!"
Porter jumped as if at a blow. Rhoda stood against the rock in her
boyish clothes, her beautiful braid sweeping her shoulder, her face
vivid.
"My God! Miss Rhoda!" cried Billy hoarsely, as he ran toward her with
outstretched hands. "Why, you are well! What's happened to you!"
Here Kut-le stepped between the two.
"Hello, Mr. Porter," he said.
Billy stepped back and a look of loathing and anger took the place of
the joy that had been in his eyes before.
"You Apache devil!" he growled. "You ain't as smart as you thought you
were!"
Rhoda ran forward and would have taken Porter's hand but Kut-le
restrained her with his hand on her shoulder.
"Where did you come from, Billy?" cried Rhoda. "Where are the others?"
Billy's face cleared a little at the sound of the girl's voice.
"They are right handy, Miss Rhoda."
"I'll give you a few details, Rhoda," said Kut-le coolly. "You see he
is without water and his mouth is black with thirst. He started to
trail Injun Tom but got lost and stumbled on us."
Rhoda gave a little cry of pity and running into the cave she brought
Billy a brimming cup of water.
"Is that true, Billy?" she asked. "Are the others near here?"
Billy nodded then drained the cup and held it out for more.
"They are just around the corner!" with a glance at Kut-le, who smiled
skeptically.
"Oh!" exclaimed Rhoda. "What terrible trouble I have made you all!"
"You made!" said Porter. "Well that's good! Still, that Apache devil
doesn't seem to have harmed you. Just the same, he'll get his! If I
shot him now, the other Injuns would get me and God knows what would
happen to you!"
"Whom do you call an Apache devil?" asked Kut-le. Rhoda never had seen
him show such evident anger.
"You, by Judas!" replied Porter, looking into the young Indian's face.
For a strained moment the two eyed each other, hatred glaring at
hatred, until Rhoda put a hand on Kut-le's arm. His face cleared at
once.
"So that's my reputation now, is it?" he said lightly.
"_That's_ your reputation!" sneered Billy. "Do you think that's _all_?
Why, don't you realize that you can't live in your own country again?
Don't you know that the whites will hunt you out like you was a rat?
Don't you realize that the folks that believed in you and was fond of
you has had to give up their faith in you? Don't you understand that
you've lost all your white friends? But I suppose that don't mean
anything to an Injun!"
A look of sadness passed over Kut-le's face.
"Porter," he said very gently, "I counted on all of that before I did
this thing. I thought that the sacrifice was worth while, and I still
think so. I'm sorry, for your sake, that you stumbled on us here. We
are going to start on the trail shortly and I must send you out to be
lost again. I'll let Alchise help you in the job. As you say, I have
sacrificed everything else in life; I can't afford to let anything
spoil this now. You can rest for an hour. Eat and drink and fill your
canteen. Take a good pack of meat and tortillas. You are welcome to
it all."
The Indian spoke with such dignity, with such tragic sincerity, that
Porter gave him a look of surprise and Rhoda felt hot tears in her
eyes. Kut-le turned to the girl.
"You can see that I can't let you talk alone with Porter, but go ahead
and say anything you want to in my hearing. Molly, you bring the white
man some dinner and fix him some trail grub. Hurry up, now!"
He seated himself on the rampart and lighted a cigarette. Porter sat
down meditatively, with his back against the mountain wall. He was
discomfited. Kut-le had guessed correctly as to the circumstances of
his finding the camp. He had no idea where his friends might have gone
in the twenty-four hours since he had left them. When he stumbled on
to Kut-le he had had a sudden hope that the Indian might take him
captive. The Indian's quiet reception of him nonplussed him and roused
his unwilling admiration.
Rhoda sat down beside Porter.
"How is John?" she asked.
"He is pretty good. He has lasted better than I thought he would."
"And Katherine and Jack?" Rhoda's voice trembled as she uttered the
names. It was only with the utmost difficulty that she spoke
coherently. All her nerves were on the alert for some unexpected
action on the part of either Billy or the Indians.
"Jack's all right," said Billy. "We ain't seen Mrs. Jack since the day
after you was took, but she's all to the good, of course, except she's
been about crazy about you, like the rest of us."
"Oh, you poor, poor people!" moaned Rhoda.
Porter essayed a smile with his cracked lips.
"But, say, you do look elegant, Miss Rhoda. You ain't the same girl!"
Rhoda blushed through her tan.
"I forgot these," she said; "I've worn them so long."
"It ain't the clothes," said Billy, "and it ain't altogether your fine
health. It's more--I don't know what it is! It's like the desert!"
"That's what I tell her," said Kut-le.
"Say," said Billy, scowling, "you've got a nerve, cutting in as if this
was a parlor conversation you had cut in on casual. Just keep out of
this, will you!"
Rhoda flushed.
"Well, as long as he can hear everything, it's a good deal of a farce
not to let him talk," she said.
"Farce!" exclaimed Billy. "Say, Miss Rhoda, you ain't sticking up for
this ornery Piute, are you?"
Rhoda looked at the calm eyes of the Indian, at the clean-cut
intelligence of his face, and she resented Porter's words. She
answered him softly but clearly.
"Kut-le did an awful and unforgivable thing in stealing me. No one
knows that better than I do. But he has treated me with respect and he
has given me back my health. I thank him for that and--and I do
respect him!"
Kut-le's eyes flashed with a deep light but he said nothing. Porter
stared at the girl with jaw dropped.
"Good Lord!" he cried. "Respect him! Wouldn't that come and get you!
Do you mean that you want to stay with that Injun?"
A slow flush covered Rhoda's tanned cheeks. Her cleft chin lifted a
little.
"At the very first chance," she replied, "I shall escape."
Porter sighed in great relief.
"That's all right, Miss Rhoda," he said leniently. "Respect him all
you want to. I don't see how you can, but women is queer, if you don't
mind my saying so. I don't blame you for feeling thankful about your
health. You've stood this business better than any of us. Say, that
squaw seems to be puttin' all her time on making up my pack. Can't I
negotiate for something to eat right now? Tell her not to put pison
into it."
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.
Rhoda gave one glance at Injun Tom and Alchise writhing with their
wounds, at Porter's fingers tightening at Kut-le's throat, then she
seized the canteen she had filled for Porter and started madly down the
trail. The screaming squaws gave no heed to her.
She ran swiftly, surely, down the rocky way, watching the trail with
secondary sense, for every other was strained to catch the sounds from
above. But she heard nothing but the screams of the squaws. The trail
twisted violently near the desert floor. She sped about one last
jutting buttress, then stopped abruptly, one hand on her heaving breast.
A man was running toward the foot of the trail. He, too, stopped
abruptly. The girl seemed a marvel of beauty to him. With the curly
hair beneath the drooping sombrero, the tanned, flushed face, the
parted scarlet lips, the throat and tiny triangle of chest disclosed by
the rough blue shirt with one button missing from the top, and the
beautiful lithe legs in the clinging buckskins, Rhoda was a wonderful
thing to come upon unexpectedly. As John DeWitt took off his hat, his
haggard face went white, his stalwart shoulders heaved.
"O John! Dear John DeWitt!" cried Rhoda. "Turn back with me quick! I
am running away while Mr. Porter holds Kut-le!"
DeWitt held out his shaking hands to her, unbelieving rapture growing
in his eyes.