Inexpressibly touched, Rhoda stopped and drew John's face down to hers, rubbing it softly with her velvet cheek.
"There, dear, there! I can't bear to see you so! My poor tired boy! You have all but killed yourself for me!"
DeWitt lifted the slender little figure and held it tensely in his arms a moment, then set her gently down.
"A woman's magnanimity is a strange thing," he said.
"Kut-le will suffer," said Rhoda. "He risked everything and has lost. He has neither friends nor country now."
"Much he cares," retorted DeWitt, "except for losing you!"
Rhoda made no answer. She realized that it would take careful pleading on her part to win freedom for Kut-le if ever he were caught. She changed the subject.
"Have you found living off the desert hard? I mean as far as food was concerned?"
"Food hasn't bothered us," answered John. "We've kept well supplied."
Rhoda chuckled.
"Then I can't tempt you to stop and have some roast mice with me?"
"Thank you," answered DeWitt. "Try and control your yearning for them, honey girl. We shall be at camp shortly and have some white man's grub."
"How long since you have eaten, John?" asked Rhoda. She had been watching the tall fellow's difficult and slacking steps for some time.
"Well, not since last night, to tell the truth. You see I was so excited when I struck Porter's trail that I didn't go back to the camp. I just hiked."
"So you are faint with hunger," said Rhoda, "and your feet are blistered, for you have done little tramping in the hot sand before this. John, look at that peak! Are you sure it is the right one?"
DeWitt stared long and perplexedly.
"Rhoda girl," he said, "I don't believe it is, after all. I am the blamedest tenderfoot! But don't you worry. We will find the camp. It's right in this neighborhood."