"You mean when I'm dressed as a chief on the warpath? Well, you said you'd be keen about me this way; so here I am. I tried all the white methods I knew to win you and failed. Now the only thing left is the Indian method."
Rhoda moved uneasily.
Kut-le went on: "As a white man I can no longer pester you. As an Indian I can steal you and marry you."
Rhoda struggled to make him and his words seem real to her.
"You aren't going to be so absurd as to try to steal me, I hope!" she tried to laugh.
"That's just what I'm going to do!" answered Kut-le. "If I steal as a white would steal, I would be caught at once. If I use Apache methods, no white on earth can catch me."
Rhoda gasped as the Indian's evident sincerity sank in on her.
"But," she pleaded, fighting for time, "you can't want to marry me by force! Don't you know that I shall grow to loathe you?"
"No! No!" answered the Indian earnestly. "Not after I've shown you life as I have seen it."
"Nonsense!" cried Rhoda. "Don't you realize that the whole county will be after you by morning?"
Kut-le laughed, deliberately walked up to the girl and lifted her in his arms as he had on the morning of their meeting. Rhoda gave one scream and struggled frantically. He slid a hand over her lips and tightened his hold. For a moment Rhoda lay motionless in abject fear, then, with a muffled cry of utter helplessness, a cry that would have driven a white man mad with pity, she slipped into unconsciousness. Kut-le walked on for a short distance to a horse. He put Rhoda in the saddle and fastened her there with a blanket. He slipped off the twisted bandana that bound his short black hair, fillet wise, and tied it carefully over Rhoda's mouth. Then with one hand steadying the quiet shoulders, he started the horse on through the dusk.