As she lay, the elation of the early morning left her.  More and more surely the conviction came to her that the Apache’s boast was true; that no white could catch him on his own ground.  Dizzy and ill from the heat, she closed her eyes and lay without hope or coherent thought.

At noon they stopped for a short time that Rhoda might eat.  Their resting-place was in the shadow of a beetling, weather-beaten rock that still bore traces of hieroglyphic carvings.  There were broken bits of clay pots among the tufts of cactus.  Rhoda stared at them languidly and wondered what the forgotten vessels could have contained in a region so barren of life or hope.

Kut-le strolled over to a cat’s-claw bush at whose base lay a tangle of dead leaves.  With a bit of stick, he scattered this litter, struck the ground several good blows and returned with a string of fat desert mice.  With infinite care Cesca kindled a fire so tiny, so clear, that scarcely a wisp of smoke escaped into the quivering air.  Into this she flung the eviscerated mice and in an instant the tiny things were a delicate brown.  The aroma was pleasant but Rhoda turned whiter still when Molly brought her the fattest of the mice.

“Take it away!” she whispered.  “Take it away!”

Molly looked at the girl in stupid surprise.

“You must eat, Rhoda girl!” said Kut-le.

Rhoda made no reply but leaned limply against the ancient rock, her golden hair touching the crude drawings of long ago.  She was a very different Rhoda from the eager girl of the early morning.  She ignored every effort Kut-le made to tempt her to eat.  Her tired gaze wandered to her hands, still blood-grimed, and her cleft chin quivered.  Kut-le saw the expressive little look.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Rhoda looked up at him.

“I don’t believe you,” she returned calmly.

The Indian’s jaw stiffened.

“Come, we’ll start now.”

The afternoon was like the morning, except that the sun was more burning overhead, the way more scorching underfoot; except that the course became more broken, the clambering heavier, the drops more wracking.  All the afternoon, Kut-le carried Rhoda.  At last the sun sank below the mesa and the day was ended.

The place of their camping seemed to Rhoda damp and cold.  It was close beside a spring that gave out a faint, miasmic odor.  The bitter water was grateful, however.  Again more mice were seered over before the fire was stamped out hastily.  This time Rhoda forced herself to eat.  Then she drank deeply of the bitter water and lay down on the cold ground.  Despite the fact that she was shivering with the cold, she fell asleep at once.  Toward midnight she awoke and moving close to Molly’s broad back for warmth, she looked up into the sky.  For the first time the great southern stars seemed near and kindly to her and before she fell asleep again she wondered why.