"I'm all right," Rhoda answered languidly. "It was good of you all to
bother so about me. What have you been doing all day?"

"Over at the ditch with Jack and Cartwell. Say, Rhoda, the young
fellow who rescued you is an Indian!"

DeWitt dropped into a big chair by the hammock. He watched the girl
hopefully. It was such a long, long time since she had been interested
in anything! But there was no responsive light in the deep gray eyes.

"Katherine told me," she replied. Then, after a pause, as if she felt
it her duty to make conversation, "Did you like him?"

DeWitt spoke slowly, as if he had been considering the matter.

"I've a lot of race prejudice in me, Rhoda. I don't like niggers or
Chinamen or Indians when they get over to the white man's side of the
fence. They are well enough on their own side. However, this Cartwell
chap seems all right. And he rescued you from a beastly serious
situation!"

"I don't know that I'm as grateful for that as I ought to be," murmured
Rhoda, half to herself. "It would have been an easy solution."

Her words stung DeWitt. He started forward and seized the small thin
hands in both his own.

"Rhoda, don't!" he pleaded huskily. "Don't give up! Don't lose hope!
If I could only give you some of my strength! Don't talk so! It just
about breaks my heart to hear you."