replying.  "You're up to a rotten trick and you know it, Cartwell," went on Jim.  "You take my advice and let me take the girl back to her friends and you make tracks down into Mexico as fast as the Lord'll let you." 

 Kut-le shifted the Navajo that hung over his naked shoulders. He gave a short laugh that Rhoda had never heard from him before. 

 "Let her go with you, Jim Provenso! You know as well as I do that she is safer with an Apache! Anything else?" 

 "Yes, this else!"  Jim's voice rose angrily.  "If ever we get a chance at you, we'll hang you sky high, see? This may go with Injuns but not with whites, you dirty pup!" 

 Suddenly Kut-le rose and, dropping his blanket, stood before the white man in his bronze perfection. 

 "Provenso, you aren't fit to look at a decent woman! Don't put on dog just because you belong to the white race. You're disreputable, and you know it. Don't speak to Miss Tuttle again; you are too rotten!" 

 The prospector had risen and stood glaring at Kut-le. 

 "I'll kill you for that yet, you dirty Injun!" he shouted. 

 "Shucks!" sniffed the Indian.  "You haven't the nerve to injure anything but a woman!" 

 Jim's face went purple. 

 "For two bits I'd knock your block off, right now." 

 "There isn't a cent in the camp." Kut-le turned to Rhoda.  "You get the point of the conversation, I hope?" 

 Rhoda's eyes were blazing. She had gotten the point, and yet—Jim was a white man! Anything white was better than an Indian. 

 "I'd take my chances with Mr. Provenso," she said, joyfully conscious that nothing could have hurt Kut-le more than this reply. 

 Kut-le's lips stiffened. 

 "Lunch is ready," he said. 

 "None of your grub for mine," remarked Jim.  "What are you going to do with me?" 

 Prev. P 64/172 next