The Heart of the Desert

by Honoré Morrow

  CHAPTER III

  INDIAN AND CAUCASIAN

  DeWitt debated with himself for some time as to whether or not he oughtto speak to Jack of Porter's warning. Finally he decided that Porter'ssuspicions would only anger Jack, who was intensely loyal to hisfriends. He determined to keep silence until he had something moretangible on which to found his complaint than Billy's bitter prejudiceagainst all Indians. He had implicit faith in Rhoda's love forhimself. If any vague interest in life could come to her through theyoung Indian, he felt that he could endure his presence. In themeantime he would guard Rhoda without cessation.

  In the days that followed, Rhoda grew perceptibly weaker, and herfriends went about with aching hearts under an assumed cheerfulness ofmanner that deceived Rhoda least of any one. Rhoda herself did notcomplain and this of itself added a hundredfold to the pathos of thesituation. Her unfailing sweetness and patience touched the healthy,hardy young people who were so devoted to her more than the mostjustifiable impatience on her part.

  Time and again Katherine saw DeWitt and Jack leave the girl's side withtears in their eyes. But Cartwell watched the girl with inscrutablegaze.

  Rhoda still hated the desert. The very unchanging loveliness of thedays wearied her. Morning succeeded morning and noon followed noon,with always the same soft breeze stirring the orchard, always the clearyellow sunlight burning and dazzling her eyes, always the unvaryingmonotony of bleating sheep and lowing herds and at evening the hoot ofowls. The brooding tenderness of the sky she did not see. Thethrobbing of the great, quiet southern stars stirred her only with asense of helpless loneliness that was all but unendurable. And still,from who knows what source, she found strength to meet the days and herfriends with that unfailing sweetness that was as poignant as theclinging fingers of a sick child.

  Jack, Katherine, DeWitt, Cartwell, all were unwearying in their effortto amuse her. And yet for some reason. Cartwell alone was able torouse her listless eyes to interest. Even DeWitt found himself eagerlywatching the young Indian, less to guard Rhoda than to discover what inthe Apache so piqued his curiosity. He had to admit, howeverreluctantly, that Kut-le, as he and Rhoda now called him with theothers, was a charming companion.

  Neither DeWitt nor Rhoda ever before had known an Indian. Most oftheir ideas of the race were founded on childhood reading of Cooper.Kut-le was quite as cultured, quite as well-mannered and quite asintelligent as any of their Eastern friends. But in many otherqualities he differed from them. He possessed a frank pride in himselfand his blood that might have belonged to some medieval prince whowould not take the trouble outwardly to underestimate himself. Closelyallied to this was his habit of truthfulness. This was not a blatantbluntness that irritated the hearer but a habit of valuing persons andthings at their intrinsic worth, a habit of mental honesty as bizarreto Rhoda and John as was the young Indian's frank pride.

  His attitude toward Rhoda piqued her while it amused her. Since herchildhood, men had treated her with deference, had paid almost abjecttribute to her loveliness and bright charm. Cartwell was delightfullyconsiderate of her. He was uniformly courteous to her. But it was thecourtesy of _noblesse oblige_, without a trace of deference in it.

  One afternoon Kut-le sat alone on the veranda with Rhoda.

  "Do you know," he said, rumpling his black hair, "that I think DeWitthas decided that I will bear watching!"

  "Well," answered Rhoda idly, "and won't you?"

  Kut-le chuckled.

  "Would you prefer that I show the lurking savage beneath this falseshell of good manners?"

  Rhoda smiled back at him.

  "Of course you are an Indian, after all. It's rather too bad of younot to live up to any of our ideals. Your manners are as nice as JohnDeWitt's. I'd be quite frantic about you if you would drop them and goon the war-path."

  Kut-le threw back his head and laughed.

  "Oh, you ignorant young thing! It's lucky for you--and for me--thatyou have come West to grow up and complete your education! But DeWittneedn't worry. I don't need watching yet! First, I'm going to makeyou well. I know how and he doesn't. After that is done, he'd betterwatch!"

  Rhoda's eyebrows began to go up. Kut-le never had recalled by word orlook her outburst in the desert the morning of their first ridetogether, though they had taken several since. Rhoda seldom mentionedher illness now and her friends respected her feeling. But now Kut-lesmiled at her disapproving brows.

  "I've waited for the others to get busy," he said, "but they actfoolish. Half the trouble with you is mental. You need a boss. Now,you don't eat enough, in spite of the eggs and beef and fruit that thatdear Mrs. Jack sets before you. See how your hands shake this minute!"

  Rhoda could think of no reply sufficiently crushing for this forwardyoung Indian. While she was turning several over in her mind, Kut-lewent into the house and returned with a glass of milk.

  "I wish you'd drink this," he said.

  Rhoda's brows still were arched haughtily.

  "No, thank you," she said frigidly; "I don't wish you to undertake thecare of my health."

  Kut-le made no reply but held the glass steadily before her.Involuntarily, Rhoda looked up. The young Indian was watching her witheyes so clear, so tender, with that strange look of tragedy belyingtheir youth, with that something so compelling in their quiet depths,that once more her tired pulses quickened. Rhoda looked from Kut-leout to the twisting sand-whirls, then she took the glass of milk anddrank it. She would not have done this for any of the others and bothshe and Kut-le knew it. Thereafter, he deliberately set himself towatching her and it seemed as if he must exhaust his ingenuity devisingmeans for her comfort. Slowly Rhoda acquired a definite interest inthe young Indian.

  "Are you really civilized, Kut-le?" she asked one afternoon when theyoung man had brought a little white desert owl to her hammock for herinspection.

  Kut-le tossed the damp hair from his forehead and looked at the sweetwistful face against the crimson pillows. For a moment Rhoda felt asif his young strength enveloped her like the desert sun.

  "Why?" he asked at last. "You said the other day that I was too muchcivilized."

  "I know, but--" Rhoda hesitated for words, "I'm too much civilizedmyself to understand, but sometimes there's a look in your eyes thatsomething, I suppose it's a forgotten instinct, tells me means that youare wild to let all this go--" she waved a thin hand toward cultivatedfields and corral--"and take to the open desert."

  Kut-le said nothing for a moment, though his face lighted with joy ather understanding. Then he turned toward the desert and Rhoda saw thelook of joy change to one so full of unutterable longing that her heartwas stirred to sudden pity. However, an instant later, he turned toher with the old impassive expression.

  "Right beneath my skin," he said, "is the Apache. Tell me, Miss Rhoda,what's the use of it all?"

  "Use?" asked Rhoda, staring at the blue sky above the peach-trees. "Iam a fit person to ask what is the use of anything! Of course,civilization is the only thing that lives. I can't get your point ofview at all."

  "Huh!" sniffed Kut-le. "It's too bad Indians don't write books! If mypeople had been putting their internal mechanism on paper for athousand years, you'd have no more trouble getting my point of viewthan I do yours."

  Rhoda's face as she eyed the stern young profile was very sympathetic.Kut-le, turning to her, surprised upon her face that rare, tender smilefor which all who knew her watched. His face flushed and his finehands clasped and unclasped.

  "Tell me about it, Kut-le, if you can."

  "I can't tell you. The desert would show you its own power if youwould give it a chance. No one can describe the call to you. Isuppose if I answered it and went back, you would call itretrogression?"

  "What would you call it?" asked Rhoda.

  "I don't know. It would depend on my mood. I only know that the acheis there." His eyes grew somber and beads of sweat appeared on hisforehead. "The ache to be there--free in
the desert! To feel the hotsun in my face as I work the trail! To sleep with the naked stars inmy face! To be-- Oh, I can't make you understand, and I'd rather youunderstood than any one in the world! You could understand, if onlyyou were desert-taught. When you are well and strong--"

  "But why don't you go back?" interrupted Rhoda.

  "Because," replied Kut-le slowly, "the Indian is dying. I hope that byliving as a white, I may live. Up till recently I have worked blindlyand hopelessly, but now I see light."

  "Do you?" asked Rhoda with interest. "What have you found?"

  "It isn't mine yet." Kut-le looked at the girl exultantly and therewas a triumphant note in his voice. "But it shall be mine! I willmake it mine! And it is worth the sacrifice of my race."

  A vague look of surprise crossed Rhoda's face but she spoke calmly:

  "To sacrifice one's race is a serious thing. I can't think of anythingthat would make that worth while. Here comes Mr. DeWitt. It must bedinner time. John, come up and see a little desert owl at close range.Kut-le has all the desert at his beck and call!"

  Kut-le persuaded Rhoda to change the morning rides, which seemed onlyto exhaust her, to the shortest of evening strolls. Nearly alwaysDeWitt accompanied them. Sometimes they went alone, though John wasnever very far distant.

  One moonlit night Kut-le and Rhoda stood alone at the corral bars. Thewhole world was radiant silver moonlight on the desert, on theundulating alfalfa; moonlight filtering through the peach-trees andshimmering on Rhoda's drooping head as she leaned against the bars inthe weary attitude habitual to her. Kut-le stood before her, erect andstrong in his white flannels. His handsome head was thrown back alittle, as was his custom when speaking earnestly. His arms werefolded across his deep chest and he stood so still that Rhoda could seehis arms rise and fall with his breath.

  "It really is great work!" he was saying eagerly. "It seems to me thata civil engineer has tremendous opportunities to do really big things.Some of Kipling's stories of them are bully."

  "Aren't they!" answered Rhoda sympathetically.

  "There is a big thing in my favor too. The whites make nodiscrimination against an Indian in the professions. In fact every onegives him a boost in passing!"

  "Why shouldn't they? You have as good a brain and are as attractive asany man of my acquaintance!"

  The young man drew a quick breath.

  "Do you really mean that?"

  "Of course! Why shouldn't I? Isn't the moonlight uncanny on thedesert?"

  But Kut-le did not heed her attempt to change the subject.

  "There are unlimited opportunities for me to make good, now that thegovernment is putting up so many dams. I believe that I can go to thetop with any man, don't you, Miss Rhoda?"

  "I do, indeed!" replied Rhoda sincerely.

  "Well, then, Miss Rhoda, will you marry me?"

  Rhoda raised her head in speechless amazement.

  Kut-le's glowing eyes contracted.

  "You are not surprised!" he exclaimed a little fiercely, "You must haveseen how it has been with me ever since you came. And you have beenso--so bully to me!"

  Rhoda looked helplessly into the young man's face. She was so fragilethat she seemed but an evanescent part of the moonlight.

  "But," she said slowly, "you must know that this is impossible. Icouldn't think of marrying you, Kut-le!"

  There was a moment's silence. An owl called from the desert. Thenight wind swept from the fragrant orchard. When he spoke again,Kut-le's voice was husky.

  "Is it because I am an Indian?"

  "Yes," answered Rhoda, "partly. But I don't love you, anyhow."

  "But," eagerly, "if you did love me, would my being an Indian make anydifference? Isn't my blood pure? Isn't it old?"

  Rhoda stood still. The pain in Kut-le's voice was piercing through tothe shadow world in which she lived. Her voice was troubled.

  "But I don't love you, so what's the use of considering the rest? If Iever marry any one it will be John DeWitt."

  "But couldn't you," insisted the tragically deep voice, "couldn't youever love me?"

  Rhoda answered wearily. One could not, it seemed, even die in peace!

  "I can't think of love or marriage any more. I am a dying woman. Letme go into the mist, Kut-le, without a pang for our friendship, withjust the pleasant memory of your goodness to me. Surely you cannotlove me as I am!"

  "I love you for the wonderful possibilities I see in you. I love youin spite of your illness. I will make you well before I marry you.The Indian in me has strength to make you well. And I will cherish youas white men cherish their wives."

  Rhoda raised her hand commandingly and in her voice was that boundlessvanity of the white, which is as old as the race.

  "No! No! Don't speak of this again! You are an Indian but oneremoved from savagery. I am a white! I couldn't think of marryingyou!" Then her tender heart failed her and her voice trembled. "Butstill I am your friend, Kut-le. Truly I am your friend."

  The Indian was silent so long that Rhoda was a little frightened. Thenhe spoke slowly.

  "Yes, you are white and I am red. But before all that, you are a womanof exquisite possibilities and I am a man who by all of nature's lawswould make a fitting mate for you. You can love me, when you are well,as you could love no other man. And I--dear one, I love youpassionately! I love you tenderly! I love you enough to give up myrace for you. I am an Indian, Rhoda, but first of all I am a man.Rhoda, will you marry me?"

  A thrill, poignant, heart-stirring, beat through Rhoda's veins. Forone unspeakable moment there swept through her spirit a vision ofstrength, of beauty, of gladness, too wild and sweet for words. Thencame the old sense of race distaste and she looked steadily into theyoung man's face.

  "I cannot marry you, Kut-le," she said.

  Kut-le said nothing more. He stood staring at the far desert, his fineface somber and with a look of determination in the contracted eyes andfirm-set lips that made Rhoda shiver, even while her heart throbbedwith pity. Tall, slender, inscrutable, as alien to her understandingas the call of the desert wind or the moon-drenched desert haze, sheturned away and left him standing there alone.

  She made her slow way to the ranch-house. Kut-le did not follow.Rhoda went to bed at once. Yet she could not sleep, for through thesilence Kut-le's deep voice beat on her ears.

  "I love you passionately! I love you tenderly! I am an Indian, butfirst of all I am a man!"

  The next day and for the three or four days following, Kut-le wasmissing. The Newmans were worried. The ditch needed its engineer andnever before had Kut-le been known to neglect his work. Once a year hewent on a long hunt with chosen friends of his tribe, but never untilhis work was finished.

  Rhoda confided in no one regarding her last interview with the Indian.She missed Kut-le, but DeWitt was frankly relieved. For the first timesince Porter's warning he relaxed his vigilance. On the fifth eveningafter Kut-le's disappearance, Jack and DeWitt rode over to aneighboring ranch. Katherine was lazy with a headache. So Rhoda tookher evening stroll alone. For once, she left the orchard and wanderedout into the open desert, moved by an uncanny desire to let the fullhorror of the desert mystery sweep over her.

  How long she sat on a rock, gazing into infinity, she did not know. Itseemed to her that her whole shivering, protesting body was beingabsorbed into the strange radiance of the afterglow. At last she rose.As she did so, a tall figure loomed silently before her. Rhoda was toostartled to scream. The figure was that of an Indian, naked save forhigh moccasins and a magnificently decorated loin-cloth. The manlooked down at her with the smile of good fellowship that she knew sowell. It was Kut-le, standing like a young bronze god against thefaint pink of the afterglow.

  "Hello!" he said nonchalantly. "I've been watching for you."

  "What do you want!" gasped Rhoda. "What do you mean by coming beforeme in--in--"

  "You mean when I'm dressed as a chief on the warpath? W
ell, you saidyou'd be keen about me this way; so here I am. I tried all the whitemethods I knew to win you and failed. Now the only thing left is theIndian method."

  Rhoda moved uneasily.

  Kut-le went on:

  "As a white man I can no longer pester you. As an Indian I can stealyou 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!" shetried to laugh.

  "That's just what I'm going to do!" answered Kut-le. "If I steal as awhite 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 byforce! Don't you know that I shall grow to loathe you?"

  "No! No!" answered the Indian earnestly. "Not after I've shown youlife as I have seen it."

  "Nonsense!" cried Rhoda. "Don't you realize that the whole county willbe after you by morning?"

  Kut-le laughed, deliberately walked up to the girl and lifted her inhis arms as he had on the morning of their meeting. Rhoda gave onescream and struggled frantically. He slid a hand over her lips andtightened his hold. For a moment Rhoda lay motionless in abject fear,then, with a muffled cry of utter helplessness, a cry that would havedriven 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 thesaddle and fastened her there with a blanket. He slipped off thetwisted bandana that bound his short black hair, fillet wise, and tiedit carefully over Rhoda's mouth. Then with one hand steadying thequiet shoulders, he started the horse on through the dusk.