"When we get to California," she said shortly.
"Not till then? Oh, I supposed you were going to marry him at Bridger
or along the road if we happened to meet a missionary."
The suggestion amazed, almost appalled her. It pierced through her
foolish little play of pride like a stab, jabbing down to her secret,
sentient core. Her anger grew stronger, but she told herself she was
talking to one of an inferior, untutored order, and it was her part to
hold herself in hand.
"We will be married when we get to California," she said, seeing to it
that her profile was calm and carried high. "Sometime after we get
there and have a home and are settled."
"That's a long time off."
"I suppose so--a year or two."
"A year or two!" he laughed with a careless jovial note. "Oh, you
belong to the old towns back there," with a jerk of his head toward the
rear. "In the wilderness we don't have such long courtships."
"We? Who are we?"
"The mountain men, the trappers, the voyageurs."
"Yes," she said, her tone flashing into sudden scorn, "they marry
squaws."
At this the man threw back his head and burst into a laugh, so deep, so
rich, so exuberantly joyous, that it fell upon the plain's grim silence
with the incongruous contrast of sunshine on the dust of a dungeon.
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