Both were cold and resistant. Her
pleading struck back from the hardness of the mind made up, the
irrevocable resolution.
"But he's not your husband."
Even at this moment, keyed to an act of lawlessness that in the
sheltered past would have been as impossible as murder, the great
tradition held fast. Lucy's answer came with a sudden flare of shocked
repudiation:
"He will be. There are priests and missionaries up there among the
Indians. The first one we meet will marry us. It's all right. He
loves me and he's promised."
Nothing of her wild courage came to the other girl, no echo of the call
of life and passion. It was a dark and dreadful fate, and Susan
strained her closer as if to hold her back from it.
"It's been fixed for two days. We had to wait till we got here and
crossed the trail. We're going right into the mountains and it's
summer, and there's plenty of game."
"The Indians?"
"We'll be in the Crow's country, and Zavier's mother was a Crow."
The words proved the completeness of her estrangement--the acceptance
of the alien race as no longer alien.
"Oh, Lucy, don't, don't.
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