"
"I suppose that's what you'd think."
And in scorn of more words she gave her attention to her skirt,
spreading its sodden folds to the heat. Courant clasped his hands
behind his head and gazed ruminantly before him.
"Do you know how she'll live, that 'poor Lucy'?"
"Like a squaw."
He was unshaken by her contempt, did not seem to notice it.
"They'll go by ways that wind deep into the mountains. It's wonderful
there, peaks and peaks and peaks, and down the gorges and up over the
passes, the trails go that only the trappers and the Indians know.
They'll pass lakes as smooth as glass and green as this hollow we're
in. You never saw such lakes, everything's reflected in them like a
mirror. And after a while they'll come to the beaver streams and
Zavier'll set his traps. At night they'll sleep under the stars, great
big stars. Did you ever see the stars at night through the branches of
the pine trees? They look like lanterns. It'll seem to be silent, but
the night will be full of noises, the sounds that come in those wild
places, a wolf howling in the distance, the little secret bubbling of
the spring, and the wind in the pine trees.
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