Dan Hesa; Dan was as strong as himself, if heavier; a personable young
man. He would make a good husband. But that, he added, was in the
future; Dan Hesa apparently didn't want to marry Fanny to-morrow, that
week. Meanwhile a trip with him to the headwaters of a creek would not
injure her in the least. His contempt of a world petty and iron-bound in
endless pretence, fanning his smouldering and sullen resentment in
general, flamed out in a determination to take her with him if possible.
It would conclusively define, state, his attitude toward "men herding
like cattle." He did not stop to consider what it might define for Fanny
Gilkan. In the stir of his rebellious self there was no pause for
vicarious approximations. If he thought of her at all it was in the
indirect opinion that she was better without such a noodle as Dan Hesa
threatened to become.

"I'd get two horses from the Forge," he continued, apparently to his
mildly speculative self; "a few things, not much would be necessary.
That gun you carry," he addressed Fanny indirectly, "is too heavy. I'll
get you a lighter, bound in brass."

She repeated sombrely, leaning with elbows on the table, her chin in her
hands, "And afterwards--"

"I thought you were free of that," he observed; "it sounds like the
town women, the barnyard crowd. I thought you were an independent
person. Certainly," he went on coldly, "you can't mistake my attitude. I
like you, but I am not in the least interested in any way that--that
jour mother might appreciate. I am neither a seducer nor the type that
marries."

"I understand that, Howat," she assured him; "and I think, I'm not sure