“But what if she believes she doesn’t love him quite enough to take him and his rifle and live in the woods? Has he any more right to expect that sacrifice than she has the right to expect him to leave the forest and rifle and make his home where she always has lived?”
“I suppose not. But I, too, like the scenes and things you like. I don’t intend spending all my life fighting Indians and living in the forest.”
“If your absence meant something definite,” she sighed.
“Meaning if I were in trade,” I bitterly said.
The kindly mood was gone. She defiantly exclaimed:
“And why not? Trade is honorable. It gets one somewhere. It has hardships but it brings rewards. You come to me with your rifle. You talk sentiment. I listen because we were fond of each other in a boy-and-girl way. We mustn’t talk this way any more. You always have my best wishes, but I never would make a frontier woman. I like the softer side of life too much.”
“Then you will not wait? Will not give me any hope?”
“Wait for what? Another three years; and you coming back with your long rifle and horse. Is that fair to ask any woman?”
“No. Not when the woman questions the fairness. ‘Another three years’ are your words, not mine. I shall see this war through, and then turn selfish. What I have done is good for me. It will serve to build on.”