“Don't you know Mormons better than that? The thing is the same—so far as they're concerned.”
“But Mescal—are you going to marry him? For God's sake, tell me.”
“Never.” It was a woman's word, instant, inflexible, desperate. With a deep breath Hare realized where the girl had changed.
“Still you're promised, pledged to him! How'll you get out of it?”
“I don't know how. But I'll cut out my tongue, and be dumb as my poor peon before I'll speak the word that'll make me Snap Naab's wife.”
There was a long silence. Mescal smoothed out Bolly's mane, and Hare gazed up at the walls with eyes that did not see them.
Presently he spoke. “I'm afraid for you. Snap watched us to-day at dinner.”
“He's jealous.”
“Suppose he sees this scarf?”
Mescal laughed defiantly. It was bewildering for Hare to hear her.