"Say, Hilma," Zang finally burst out petulantly, "what 's the main idea? You 're holdin' me off with a twenty-foot tepee pole like I was something a kiote dug up in a dry wash. Don't I have no—no claim?" The man ended his protest lamely under the level gaze of her eyes. All their accustomed chill of mountain ice—the deep dark blue of a hidden glacial lake—was there to shrivel Zang's dream of romance.
"Claim?" Hilma echoed flatly. "Claim?"
"Why, sure! You 're ridin' with me to the Spout, ain't you? You 've give yourself into my keeping, or I don't know the human language."
"Men are all foolish," Hilma laughed shortly. "All the time thinking about possessing some woman—owning her like they 'd own a branded heifer. Me—no man owns me, Zang."
"Well, by the great jumpin' Jehoshaphat!" The leader of the Spout gang swept off his high-crowned hat and slammed it against his thigh. Nascent anger struggled with a whimsical humor in his eyes.
"Who said anythin' 'bout putting a brand on to you, girl? All I 'm asking is, have you
