He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer FitzHugh was alive.

In the eyes of both God and man FitzHugh no longer had a claim upon her.

This man, who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, a scoundrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, even a murderer--though he had thus far succeeded in evading the rather loose and poorly working tentacles of mountain law.
Not for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver Rann's wife.

She was _his_ wife.

It was merely a technicality of the law--a technicality that Joanne might break with her little finger--that had risen now between them and happiness.