If he never had to go to town, Hazen would be just fine, Thad figured. Hell, during some era not too far past, Hazen would have probably been happier and more well-adjusted than Thad. He could have trapped, lived in the woods, got royally drunk once a year at some sort of mountain-man rendezvous, and spent the next year working off his hangover, alone in the mountains, skinning beaver and talking to himself.
