"I mean the Baroness von Ritz. And now comes on that next nominating convention, at Baltimore."
"What will it do?" I hesitated.
"God knows. For me, I have no party. I am alone! I have but few friends in all the world"—he smiled now—"you, my boy, as I said, and Doctor Ward and a few women, all of whom hate each other."
I remained silent at this shot, which came home to me; but he smiled, still grimly, shaking his head. "Rustle of silk, my boy, rustle of silk—it is over all our maps. But we shall make these maps! Time shall bear me witness."
"Then I may start soon for Oregon?" I demanded.
"You shall start to-morrow," he answered.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE WHOA-HAW TRAIL
There are no pleasures where women are not.
—Marie de Romba.