He sat silent for a time. "It will be the last I shall ever see of her in any case," said he, at length. "We don't know how long it will be before we leave the mouth of the Columbia, and then I could not count on finding her. You do not think me a fool for telling you what I have?"
"No," said I. "I do not blame you for being a fool. All men who are men are fools over women, one time or other."
"Good luck to you, then! Now, what shall we do?"
"In the first place," said I, "if she insists upon going, let us give her every possible chance for success."
"It looks an awfully slender chance," he sighed. "You will follow as close on their heels as you can?"
"Of that you may rest assured."
"What is the distance, do you think?"
"Two thousand miles at least, before she could be safe. She could not hope to cover more than twenty-five miles a day, many days not so much as that. To be sure, there might be such a thing as her meeting wagons coming out; and, as you say, she might return."
"You do not know her!" said he. "She will not turn back."
I had full reason to agree with him.