Meriwether Lewis found himself walking down the narrow street of the frontier settlement between the lines of hollyhocks and budding roses which fronted many of the little residences. It was spring, the air was soft. He was young. The woman at his side was very beautiful. So far as he could see they were alone.
They passed along the street, turned, made their way down the rock-faced bluff to the water front; but still they were alone. All St. Louis was at the farther end of the wharf, waiting for a last look at the idol of the town.
Theodosia sighed.
“And so Captain Lewis is going to have his way as usual? And he was going—in spite of all—even without saying good-by to me!”
“Yes, I would have preferred that.”
“Captain Lewis is mad. Look at that river! They say that when the boat started last week it took them an hour to make a quarter of a mile, when they struck into the Missouri. How many thousands of hours will it take to ascend to the mountains? How will you get your boats across the mountains? What cascades and rapids lie on ahead? Your men will mutiny and destroy you. You cannot succeed—you will fail!”
“I thank you, madam!”
“Oh, you must start now, I presume—in fact, you have started; but I want you to come back before your obstinacy has driven you too far.”
“Just what do you mean?”