"God knows."
The dogs leaned into their harness, almost falling forward at the unexpected lightness of the load. Again the little company moved at measured gait. For ten minutes nothing was said. Then Dick:
"Sam," he said, "I think we have just about as much chance as a snowball in hell."
"So do I," agreed the old woodsman, soberly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They took up the trail methodically, as though no hurry existed. At the usual time of the evening they camped. Dick was for pushing on an extra hour or so, announcing himself not in the least tired, and the dogs fresh, but Sam would have none of it.
"It's going to be a long, hard pull," he said. "We're not going to catch up with him to-day, or to-morrow, or next day. It ain't a question of whether you're tired or the dogs are fresh to-night; it's a question of how you're going to be a month from now."
"We won't be able to follow him a month," objected Dick.
"Why?"