WE left the Upper Geyser Basin at half-past eight yesterday morning, stopped for lunch at Norris’s at noon, and, branching off, arrived here at 3.30 p.m. The road was on the banks of or near the Gibbon River for many miles, and was very rough. Twice we forded the river, and once the passengers were obliged to leave the wagon and remove a fallen tree from the way. At another place, a tree a foot in diameter had fallen across the road; the party all got out, and the driver had to jump the wagon over the obstruction, at the risk of breaking the vehicle. The road from Norris’s was in good repair, and from it we had a fine view of the great Yellowstone Falls, and then drove on to find comfortable accommodations at this hotel, the views from which are very magnificent. Mrs. Marble and I, accompanied by a guide, and Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, of Canada, took a walk toward the Grand Canyon, about half a mile off. Crossing some fields, we entered the pine woods. The whole park has been repeatedly burnt over, and there is everywhere an immense number of prostrate pine-trees, some of which are very large, and appeared, when we saw them, to have been lying on the ground many years. In this vicinity, however, there is quite a forest of new growth, all about the same size, from six to ten inches in diameter, and ten to a dozen feet apart, making a very pretty park. Here we came suddenly upon a big black bear lying down; he got up, took a look at us, and then in a leisurely way walked off. It was a fine specimen, weighing, we judged, about two hundred and fifty pounds, with long, clean black hair. Mr. Hunter ran on toward the animal, but we called to him to come back, and the bear, turning his head, gave us another look, and disappeared in the forest. We walked along to the banks of the rushing and roaring river, ascended a high cliff, and looked down upon the great falls and the tremendous canyon, the walls of which are several hundred feet high, colored bright green in some places, and in others red, yellow, or violet.

The whole scene was magnificent, grand, and gloomy. In the middle of the river, near where we stood, was a column of rock some hundreds of feet high, apparently ten yards in diameter at the bottom, and just large enough at the top for an eagle’s nest. One had been built there, and we saw the young eagles stretching their necks, and opening their mouths, as all kinds of young ones do when hungry. The parents were soaring about, and evidently keeping a watchful eye upon us and their progeny, but the little ones were safe, as nothing but a ball from a rifle could reach that nest. From this point we had another fine view of the Falls of the Yellowstone, both lower and upper. The upper fall has been measured, and found to be one hundred and twelve feet high and eighty feet wide.

The wild animals in the reservation are carefully protected by the custodians, no one being allowed to use a gun, and consequently they have become comparatively tame, and have increased in numbers. Passing along the roads, we saw on one occasion two deer, and at other times an elk and an antelope. The superintendent, in his official report, says that there are in the park four hundred head of buffalo, a few moose, numerous elk, estimated at twenty thousand, and large numbers of bears, which latter are sometimes troublesome. A herd of twenty or thirty elk was seen near this hotel on the morning before we arrived.

CHAPTER VII
DOWN THE COLUMBIA RIVER TO PORTLAND.

Portland, Oregon, July 1, 1892.

AFTER spending six days in the Yellowstone Park, which would have been far more comfortable if there had been less dust, fewer mosquitoes, and better roads, we again returned to Livingston, and took the train coming from the East at 8.15 p.m. All the next day and night and the day following we were passing through mountain scenery of wonderful beauty and grandeur, until at 11 p.m. we were landed at Pasco Junction, there being a cross-country railroad from that point to the Union Pacific, on the banks of the Columbia, where we wanted to go. There was a large station at Pasco, but not a porter nor a carriage to be seen. Many drinking places were open, and I interviewed several of the patriots who were lounging about in their shirt sleeves—for the thermometer registered one hundred degrees—and they pointed out the way to Cook’s Hotel, about a quarter of a mile off. Finally a porter came to our assistance and escorted us to the hotel, which was about as poor a one as could well be—close, hot, and uncomfortable. The beds were as hot as if there was a fire under them, and we, of course, slept but little. In the morning, after looking at a bad breakfast, which did not tempt our appetites, we got into the caboose of a freight train, and a very rough trip of two hours brought us to Wallula Junction, where the thermometer stood at one hundred degrees in the shade. Here we changed cars, and after two hours’ more riding, reached the Union Pacific Railroad, where we once more enjoyed the luxury of seats in a Pullman. There was no dining-room car attached to this train, but it stopped at a station for half an hour, and we were supplied with an excellent dinner. The polite and kind conductor told us not to hurry, that he would not start until we had all the dinner we wanted. We were about eight hours running on or near the southern banks of the Columbia River. The water was very high, and often ran swiftly over rough rocks in the bed of the stream, and around the bends with great force. The river appeared much wider than the Hudson, about the same width as the Danube at Vienna. The great rivers of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America all have their attractive peculiarities, and I often recall my remembrances of the St. Lawrence, Hudson, Mississippi, Rhine, Elbe, Danube, Seine, Nile, and Ganges with the greatest pleasure and satisfaction, and am thankful that I have been permitted to see them; but I must acknowledge that the Columbia, in beauty and grandeur, far surpasses them all. For long distances, you look out upon the wide and rushing water, and up to the lofty mountains which border the banks and far beyond, some covered with snow, and as picturesque and beautiful as anything an artist could dream of.