“Is it hard to climb?” Spider asked.
“No,” said the man. “It’s a cinch. If you’re looking for a climb, go down and tackle Jefferson.”
“Never even heard of it,” said Bennie.
“There are a lot of things out here you eastern folks never heard of,” the man answered.
The boys wanted to ask him more, but just then the conductor called “All aboard,” and they lost him in the rush.
For the next hour they were busy looking at the scenery, at the great river on one side, and the great cliff walls on the other, with thousand-foot waterfalls leaping down almost on the train, and the Columbia Highway running alongside of the track in places, in other places disappearing and coming into sight again far up on top of some headland.
“Gee, I wish we were in a motor!” Spider sighed.
“Maybe Uncle Bill will take us this way in his,” said Bennie.
Now the cliffs grew lower. The river was through the gorge. Presently the river disappeared, and the train ran through level land a little way, and the houses began to get thicker and thicker. They crossed another river on a drawbridge, and saw tramp ships lying up to the docks, and on the other side rolled into the Portland depot.
At the train gate, looming up above the crowd, Bennie spied the head of his uncle, and in another minute he had him by the hand, and was introducing Spider, and Uncle Billy was putting the dress suitcases into his car, and then they were off through the streets of Portland, with the lights coming on, the darkness falling.