Tom shook his head. “I have a hunch he knows more about goats than geology,” said he. “Maybe we can get a book at the Park.”
The mountains were now getting perceptibly nearer. They were becoming less blue, the snow showed more plainly on their sharp peaks and great shoulders, and the boys began to pack up their handbags and get ready to disembark.
Their rear-platform friend, coming through the car, stopped and laughed.
“Don’t go trying to jump no brooks, now,” he said.
“Sure—we’ll throw a stone first,” Spider answered. “Can you tell us why the Rocky Mountains haven’t any foot-hills?”
The stranger seemed to take this very seriously. “They did have once,” said he, “but they was all dug away for the gold and copper.”
Then he passed on, still laughing.
“He’s a good scout,” laughed Joe.
“But I’d hate to have him for a geology teacher,” Tom answered.
The mountains didn’t seem much nearer than they had looked for half an hour when the train finally rolled up to the Glacier Park station and stopped. The boys, together with several tourists, got off, and the minute they stepped on the platform they felt how much cooler it was than back in St. Paul, and how much purer the air.