ackamas and warned us against smashing the springs.
"Portland," who had watched the preparations, finally reckoned "he'd
come along, too," and under heavenly skies we three companions of a day
set forth; California carefully lashing our rods into the carriage, and
the bystanders overwhelming us with directions as to the sawmills we
were to pass, the ferries we were to cross, and the signposts we were to
seek signs from. Half a mile from this city of fifty thousand souls we
struck (and this must be taken literally), a plank road that would have
been a disgrace to an Irish village.

Then six miles of macadamized road showed us that the team could move. A
railway ran between us and the banks of the Willamette, and another
above us through the mountains. All the land was dotted with small
townships, and the roads were full of farmers in their town wagons,
bunches of tow-haired, boggle-eyed urchins sitting in the hay behind.
The men generally looked like loafers, but their women were all well
dressed. Brown hussar braiding on a tailor-made jacket does not,
however, consort with hay wagons. Then we struck into the woods along
what California called a "_camina reale_,"--a good road,--and Portland a
"fair track." It wound in and out among fire-blackened stumps, under
pine trees, along the corners of log-fences, through hollows which must
be hopeless marsh in winter, and up absurd gradients. But nowhere
throughout its length did I see any evidence of road-making. There was a
track,--you couldn't well get off it,--and it was all you could do to
stay on it. The dust lay a foot thick in the blind ruts, and under the
dust we found bits of planking and bundles of brushwood that sent the
wagon bounding into the air. Sometimes we crashed through bracken; anon
where the blackberries grew rankest we found a lonely little cemetery,
the wooden rails all awry, and the pitiful stumpy headstones nodding
drunkenly at the soft green mulleins. Then with oaths and the sound of
rent underwood a yoke of mighty bulls would swing down a "skid" road,
hauling a forty-foot log along a ready made slide.

[Illustration: SALMON FISHING]

A valley full of wheat and cherry trees succeeded, and halting at a
house we bought ten pound weight of luscious black cherries for
something less than a rupee and got a drink of icy-cold water for
nothing, while the untended team browsed sagaciously by the roadside.
Once we found a wayside camp of horse dealers lounging