Uncle Adzi said with a glow of pride. “I seen ter her schoolin’ myself. But I ’low she’ll be toler’ble busy this winter.”
John paused in sopping his bread in the browned water gravy. “Down at the settlement they can’t understand why we didn’t want to locate on the bottom land across the Clackamas.” They could see the beautiful lightly wooded river bottom to the north in the uncertain moonlight.
“I told ’em we’d had enough o’ swamps in Ilinois.”
“High ground allus leads downhill ter the waterway, too,” supplemented Uncle Adzi. “Hit’s a heap sight easier ter haul craps downhill than ter git ’em outer the muddy roads on the bottom lands. All them things has ter be taken inter consideration in locatin’ a farm.”
“How many houses are there in Oregon City, John?” Martha asked.
John thought a minute. “Why, about six,” he said. “And there’s a sawmill on a rock island below the falls and two or three block storehouses with piles of pelts and sacks of grain around. There’s a blacksmith shop and two trading-posts. The place is swarming with greasy Indians and smells of dried salmon and pelts, and the emigrants have camped everywhere.”
“I’m a-goin’ down an’ look ’er over afore many days. I'd ’a’ gone with you to-day only we needed meat. I allus had a hankerin’ fer ports whar ships come an’ go. Waterways is so much easier’n roads ter git craps ter market. No buildin’ nor nothin’ ter a nateral waterway. Put yer wheat on a ship an’
