The stop at Cleveland was also full of interest, and the young lumbermen took a brief glance at the business portion of the town and the shipping. Lumber boats were everywhere in evidence, and these interested them as much as anything else. "The lumber trade of the Lakes must be enormous," said Dale. "Just see those schooners and other craft--how they are piled up! I never saw anything like it, even at Bangor." So far the weather had proved fine, but as night came on a cold rain set in, which forced them to stay in the cabin, so they saw but little as the steamer turned into the Detroit River, and made the run up to the city of that name. "Here we are at last!" exclaimed Owen, as they went ashore in a stream of people. "I guess the best thing we can do is to get out of the wet." "Cab! Hack! Have a carriage, sir?" came from a dozen cabmen, as they pushed forward. "Carry your baggage, mister?" And Owen felt a boy of fifteen catch hold of his valise. "No, I'll carry that myself," said Owen. "And I don't want a carriage," he went on, to the cabmen. They were soon out of the jam, and on the way to a hotel that John Hoover had mentioned in his last letter. This was not far away, and soon they had secured a room and were retiring, worn out from the trip, but still happy and with hopes of the highest. "I feel stiffer than if I'd been rollings logs all day," said Dale, as he leaped up the next morning. "How is it with you, Owen?" "My head is dizzy from looking at so much," was the answer. "Feels like it did when I went to that moving-picture show that once came to Spogtown. The pictures quivered so much that I got to blinking with 'em, and the boys said I didn't stop the blinking for two days." "Do you suppose your uncle is in town?" "I'm sure I don't know. We can get breakfast, spruce up a bit, and then hunt up the offices of the lumber company he spoke about." The rain of the night before had cleared away, leaving the sky bright and beautiful. Having breakfasted, they walked down the broad street until they came to a cross street, which was the one they wanted. Two squares away stood the building in which the lumber company's offices were located, on the third floor. They went up in the elevator, and entering the first of the rooms asked for Mr. John Hoover. "Not here, and won't be to-day," was the answer of a clerk. "Did he leave any word for me?" went on Owen. "I am his nephew, Owen Webb, from Bangor, Me." "Oh!" The manner of the clerk changed. "Step in, Mr. Webb. Yes, sir, he left a note for you. I'll get it." "He must think we're of some importance, by the way he changed his face when I mentioned my name," whispered Owen. "I guess Uncle Jack cuts something of a figure here." The note was delivered, and was found to contain directions for coming up to one of the lumber camps at once. This camp was located twenty miles beyond the village of Munvale, and to get to it they had to take a train northward to the Saginaw River.