"You go back!" roared the tollkeeper, swearing, "and go ford the river. That's good enough for a Digger! The ferry's been taken off, but the water is not so high."
The old Indian scowled, and the young bucks began a guttural complaint which he silenced with a gesture and a grunt of command.
"Water is cold, and those," pointing to the sheep, "have passed."
"You go back, I tell you! I hate every filthy brute of you! My best pal was sent to glory in that funeral fire on Murderer's Bar, and no Indian will ever get aught from me."
"Me pay," said the Indian leader slowly, "Me pay cayuse, me pay boy."
"No, you won't pay! You'll go back and wade the river like the low beasts that you are."
The chief began a fierce oration. Longley ran into the tollhouse and came out with a sawed-off shotgun.
"Now, will you go?" he cried, defiantly.