"
Finally came a hale, old voyaguer whom Longley greeted heartily as he
swung open the toll gate:
"Greetings, Monsieur Francois Gendron, and from whence came you today?"
The big Frenchman handed over the "six-bits" toll for himself and his
horse.
"From New Helvetia."
"Ah - Sacramento."
"And I am bound for the North Fork Dry Diggings."
"Auburn?" smiled Longley.
"Bah! the new names! In my day we called them differently. I came across
the Rockies in '32, Monsieur. But I must be en route - here are sheep
coming."
After the sheep were counted and gone, Longley glanced scowlingly across
the bridge and hastily closed the tollgate. A band of Indians, several
on ponies but most of them on foot, crossed the bridge and halted before
him.
"Go back, ye varmints!" growled Longley.
"No Indian pay," said the old chief. "He go the bridge and the road - no
pay."
"Well, the Chinamen paid."
"But the Indians, no! No pay. Me go Whiskey Bar - big pow-wow. Plenty
ox, plenty bear meat, plenty firewater - "
"You go back!" roared the tollkeeper, swearing, "and go ford the river.
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