The
Indians' money was gone by this time, and the fun was getting rougher.
The toll-keeper, after a weary day, was dozing beside his candle. He did
not see nor hear the stealthy forms which crept up the bridge. A board
creaked, and he jumped up and swung about, to find himself quickly
overpowered by a dozen lithe redskins.
They robbed the till, then held a palaver as to the disposition of their
prisoner. They finally left him tied with his own new rope to a huge
drift log at the base of the pier, and went back to buy more firewater.
It was a wild night!
John noticed, very late, that the Indians seemed to be having a special
pow-wow of their own on the river bank near the bridge. There was a
great fire, and mad dancing and war whooping. He started toward them.
"Don't go there, pardner," called an old trapper. "Them bucks is crazy
with drink, an' if I knows anything about Injuns, it won't be no safe
place for a white man."
So passed Longley's last chance for his life! His cries for aid were
mingled with the savage whoops of his ferocious enemies.
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