“You nevare go!”
With that the Canadian leaped upon Sullivan, who rose and grappled with him. The foreman thought to handle his partner in the attempted crime with ease, but Pombere was like a maniac, and Sullivan had not counted on such furious strength.
Round and round they whirled, swaying, bending, panting, the moon came out again and shone upon the raft, where that frightful struggle was taking place.
“You—nevare—go!” panted the Canadian.
“Let go!” snarled the other.
“Nevare!”
“Then I will——”
The threat was not completed, for, without knowing it, they had reached the edge of the raft, and over they went into the water with a splash, the cry Pombere uttered being choked in a gurgling sound that ended almost before it began.
The river carried the raft on over the falls, where it was smashed into thousands of pieces. And neither Mike Sullivan nor Levi Pombere were ever seen or heard of again.