ehow John
felt that when civilised nations employ uncivilised allies, the
simplest questions of ethics may become complicated. He remembered a
hundred small acts of kindness, of good-fellowship; and he recalled,
all too vividly, the murdered man and his gory head.

But might he not escape back and show himself without lessening his
comrades' chances? It was a nuisance that he must always be thinking
of them as comrades. Was he not their prisoner? Would their
comradeship help him at the end of the journey? . . .

The moon had risen over the hills when Muskingon's piloting brought
them out once more under open sky, at a point where the mountain
stream met and poured itself into a larger one hurrying down from the
northeast. A few yards below their confluence the riverbed narrowed,
and the waters, gathering speed, were swept down through a rocky
chasm towards a cataract, the noise of which had been sounding in
John's ears while he debated.

Hitherto he had weighed the question as one between himself and his
three companions. For the moment he saw no chance of giving them the
slip; and, if a chance occurred, the odds must be terribly unequal.
Still, supposing that one occurred, ought he to take it? Putting
aside the insane risk, ought he to bring death--and such a death--
down upon these three men, two of whom he looked upon as friends?
Did his country, indeed, require this of him? He wished he had his
cousin Dick beside him for counsellor, or could borrow Dick's
practical mind. Dick always saw clearly.

And behold! as he stepped out upon the river bank, his wish was given
him. He remembered suddenly that this Barboux carried a message--of
what importance he could not tell, nor was it for him to consider.
Important or not, it must be to England's detriment, and as a
soldier, he had no other duty than to baulk it. Why had he not
thought of this before? It ruled out all private questions, even
that of escape or of saving his own life. The report of a gun would
certainly be heard on the ridge above; and if, by forcing Barboux to
shoot, he could draw down the Iroquois, why then--live or die--the
signal must be given.

He scanned the chasm. It could not measure less than twenty feet
across, and the current whirled through it far below--thirty feet
perhaps. He eyed his companions. Barboux leaned on his gun a few
paces from the brink, where the two Indians stood peering down at the
dim waters. John dropped