Beyond the sunset

by Arthur D. Howden Smith

"It is Black Robe!" I cried softly.

Tawannears cuddled his gun to his cheek.

"Hawenneyu has delivered him into our hands," he commented. "If I miss, Corlaer must shoot before he can run."

"Ja," grunted Peter.

"No, no," I exclaimed, "There must be no shooting."

"He is an enemy," answered Tawannears, unmoved. "He hates us. Why should my brother care whether he lives or dies?"

"But he has done nothing to us that advantaged him," I argued. "He does not even know that we are here."

"Perhaps he does," said Tawannears. "Perhaps he has followed us, when Le Moyne refused to do so. Perhaps his Ouabaches and Miamis lurk behind him."

"He is alone," repeated Peter. "But just der same we better shoot him. He is no goodt."

"It would be murder," I insisted. "We shall serve no object by killing him. What harm can he do us? In a few hours we shall have passed the river where his Indians cannot reach us."