the bush behind?" demanded Godefroy belligerently.

M. Radisson reached one arm across the fire. "I'll show you," said he.
Taking Godefroy by the ear, with a prick of the sword he led the lazy
knave quick march to the beach, where lay our canoe bottom up.

"Crawl under!" M. Radisson lifted the prow.

From very shame--I think it was--Godefroy balked; but M. Radisson
brought a cutting rap across the rascal's heels that made him hop. The
canoe clapped down, and Godefroy was safe. "Pardieu," mutters
Radisson, "such cowards would turn the marrow o' men's bones to butter!"

Sitting on a log, with his feet to the fire, he motioned Jean and me to
come into the shelter of the slant canvas; for the clouds were rolling
overhead black as ink and the wind roared up the river-bed with a wall
of pelting rain. M. Radisson gazed absently into the flame. The steel
lights were at play in his eyes, and his lips parted.

"Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--knaves
and fools and his own sins--he must fight them all, lads," says M.
Radisson slowly.

"Who must fight them all?" asks Jean.

"The victor," answers Radisson, and warm red flashed to the surface of
the cold steel in his eyes.

"Jean," he began, looking up quickly towards the gathering darkness of
the woods.