"A pretty target that fire will make of us in the dark," whined the
fellow.
M. Radisson's eyes glistened sparks.
"I'd as lief be a pirate myself, as be shot down by pirates," grumbled
the trader, giving a hand to hoist the shed of sheet canvas that was to
shield us from the rains now aslant against the seaward horizon.
At the words M. Radisson turned sharply; but the heedless fellow
gabbled on.
"Where is a man to take cover, an the buccaneers began shooting from
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.
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