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Updated: May 2, 2025
"How about that time he cut loose the jam of logs in the Rapide des Cedres?" said old Girard from his corner. Vaillantcoeur's black eyes sparkled and he twirled his mustache fiercely. "SAPRIE!" he cried, "that was nothing! Any man with an axe can cut a log. But to fight that is another affair. That demands the brave heart. The strong man who will not fight is a coward.
As the top swung earthward, Raoul jumped clear of the crashing branches and landed safely in the feather-bed of snow, buried up to his neck. Nothing was to be seen of him but his head, like some new kind of fire-work sputtering bad words. Well, this was the first thing that put an edge on Vaillantcoeur's hunger to fight.
The more Raoul thought of it, the rougher it seemed. The fact that it was a man who had once been his protege, and still insisted on being his best friend, did not make it any smoother. Would you have liked it any better on that account? I am not telling you how it ought to have been, I am telling you how it was. This isn't Vaillantcoeur's account-book; it's his story.
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