Three months earlier, if anybody had told Adrian he would ever be guilty of such “squeamishness” he would have laughed in derision. Now, all unconsciously to himself, the influence of his summer at Peace Island was upon him and it came to him with the force of a revelation that God had created the wild creatures of His forests for something nobler than to become the of man.
“Oh! that grand fellow! his splendidly , yet hopeless, facing of death! I wish we’d never met him!”
“Well, of all foolishness! I thought you wanted nothing but the chance at him yourself.”
“So I did. Before I saw him. What if it had been Madoc?”
[Pg 158]
“That’s different.”
“The same. Might have been twin brothers. Maybe they were.”
“Couldn’t have been. Paddle, won’t you?”
Adrian did so, but with a poor grace. He would now far rather have turned the canoe about toward camp, yet railed at himself for his sudden . He shrank from looking on the dead moose as only an hour before he had longed to do so.
They were soon at the spot where the animal had disappeared and pushing the boat upon the reedy shore, Pierre forward through the . Adrian did not follow, till a shout reached him. Then he felt in his pocket and, finding a pencil with a bit of paper, made his own way more slowly to the side of his comrade, who, wildly excited, was examining and measuring his . On a broad leaved rush he had marked off a hand’s width and from this unit calculated that:
[Pg 159]
“He’s eight feet four from to shoulder, and that betters the King by six inches. See. His horns spread nigh six feet. If he stood straight and held them up he’d be fifteen feet or nothing! They spread more’n six feet, and I tell you, he’s a beauty!”
“Yes. He’s all of that. But of what use is his beauty now?”
“Humph! Didn’t know you was a girl!”
Adrian did not answer. He was rapidly and the animal, and studying it minutely. From his memory of it alive and the drawing he hoped to paint a tolerably lifelike portrait of the animal; and a fresh inspiration came to him. To those projected woodland pictures he would add glimpses of its wild , and in such a way that the hearts of the beholders should be moved to pity, not to .
But, already that sharpened knife of Pierre’s was at work, defacing, mutilating.
“Why do that, man?”
[Pg 160]
“Why not? What you? What’d we hunt for?”
“We don’t need him for food. You cannot possibly carry those horns any distance on our trip, and you’re not apt to come back just this same way. Let him lie. You’ve done him all the harm you should. Come on. Is this like him?” And Adrian showed his drawing.
“Oh! it’s like enough. If you don’t my job—clear out. I can skin him alone.”
Adrian waited no second bidding, but strolled away to a distance and tried to think of other things than the butchering in progress. But at last Pierre whistled and he had to go back or else be left in the to fare alone as best he might. It was a ghastly sight. The great skin, splashed and wet with its owner’s blood, the dismembered antlers, the off nose—which such as Pierre considered a precious tid-bit, the naked carcass and the butcher’s own uninviting state.
“I declare, I can never get into the same [Pg 161]boat with you and all that horror. Do leave it here. Do wash yourself—there’s plenty of water, and let’s be gone.”
Pierre did not notice the appeal. Though the of had died out of his eyes the lust of greed remained. Already he was estimating the value of the hide, cured or uncured, and the price those antlers would bring could he once get them to the proper market.
“Why, I’ve heard that in some of the towns folks buy ’em to hang their hats on. Odd! Lend a hand.”
Reluctantly, Adrian did lift his portion of the heavy horns and helped carry them to the birch. He realized that the pluckiest way of putting this disagreeable spot behind him was by doing as he was asked. He was hopeless of influencing the other by any change in his own feelings and wisely kept silence.
But they hunted no more that day, nor did they make any further progress on their journey. Pierre busied himself in a rude frame upon which he stretched the moose skin [Pg 162]to dry. He also prepared the antlers and built a sort of hut, of saplings and bark, where he could store his till his return trip.
“For I shall surely come back this same way. It’s good hunting ground and moose feed in . Small herds, course, but two, three make a fellow rich. Eh?”
Adrian said nothing. He occupied himself in what Pierre considered a silly fashion, sketching, studying “effects,” and carefully cutting big pieces of the birch-bark that he meant to use for “canvas.” To keep this flat during his travels was a rather difficult problem, but finally solved by cutting two of wood and placing the sheets of bark between these.
Whereupon, Pierre laughed and assured the weary chopper that he had had his trouble for his pains.
“What for you want to carry big that way? Roll your bark. That’s all right. When you want to use it put it in water. [Pg 163]Easy. Queer how little you know about things.”
“All right. I was silly, sure enough. But thanks for your teaching. Maybe, if you were in my city I might show you a thing or two.”
Both lads were glad, however, when night came, and having cooked themselves a good supper and their fire, they slept as only such healthy lads can sleep; to wake at sunrise, ready for fresh adventures, and with the tragedy of the previous day partly forgotten even by Adrian. Then, after a breakfast, they resumed their trip.
Nothing eventful occurred for some time after. No more moose appeared, and beyond winging a duck or two and fishing now and then, Pierre kept his hunting instincts down. In fact, he was just then too lazy to exert himself. He felt that he had beyond all reason during the past summer and needed a rest. Besides, were not his wages going on? If Adrian was silly enough to [Pg 164]paint and paint and paint—all day, this old tree and that mossy , he was not responsible for another man’s stupidity. Not he. The food was still holding out, so let things take their course.
Suddenly, however, Adrian realized............