“So I did. Before I saw him. What if it had been Madoc?”
“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 cowardice. 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 plunged forward through the marsh. Adrian did not follow, till a triumphant 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 quarry. On a broad leaved rush he had marked off a hand’s width and from this unit calculated that:
“He’s eight feet four from hoof 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?”