Put on your mocassins, and go along with me to the river, and we
will hunt beaver, perhaps, for the last time.' I saw that his countenance
beamed with delight and hope; he was full of confidence. I put on my
mocassins and carried my snow-shoes, staggering along behind him about half
a mile. Having made a fire near the river, where there was an air-hole
through which the beaver had come up during the night, my father tied a gun
to a stump with the muzzle towards the air-hole; he also tied a string to
the trigger, and said, 'Should you see the beaver rise pull the string, and
you will kill it.' I stood by the fire, with the string in my hand; I soon
heard the noise occasioned by the blow of his tomahawk; he had killed a
beaver and brought it to me. As he laid it down, he said, 'Then the great
Spirit will not let us die here;' adding, as before, 'if you see the beaver
rise, pull the string;' and he left me. I soon saw the nose of one, but I
did not shoot. Presently, another came up; I pulled the trigger, and off
the gun went. I could not see for some moments for the smoke.
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