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.