The meal finished, the savages squatted before the fire, drew forth their pipes and commenced silently smoking, their eyes glittering through the vapor with suppressed fierceness, as ever and anon a sidelong glance was bestowed upon me. One of the Indians--he who spoke English--was examining my revolver. He closed one eye and peered wonderingly into the six little barrels; then he fingered about the hammer, took off the cap, tasted it, and replaced it. (It may be remarked here that at the time of my experience, percussion caps were almost unknown in this region. As they were of comparatively recent invention, few of the trappers consented to use them until a long time after.) I was expecting each moment to see the weapon discharge itself, as it was fully charged, and was handled awkwardly. The Indian looked at it in every direction, at last gave it up. He took a smell of it, and snuffing the gunpowder, handed it to me. “What is he?” “A young gun,” I answered with a smile. As I took the weapon I looked about me. There were five unsuspicious savages, and there were six messengers of death at my command. For an instant a wild resolve thrilled me; but it was for an instant only. My soul revolted at the wholesale slaughter I should be compelled to inflict, and I looked at my interlocutor with a pleasant smile. “Does he shoot?” he queried, his dark eyes lighting up with curiosity. “Of course. Would you like to see me fire it?” “Yaw! shoot at him,” he answered, pointing at the trunk of a large tree. “What part of it?” “Hit him where you mind to.” “Oh, let’s have a mark,” I laughed, stepping forward and tearing off a small piece of the bark, so as to offer a red spot several inches in diameter. The other savages were now surveying my motions with interest, and with some degree of suspicion the formidable looking little weapon in my hand. I saw there was an opportunity for making a good impression and I resolved to do it. I stepped back a few paces, took a careful, though apparently a careless aim, and fired the six barrels in succession with tolerable good effect. “Just look at the mark,” I remarked, rather stiffly. The Indian stepped forward and examined the holes, all within an inch or two of the center. Then with his knife he pried out each bullet, and showed them to his companions. They grunted their satisfaction, or rather wonder, and turned the diminutive six-shooter over and over in their hands, totally unable to comprehend how such a number of fatal shots could come almost simultaneously from it. I loaded and fired it a number of times, and my friend--he who spoke English--asked me to make him a present of it. I assented with the greatest pleasure, as I had no power to refuse, and volunteered to instruct him in its use, and all things considered we were getting on quite intimate terms.