The night was long and my mind on Hubbard all the time
could not forget him.
In the morning, Monday, Oct. 19th, the snow nearly up to our knees.
We started early. Our eyes were quite dim with the smoke and
everything looked blue. It troubled us all day. Before noon I
tracked up a partridge. Oh, how I wished to get him! I came to
the place where he had flown away and hunted for him quite a while.
At last he flew off. I was just near him and yet did not see him,
about 4 feet over my head; but I saw where he perched. I didn't
want to go too near him for fear he might fly away before I could
shoot him. I was so particular. I rested my pistol on a tree to
make a sure shot, and took a good aim, but only scraped him, and he
nearly fell too, but after all got off. I cannot tell how sorry I
was; and about noon we had to cross this river because the flour
was on the opposite side. It was quite a rapid and I knew farther
down that we could not get across, as I remembered from this rapid
to where the flour is, it was deep. So we went into the cold, icy
water up to our waists. We got across and made a fire, and had a
cup of tea. It was yet a long way from the flour.
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