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finished, his belly satiated but not full, Mattie
stepped outside again and brought the beaver carcass back inside
with him. With some difficulty he passed a string through the
beaver’s rictus teeth and tied the animal with its broad tail hanging
down from the sloping rafters. Now began a skinning style that
was unique to Mattie alone.
    It was the same careful method of cutting he would use to
paunch a fat caribou. Two fingers of his left hand kept the stomach
entrails away from the opened stomach liner. He made an incision
just above the animal’s tail and pushed two of the inverted fingers
of his left hand inside the cut. Holding the knife in his right hand,
he inserted it, cutting edge up, between the two long fingers.
    With his fingers keeping the point of the sharp knife away
from the animal’s stinking gut, he pushed the knife with one
long, even stroke to the tip of its lower gaping jaw. With amazing
speed and dexterity and without once cutting the valuable skin,
Mattie soon had the big rodent free of its tawny pelt and slowlytwisting on its noose. With efficient movements he gingerly cut
at the base of the animal’s wide tail to remove the tiny, yellowish
green castor sack, making sure not to puncture the fetid voile. He
placed the scent gland inside a small, thick leather bag he used
for this purpose alone, secured the opening carefully, and set it
aside.
    With the naked beaver in hand he bent through the narrow
opening and stepped out into the drizzly dusk, where no shadow
followed him. He walked to the icy edge of the murmuring
stream, placed the beaver, tail first, into the swift, black water,
and laid open its distended belly with one swift cut. He pushed
his fingers inside and with one fluid motion pulled the creature’s
bowels, stomach, and intestines free.
    He threw all of it into the shallow brook and watched the pale
viscera, floating down-tide, looking like several eels swimming
in the dark water. The unwanted contents discarded, he tore the
membrane that hung below the rib cage and ripped out the plump
heart and viscous liver. After cleaning and rinsing the carcass in
the cold water, Mattie stood erect in the dark night.
    The narrow brook that came out of the thick forest hastened
gaily toward the pond, its flow an oily black as it sped along the
snow-white banks. A long, deep rumble came from the direction
of the pond. Mattie, beaver in hand, turned toward the sound and
listened. The noise came again and again. It was the deep groan
of the ice slowly releasing its wintry grip on the pond. It was
another sure sign of mild weather close by.
    Somewhere behind him and coming from high up in the
heavy woods, an owl sounded at regular intervals. Its cry was a
sound not usually heard on a cold winter night. The great horned
bird hooted again, sounding as if it were far away, though Mattie
could tell it was near. The day, and now the night, showed all the
signs of approaching warmth. His instinct told him this wasn’tgoing to be like one of the midwinter mild spells. This was the
beginning of spring. Maybe it was time to leave the mountains,
he thought.
    Back inside the wigwam, he hung the beaver up again. He
placed a heavy, black iron skillet on top of the fire. From the beaver
carcass he cut several strips of yellow fat. When he lodged the
fatty strips inside the pan, they sizzled and slid around, greasing
the surface. When the fat started to curl and smoke, its juices
rendered, Mattie added the cut sections of tender heart muscle.
He waited until the meat simmered before turning it over with his
knife, then placed the soft liver in the pan. Savouring the rising
steamy smell, he sat back and waited for his meal to cook. He
wished he had a little salt left to flavour the meat.
    His rich-smelling supper cooked, he carefully removed the
hot pan from the fire. Spearing the meat with his knife, he ate the
contents of the pan. His appetite appeased, Mattie returned the
pan to its hook just