Franklin could count by twos and ties his shoes. He could build a campfire with only sticks and rocks. He could carry a heavy pack from sun up to sun down. But Franklin had a problem, he couldn’t fire a gun straight.

The stranger was teaching Franklin and his friends how to shoot. Beaver had hit the bulls-eye after three tries. Bear needed five tries. Franklin had tried ten times, but he still couldn’t do it.

Franklin sniffed. “I can’t do it, Roland.”

“You can,” Roland said. “Remember your catechism; we learn more than actions here today.”

Franklin took a deep breath and recited: “I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.” Franklin focused on the bulls-eye. “I do not shoot with my hand: he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.” Franklin imagined the bullet hitting. “I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart.”

He shot true.