It was the ptarmigan, and he sprung exultingly forward and picked it up.

It was unharmed by the Indian, and he looked upon it as a tacit surrender, on the part of his adversary, of the matter of dispute between them.
At first Tim was disposed to keep up the pursuit; but, on second thought, he concluded to partake of his dinner, and then continue his search for his human game.

In order to enjoy his dinner it was necessary to have it cooked, and he busied himself for a few moments in collecting a few dried sticks, and plucking the feathers from the fowl and dressing it.
While thus occupied, he did not forget to keep his eyes about him, and to be prepared for the Indian in case he chose to come back.

He discovered nothing suspicious, however, and came to believe there was no danger at all.
At length, when the afternoon was well advanced, the trapper's dinner was prepared.

He took the fowl from the blaze, and cutting a piece with his hunting-knife, was in the very act of placing it in his mouth, when the sharp crack of a rifle broke the stillness, and he fell backward, pierced through the body by the bullet of the Indian whom he had been pursuing.
"It's all up!" muttered the dying man.