He found another soon and killed it at the first shot.

But the miss had been a grave matter.

He had only four bullets left.

He took them out and looked at them, little shining pellets of lead.

His life depended upon these four, and he must not miss again.
It took him an hour to start his fire, and he ate only half of the squirrel, putting the remainder into his bullet pouch for future needs.
Then, much invigorated, he resumed his vague journey.