Ingolby's eyes opened wide when he saw Marchand's ugly game.

He loathed the dissolute fellow, but he realized now that his foe was a factor to be reckoned with, for Marchand had plenty of money as well as a bad nature.
He saw he was in for a big fight with Manitou, and he had to think it out.
So this time he went pigeon-shooting.
He got his pigeons, and the slaughter did him good.

As though in keeping with the situation, he shot on both sides of the Sagalac with great good luck, and in the late afternoon sent his Indian lad on ahead to Lebanon with the day's spoil, while he loitered through the woods, a gun slung in the hollow of his arm.

He had walked many miles, but there was still a spring to his step and he hummed an air with his shoulders thrown back and his hat on the back of his head.

He had had his shooting, he had done his thinking, and he was pleased with himself.