He did not finish his sentence, but seizing Wilson's carbine,
took aim at the condor. His arm was too trembling, however, to keep
the weapon steady.

"Let me do it," said the Major. And with a calm eye,
and sure hands and motionless body, he aimed at the bird,
now three hundred feet above him in the air.

But before he had pulled the trigger the report of a gun resounded from
the bottom of the valley. A white smoke rose from between two masses
of basalt, and the condor, shot in the head, gradually turned over and
began to fall, supported by his great wings spread out like a parachute.
He had not let go his prey, but gently sank down with it on the ground,
about ten paces from the stream.

"We've got him, we've got him," shouted Glenarvan; and without
waiting to see where the shot so providentially came from,
he rushed toward the condor, followed by his companions.

When they reached the spot the bird was dead, and the body
of Robert was quite concealed beneath his mighty wings.
Glenarvan flung himself on the corpse, and dragging it from
the condor's grasp, placed it flat on the grass, and knelt
down and put his ear to the heart.

But a wilder cry of joy never broke from human lips, than Glenarvan
uttered the next moment, as he started to his feet and exclaimed:

"He is alive! He is still alive!"