IN THE HIGHLANDS 149 



lie had lost during the night. So precious in my eyes 

 was his grand head that we cut it off at once, for fear 

 of anyone stealing it if left till the morrow ! 



I cannot quite finish my story without referring to the 

 Cornish shooting tenant of Kenlochewe. He had a 

 habit always of walking down in the forenoon to the 

 hotel to see the arrival of the mail-car on its way to 

 Dingwall, accompanied by his stalkers and gillies, and 

 one day what should they see perched on the top of the 

 car but the head of the big Slioch stag on its way to a 

 taxidermist in Inverness ! 



I saw just one other very big stag during those most 

 happy days I spent at Cam Mor, but, alas ! I failed to 

 get a shot at him. I must say I like the old way of going 

 off alone with one's stalker in the morning much better 

 than the present system of being followed by a retinue of 

 gillies and ponies, in order to get the stags home in the 

 shortest possible time, though I admit this is best for 

 the venison. To me, however, a cavalcade of that sort 

 takes a lot away from the romance of stalking. 



While I am dealing with sport I may here quote my 

 uncle's story of Watson and the eagles. Even I can 

 remember Watson when he was a very old man. Though 

 he bore a south-country name, he was, as we say in the 

 north, ** as Highland as a peat "; in fact, he had very 

 little English, and he was the first gamekeeper and vermin- 

 killer the Gairloch estate ever had. I think it was he 

 who, when my mother was inveighing against the use 

 and abuse of whisky, replied, " 'Deed, yes, my leddy, 

 too much of anything is baad — too much gruel is baad." 

 I wonder who ever exceeded in the way of gruel ! 



