A PTARMIGAN DAY. 223 



temptuous jerk I set free the dogs, when the plover 

 flew screaming down the hill. 



A few moments proved the prudence of this 

 forbearance, whatever the motive ; for Bob the 

 setter had scarcely taken one sweep of the moun- 

 tain scaur, when he dropped into a dead set. The 

 pointer was also statue-like in a moment ; but ere 

 I moved a step, a pack of seven ptarmigan rose 

 out of reach, and skirted the bald hill-face straight 

 forward. I was marking their course when the 

 eighth sprang up, but, taking the opposite direc- 

 tion, crossed me a long side-chance. I fired ; but, 

 if struck, the rapid and determined flight round the 

 steep angle of the cliffs gave no encouragement to 

 pursue. 



The line of the pack, however, was more easily 

 traced and followed ; for although the mountain 

 was as thickly studded with stones as a well-mac- 

 adamised highway, there were no precipices and 

 even few hill-scaurs to contend with. Hunting 

 my dogs in little circles now on one side, then 

 on the other I yet trusted my own eyes quite as 

 much as their noses, and took good care never to 

 lose my bearings of the exact line of my game. 



