CHAPTER XXVI THE MUCKLE HART 



ing strength foiled me in every attempt to stab him in front; 

 and he at length made off, tumbling me down, but carrying 

 with him a stab in the leg which lamed him. I ran and 

 picked up my rifle, and then kept him in view as he rushed 

 down the burn on three legs towards the loch. He took the 

 water and stood at bay up to his chest in it. As soon as he 

 halted, I commenced loading my rifle, when to my dismay I 

 found that all the balls I had remaining were for my double- 

 barrel, and were a size too large for my rifle. I sat down and 

 commenced scraping one to the right size.an operation that 

 seemed interminable. At last I succeeded; and, having 

 loaded, the poor stag remaining perfectly still, I went up 

 within twenty yards of him,and shot him through the head. 

 He turned over and floated, perfectly dead. I waded in and 

 towed him ashore, and then had leisure to look at my 

 wounds and bruises,which were not serious.except my shin- 

 bone, which was scraped from ankle to knee by his horn. 



I soon had cleaned my quarry and stowed him away as 

 safely as I could, and then turned down the glen at a gay 

 pace. I found Donald with Bran reposing at Malcolm's 

 shealing; and for all reproaches on his misconduct, I was 

 satisfied with sending him to bring home the "muckle hart 

 of Benmore," a duty which he performed before night-fall. 



