MORE DAYS OF ROAMING AND SPORT 303 



carried him home and asphyxiated him, and then 

 dried him off. He lost some of his glory, but retained 

 enough to give one an idea of a Kouban crab's 

 hey-day. 



Plover gave us some grand flight shooting in the 

 twilight hours. Have you ever tried for plover as the 

 light is going? It's the trickiest sport. They come 

 close to ground at a terrific pace, vastly different from 

 their daytime drifting motion. They are almost as 

 clever at avoiding obstacles, too, as 'cock. And as 

 difficult to shoot as bats. 



Though we constantly caught flashing glimpses of the 

 great red deer, we did not see a sizeable beast for days, 

 and as time went on we began to think that our 

 specimens were likely to be the only two of their kind in 

 our bag, when luck changed, and a fine head presented 

 itself before my enterprising rifle. This wise. 



I took Ali, and we made for a high rocky eminence, 

 my watch-tower, whereon I spent many hours. It 

 commanded a fine range of country, and was altogether 

 a much easier method of scouring the forest than 

 aimlessly wandering for hours in forsaken underbrush. 



I hadn't been secreted in a thornbrake for twenty 

 minutes before a grand ollen, carrying a good head — so 

 fine a creature should have sported a better all the 

 same — stalked majestically out of the thick cover at 

 the foot of my hill and came on leisurely, following a 

 much-used game-trail, leading to a salt lick across 

 the river. I snuggled low, mindful of Ali's pantomimic 

 signals. He touched his left ear, almost clapped it in 

 expressive gesture. The deer's infirmity ! Had I 



