28 ECHOES OF SPORT 



Several pairs of horns were waving " clean," 

 but the next move was to see their bodies. 



The day, meanwhile, had touched the 

 zenith of its perfection. The grey coat came 

 off now, for it was all uphill work and only a 

 whispering wind to temper the unclouded sun. 

 But they were high enough up for a listening 

 ear to catch that strange sound the wind only 

 makes in the high hills, and it was partly to 

 hear it again that this rifle had begged to 

 be sent to this particular beat. She felt her 

 pulses quicken as she caught the sound. No 

 words can describe it, yet it is unmistakable ; 

 a faint swishing and swaying in the grasses, 

 more than whispering, less than rushing, as if 

 the wind were singing softly yet strongly, 

 close into the ear of earth as he sweeps from 

 his strongholds in the rocky corries down into 

 the world beneath. Full of tender caresses, 

 yet making the air quiver with the strength of 

 reserved passion. There is no sound like it 

 in the valleys and low-lying lands, and none 

 hear or feel it who cannot seek it out on the 

 " high tops." It is the hill song of the wind. 



