THE PRODIGAL STAG 73 



Many a long wait, sometimes in biting cold, 

 is beguiled by exchange of ideas with a 

 stalker whose knowledge of natural lore, of 

 ways of the deer, and many other entrancing 

 subjects, can be an unending lesson of delight. 

 There is no greater gentleman than a true 

 son of the hill, and as a friend and companion 

 he is hard to beat. 



We were a happier trio on our return to 

 the Lodge that night. Every one had to be 

 told in turn (poor souls !) of the wonderful end 

 of the Prodigal Stag, who had been lost and 

 found by the same rifle and the same stalker 

 within fifty yards of the same spot after an 

 interval of four weeks. 



In this adventure I indeed touched the 

 zenith of my stalking luck. 



Since then white heather is again a fetish. 



