CHAPTER VIII 

 A DAY AFTER PTARMIGAN 



OCTOBER was speeding towards his third 

 week, stalking was over, but my heart was 

 still set on a quarry of the high hills, to add 

 the wild ptarmigan to my bag for the year. 



As usual I was given my opportunity on 

 the magnificent forest in the west, where 

 many days of happiness and royal sport have 

 been mine. 



It was a fine quiet morning, the wind in 

 the south and little of it. 



A small party of three started about half- 

 past nine to make for the high beat behind 

 the Lodge, a much favoured haunt of the 

 ptarmigan. 



I with my twenty-bore gun, Donald the old 

 head stalker, also with a gun, and Cameron 

 another stalker. With these, my two favourite 



