xxii THE DEEK 363 



Bare knees are not adapted for crawling along the spiky stumps of 

 burnt heather. There is nothing better than heather-mixture of 

 strong tweed trousers, and a Norfolk shirt; certainly no white 

 collar. 



The attendants are very few. A gillie, a mile in the rear with 

 his pony and deer-saddle to bring home the dead. Another gillie, 

 who leads a brace of deer-hounds in the slips, about 200 yards 

 behind you. The keeper who accompanies you, and who will 

 severely test your patience unless you make him thoroughly under- 

 stand, before you start, that he is to keep quiet, and in no way 

 whisper, tug you by the sleeve, or offer advice at a critical 

 moment ; but that he is to remain a dumb companion. This is 

 all that you require. 



Stalking is tolerably hard work upon some deer-forests, although 

 easy walking upon others. We will say that the month is Sep- 

 tember, at which time the horns are certain to be clean. No 

 sheep have been permitted upon the forest, therefore the only 

 enemy is the grouse or the blue-hare. Nothing is more perplexing 

 than the whirr of a disturbed grouse, whose sudden flight is certain 

 to awaken the attention of the deer, when otherwise your position 

 would be well concealed. Attended by an experienced gillie, you 

 may have ascended a steep mountain side, commanding an exten- 

 sive view of deep corries, precipitous slopes, barren rocks that 

 have fallen in chaotic confusion from bare cliffs, and have nearly 

 choked the burn which threads its silvery way beneath. Your 

 guide halts suddenly, and seats himself upon a convenient rock or 

 tump of heather. " We'll just tak' a bit o' a spy," exclaims your 

 attendant, who can always halt and rest, when he feels blown, by 

 such a plausible excuse. The field-glass is at once brought to bear 

 upon the rusty surface of the heathery scene. Every hill-face is 

 scanned ; the sky-line of each mountain ; the dark depths of 

 inhospitable corries, nothing is in view. 



" Weel, I never saw the like o't ; it's just bad luck that we 

 met that d d auld witch when we first started," exclaimed Sandy. 

 " I never kent the day for guid sport if auld Bell cam' across the 

 path ; " 1 and he spat upon the ground. " She's just an uncanny 

 body that brings nae guid, and my eyes are just that dull I canna 

 see through my gless ; but I dinna remember time stanes by the 

 bit saft green moss near the tap o' that dark corrie yonder." A 



1 According to Highland superstition, it is bad luck if the first person met 

 when starting should be an old woman. Old Bell was considered to be more 

 than usually uncanny. The generally accepted antidote to the spell is to spit 

 upon the ground. 



