xxn THE DEER 371 



crossed the river, and can be seen in scattered groups ascending 

 the steep sides of Ben-y-Gloe. A few have succeeded in breaking 

 back, some eight or ten are killed, and two or three are wounded, 

 and may be seen standing alone about half a mile distant, mid-way 

 up the hill. 



There is a gillie well above one of these stags hurrying 'forward 

 with a deer-hound in the slips. When the dog sees the deer, and 

 strains upon his collar, he is loosed, and away he goes straight for 

 the stag, who is looking after the departed herd, and has not 

 observed the approaching hound. Suddenly it perceives the 

 danger ; as though unhurt, the stag flies down the hill-side, running 

 obliquely to avoid the steep descent, and the dog is shortly at its 

 heels. Both disappear among the bushes of a small copse of 

 birch ; a few minutes later everybody is running towards the bay 

 as the deep voice of the hound proclaims that the stag is in the 

 river, standing before the dog in bold defiance. 



There is hardly a more sporting sight than a stag at bay ; but 

 as the dogs are trained simply to follow a wounded deer until it 

 stands, when the baying of the hound will attract the attention of 

 the far-distant men, the termination of the hunt is a tame affair, 

 as the deer is shot directly that the rifle arrives upon the scene. . . . 

 About thirty-two years have passed away since we discussed the 

 question whether the deer-hounds at Blair would seize a stag, if it 

 were considered necessary. Most persons who knew the training 

 of the dogs thought not. The Duke of Athole inclined to that 

 opinion. On the other side I thought they would, provided that 

 no rifles were taken out, and the dogs should see that the stag 

 was to be tackled at close quarters with the knife. 



There never was a keener sportsman than his Grace the late 

 Duke of Athole, and he was good enough to consent to a trial. 

 The arguments had interested the ladies of the party, and it was 

 arranged that I might select any two of the deer-hounds, and hunt 

 down a fresh stag, run it to bay, and kill it with a knife. To 

 myself the affair appeared exceedingly simple, as I had been 

 accustomed to this kind of hunting for many years on the moun- 

 tains of Ceylon, but others disbelieved that the two hounds would 

 bring a fresh deer to bay, as they had always been accustomed to 

 follow animals that were wounded. 



By the advice of the head forester, Sandy Macarra (MacCarra), 

 I chose my old friend Oscar, and another hound, whose name I 

 have forgotten. 



We were a large party, and we met at Forest Lodge, about 1 

 miles from the Castle, in the middle of Glen Tilt. There are few 



