374 WILD HEASTS AND THEIR WAYS CUAP. xxn 



where the stag was standing in the middle of a rapid, and the 

 hounds were baying from the bank. No doubt the dogs expected 

 to hear the crack of a rifle, and to see the gallant stag totter and 

 fall in the foaming river, according to their old experiences. How- 

 ever, they were not long in doubt. Patting both the excited 

 hounds upon the back, and giving them a loud halloo, I jumped 

 into the water, which was hardly more than hip-deep, but the 

 stream was very rapid. The stag, upon seeing my advance, ran 

 down the bed of the river, and halted again after a short run of 

 50 or 60 yards. The two keepers had followed me, and Oscar 

 and) his companion no longer thought of baying from the bank, 

 but being carried forward by the torrent, together with ourselves, 

 were met by the stag with lowered antlers. I never saw dogs 

 behave better, although for a moment one was beneath the water ; 

 Oscar was hanging to the ear. I caught hold of the horn to assist 

 the dog, and at the same moment the other hound was holding by 

 the throat. The knife had made its thrust behind the shoulder, 

 and the two gillies were holding fast by the horns to prevent the 

 torrent from carrying away the dying animal. This had been a 

 pretty course, which did not last long, but it was properly managed, 

 and in my opinion ten times better sport than shooting a deer at 

 bay. 



I am afraid that Sandy Macarra never quite forgave me for 

 that hunt. "Weel, you've just ruined the dogs for ever, and 

 there'll be nae haudiu' them frae the deer noo. They'll just spoil 

 the flesh, and tear the deer to pieces." This was the keeper's idea 

 of what I thought was good sport. Certainly the venison did not 

 belong to me, neither did the dogs. 



Deer-stalking in the Highlands is a tempting theme, upon 

 which I have no space to dilate. It awakens recollections of keen 

 excitement, and the kindness of old friends, nearly all of whom 

 are gone. 



