82 GUN, RIFLE, AND HOUND. 



it. It heard me, but it is only half frightened, for it 

 stands and listens. Quick ! the opera glass. Yes, 

 it is as I thought, a buck with fairish horns. Taking 

 a rest against a friendly tree, I draw a bead. Nearly 

 a hundred and twenty yards, I think, so sight full. 

 Crack ! the Express bullet goes true ; the buck with 

 one spasmodic bound falls dead. I go across to him, 

 thinking to drag him under cover, but luckily espy 

 a distant peasant, who promptly undertakes to fetch 

 his cow -cart, and convey the buck to my house. 

 Perhaps I shall have another, I think. I turn to 

 another quarter of the wood, and am encouraged by 

 the sight of a doe's tracks in a damp rut, quite fresh. 

 Not ten minutes have elapsed, when I think I see a 

 move at the bottom of the slope I am on. Is it, or 

 is it not a buck I see ? Yes, and there is a pair of 

 ears pricked forward, and no doubt the eyes under 

 those ears see me a deal better than I see them. I 

 quietly feel for the glass, but the movement is enough. 

 There is a rush into the thicket. Never mind, it was 

 only a doe, I feel sure, and they are sacred for two 

 months more. For half an hour more I keep on the 

 move, but see no more deer that night. What I did 

 see was a woodcock a sufficiently uncommon sight 

 in June. 



On my way home I overtake the cows. 



" Ein starker Bock" says the driver (a fine buck). 

 It is a goodish buck with six points. This is the 

 normal number, but these deer vary more than any 

 others in the shape and angle of the horns. Fre- 

 quently the upper point appears in front as well as 



