238 THE GROUSE 



heather, oat stubbles and turnip fields, and 

 straggling patches of birch, hazel, and 

 rowan, or more formal plantations of young 

 fir and larch, encroach on the confines of 

 the moorland proper. 



This pleasant border land is no fit stage 

 for the set pieces of shooting ; loaders, 

 luncheon tents, and ladies would be as out 

 of place here as a life guardsman's trap- 

 pings on a predatory Cossack, but it is the 

 country of all others wherein to wage the 

 guerrilla warfare of sport. 



Here the element of uncertainty reigns 

 supreme ; you never know what will 

 happen next, and the inevitable days of 

 hard work and little result will but serve 

 to enhance your pleasure, when every- 

 thing does come off, and in the evening 

 you mark with a white stone in your 

 calendar a day such as I would now 

 attempt roughly to portray. 



It is mid-October, and as you step out 

 into the fine, crisp air of a Galloway 

 morning you cheerfully consider the 

 prospect of the day, or regretfully call to 



