244 THE GROUSE 



Douglas fir meet in a dark canopy over- 

 head. Soon you emerge into the open 

 moorland beyond where the old coach 

 road, little used since the railway came to 

 take its place, degenerates into an un- 

 fenced, grassy track. 



The road descends again ; the spreading 

 valley of a river comes into view, and the 

 keepers and dogs can be seen waiting your 

 arrival on the roadside. A small array 

 to-day ; only four keepers and two hill 

 boys, for blackgame treat with contempt 

 any attempts to organise them into regular 

 drives, and will probably leave the ground 

 altogether if attacked by an army of guns 

 and beaters with all the paraphernalia of 

 regular driving. 



Macfarlane, the head-keeper, whose 

 sixty winters sit lightly on those broad 

 shoulders and hard-knit frame, is as keen 

 on a day of foray and raid as any of us, 

 and there is a glint in his eye which 

 bespeaks business, as he reports that there 

 are a big lot of blackgame in the blown- 

 out wood below the whinny knowes, and 



