CHAPTER XXX 



THE ROARING OF THE STAGS 



IN a well-known forest is a wide and grassy glen 

 where hinds are found throughout the year, and where, 

 in early October, the big stags assemble to fight out their 

 battles. The roaring of the stags on a fine mid-October 

 night in this wild glen, as the moon rises slowly over the 

 hill to the eastward, is a sound which, once heard, remains 

 long in the memory. 



On one such night I happened to traverse the glen. 

 In the darkness the roaring of the stags sounded with 

 peculiar charm. Two voices especially could be dis- 

 tinguished. One stag I knew from his hoarse cries; he was 

 a fine beast, whom I had watched on previous occasions and 

 who, when I last saw him, was master over forty hinds. 

 Across the glen from him a second stag was roaring with 

 fine musical voice, and as I moved forward, this stag, with 

 his attendant hinds, stampeded across in the darkness right 

 in front of me, making straight for that part of the hillside 

 whence came the hoarse roarings of the big stag. From what 

 I had seen of the size and prowess of the latter, I imagined 

 he would drive off this trespasser on his ground with no 

 difficulty. In the darkness nothing could be seen of the 

 fight that followed, but I could hear clearly the striking of 

 horn against horn — a sound extremely grand, and entirely 

 in keeping with this lonely glen after nightfall. After a 

 short time the fighting ceased; but the hoarse roaring of the 

 big stag was silent, and the deep calls of his rival coming 

 from the spot where he was formerly heard seemed to point 



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