DEER-STALKING. 205 



hill-side, evidently watching the disturbed deer below, 

 all but one — a grand stag with a royal head, who 

 is standing and looking towards us — a most tempting 

 three-quarters' broadside shot, not eighty yards off. 

 "Shall I take him?" I whisper to Donald, with 

 the sight of my rifle steady on the right place. 

 " Well," he slowly replies, with the tail of his eye, 

 as I feel sure, anxiously searching for the appear- 

 anr* of "Clubfoot" on the scene, "that's a splendid 

 stag ! " As the last word leaves his lips my finger 

 presses the trigger, and, with a start and a bound, 

 he gallops frantically past us up the hill. Of the 

 rest of the herd, some scamper along the ridge, 

 apparently in doubt whether to go up or down ; 

 some stand still, and while I am hurriedly asking 

 Donald as to the effect of my shot, he interrupts 

 me with the excited exclamation, "Quick, sir, 

 quick ! the other barrel ! There he is ! That's 

 ' Clubfoot ' ! " and sure enough, in all his broadside 

 bulk and wide-spread dignity of horn, easily dis- 

 tinguishable, exalted above his fellows, this preter- 



