54 DAYS OF DEER-STALKING. 



good speed over the moor : I see by the course of the clouds, 

 which I have been watching from my bed, that the wind is 

 in the right airt, and as the weather is warm, the deer will 

 be far out on the tops of the hills ; so we will leave Blair 

 as soon as possible, breakfast at the lodge as usual, and go 

 round the north of Ben Derig, that we may take all the 

 ground, and not lose a chance. I expect to find a friend at 

 Bruar Lodge, who was to come across the moors from the 

 Badenoch country, and he slept there last night, if he did 

 not miss the track, which you know is but a wild one. So 

 order the pony to the door at four o'clock, and take care I 

 do not pass you at Auld Heclan, as I did the day we killed 

 the great deer ; and I say, Peter, do not forget the whiskey." 



" Na, na, I aye tak tent o' that. Did ye ever knaw me 

 lave it ahint ?" 



"No, faith, to do you justice, your memory never fails 

 you there ; and you take care to refresh it pretty often. 

 So off with you, my good fellow, and keep that laugh to 

 enliven you on your way, for it is a long and dreary one." 



It may be thought that Tortoise said this in a half intel- 

 ligible, drowsy tone. Not a bit of it. An eager sportsman 

 never sleeps or slumbers ; or, if he does so by way of variety, 

 he starts into life at once, and springs up from his bed as if 

 the deer were actually before him : neither does he say, 

 " Sandy, bring me the balls ;" or, " Charlie, bring me my 

 powder-flask," or my jacket, or my shoes, or anything else 

 of the sort ; for he has very methodically laid out all these 

 things on his dressing-table over night with his own proper 

 hands. To be dependent on others in these matters is 

 exceedingly youthful : no, he trusts to no man's vigilance, 

 but relies upon his own, and this is his system, not only in 

 the camp, but in the field. 



Mounted on his horse, Tortoise soon left the silent castle, and 

 away he went, winding his rugged course through the forest 

 of pines, some standing stately and dark in their verdure, 

 others riven and blasted by the storm, their bare bones 

 lying across his path, or driven crashing into the torrent 

 below, where the waters of the Banavie come struggling 

 through their rude barriers. The morn broke silvery and 

 bright over the mountain top, just moving with her refresh- 



