LEAVES FROM A GAME BOOK. 67 



Holding well forward as I pressed the trigger, the Royal 

 fell stone dead in his tracks without so much as a 

 struggle. Overjoyed at this happy result, the left barrel 

 was emptied at another good stag, which also fell 

 mortally wounded. Running up to our quarry, we 

 found the Royal quite dead, so I stayed to admire him 

 while Donald gave the coup de grace to the other one. 

 The big stag was struck in the very centre of the heart, 

 and though of course it was where the bullet was 

 intended to go, I could not help feeling it was very 

 lucky to have placed it so exactly, for he was going at 

 a hard gallop and we stepped it 212 paces, so that, 

 allowing for ups and downs, it could fairly be called 

 180 yards in a straight line. 



By the time the beast had been gralloched and 

 lunch eaten it was nearly three o'clock, when it 

 suddenly occurred to me it was Saturday, and therefore, 

 unless we could get the Royal home that evening, 

 he would have to stay out until Monday morning, 

 a period of nearly forty -eight hours, during which 



foxes, eagles, or rain might all combine to spoil him. 



J 2 



