REMINISCENCES OF A ROSS-SHIRE FOREST. 127 



"Bristol bird's-eye" was getting low. I'll wait till 

 four, I said to myself, and then I'll try it. With 

 the arrival of that hour I reached out my hand for 

 the rifle. 



"As there's no sport to be had, Duncan," I said, 

 " I think I'll have some practice. I wonder if I 

 could hit that rock there," indicating one a good five 

 hundred yards across the river. 



" You would never fire the rifle off, sir," said 

 Duncan, taking the pipe out of his mouth, horror- 

 struck at the idea. 



"That's exactly the operation I mean to go 

 through," I replied, extracting the implement in 

 question from its cover. Duncan watched my move- 

 ments intently, and at last a gleam of intelligence 

 came over his good-natured countenance. With his 

 head and shoulders against the rock behind him, and 

 his glass stretched out over his knees, he looked up 

 as if to say "I'm ready." Taking aim at the rock, I 

 fired. Whether I hit it or not, doesn't much matter. 

 The deer heard the shot, and were off in an instant. 



" Well, Duncan 1 " I said, hurriedly laying down 

 the rifle and taking up my glass. 



" They're clean down the river, sir ; they're coming 

 our way. Xo, they're not ! Yes, they are ! It's all 

 right." 



We were now both intently watching them. They 

 ran down parallel with the river, about half a mile, 

 stopped, hesitated, then turning at right angles, 



