92 DEER-STALKING. CH. XXV. 



quite to his honour, I believe that he neither did 

 so himself nor allowed any one else to do so. 



" You are ower good, your Honour ; and the 

 mither will be glad of a bit venison ; it's a long 

 time now since I killed a deer." 



" When was the last, Malcolm ? " I asked. 



" Why, mony a day, sir ; but, to tell the truth, 

 it is only yesterday since I shot at one." 



" And where was that, Malcolm ?" 



" Why, if your Honour wishes to know, and I 

 am sure you will do no ill turn to a lad for taking 

 a shoot, I'll just tell you." 



I could not help smiling at Malcolm's describing 

 himself as a lad. He was six feet three inches with- 

 out his shoes, and a perfect giant in every propor- 

 tion, but strong and active withal, and a capital 

 stalker, being able to wind his great body about 

 through moss and heather in a manner that was 

 quite marvellous. Malcolm's account, then, was, 

 that a shepherd on an adjoining property, or rather 

 on one divided from where we were by a long lake, 

 had asked him to come up some evening with his 

 gun to " fieg " some deer that had been destroying 

 his little crop of oats. Well, Malcolm had gone ; 

 and the evening before I met him he had fired in 

 the dusk at a stag with a handful of large slugs ; 

 the deer was hit and crippled, but had thrown 



