BEASTS OF THE CHASE.— THE STAG. 43 



celebrity, who knows what he will be required to do, and is 

 prepared to do it. 



The pony, saddled and bridled, is guided, at a shogging 

 trot, to a point about two miles north of the ravine, for there 

 is a sharp breeze blowing from the south-west. A well-known 

 ford is crossed, and the pony is struggling up the precipitous 

 sheep-walk under his rider, rendered heavier by the weight of 

 care, which has made him unmindful of the place in which he 

 ought to sit on the saddle. 



The summit of the ravine reached, a wide detour is made. 

 The pony is eased of his burden, and is turned mto a small 

 moorland inclosure, about half a mile from the south-eastern 

 corner of the wood The harbourer walks briskly to within 

 two hundred yards of the wood, then pauses. The wind is 

 blowing straight in his face — so far well. But the ground is 

 exposed between the wood and the feeding ground — only small 

 clumps of firs here and there breaking the view. No risk 

 must be run. So he beats a retreat, in a south-easterly direc- 

 tion, until level with a clump of firs, from which he knows he 

 can command the feeding ground. He walks as noiselessly as 

 possible, straight up wind. His heart sinks ! There are nothing 

 but fir trees and he cannot climb them. Happily a few paces 

 off in the open is a stunted oak. This will do. He at once 

 throws himself on his face and wriggles on his chest to the 

 oak tree, not attempting to raise his head until he has swung 

 round, and the trunk of the tree hides the ravine from his view. 



Now he can rise with safety, for he knows that the deer can 

 neither see nor wind him. He climbs the tree with the 

 stealth of a panther, taking care not to put his feet on any 

 doubtful branch that might break and scare the deer. Having 

 reached a convenient fork from which can be obtained a full view 

 of the southern entrance to the ravine, and the intermediate 

 space covered with brushwood, leading up to the feeding 

 ground, the period of unbroken watching begins. 



A drenching shower shortly succeeds the break of day. 

 But it will not do to descend for shelter. Where he is, there 



