216 IN COEROUR FOREST 



at the foot of the hill by no means represents the 

 aggregate of ' foot pounds ' which I have had to lift in 

 the interval. First of all, the wind being south or 

 thereby, we crossed a mile or so of about the roughest 

 'peat hags' I ever encountered, and then, profusely 

 perspiring already, began ascending the eastern limb of 

 the mountain, then worked along the comb of the ridge 

 which runs between a corrie on the left hand and the 

 northern face of the hill, falling steeply away on the 

 right. The corrie was tenantless, but half-way down 

 the eastern face, five hundred feet or so below us, we 

 detected two good stags, and made a wide detour to 

 approach them. But the wind played the traitor. 

 Blowing steadily on the height, on the lee side of the 

 hill, it was gusty and uncertain ; a wandering flaw 

 puffed up behind, and carried our scent the hateful 

 scent of man to the grazing stags, still four hundred 

 yards distant; their heads were up in a minute, and 

 they went off at score. 



Nowhere as in the forest does a man feel how in- 

 appropriate is the scientific definition of his species as 

 Homo sapiens Man the Wise. The stalker, if you 

 like, is omniscient Homo omnisciens in his own 

 domain, but for the mere sportsman who is committed 

 to his care the only proper title is Homo humilissimus. 

 He is led about on the steep ground, often without the 

 slightest understanding of the plan of campaign, told 

 when to stoop to crawl to run; the only responsi- 

 bility upon him comes at the crucial moment of firing. 

 A terrible moment of suffering it often is. A long 



