224 ANOTHER DAY ON THE HILL 



string. They are cantering now, at a distance of fully 

 250 yards ; the chosen stag offers a fair broadside, but 

 so small that the foresight shuts him out of view as I 

 press the trigger. I see nothing for the smoke only 

 hear the stalker rapturously exclaim, ' Well done, by 

 ! You 're the right man in the right place, sir.' 



Surprise, I candidly admit, was uppermost and first 

 in my mind, and it was not till I stood beside a ten- 

 pointer, shot fairly through the spine, that it yielded 

 permanent place to pride; for it was a difficult shot, 

 and, after all, one argues in such circumstances, although 

 success feels uncommonly like a fluke, it cannot be 

 entirely set down to that score. 



Well, out of respect to ultra-humanitarians, I will not 

 recount how, after crossing the ridge in the teeth of the 

 gale, and lying for half-an-hour upon snow, and under 

 fierce blasts of sleet and rain, a second stag, heavier and 

 better than the first, was laid low ; but I ask them to 

 look on another scene, perhaps more to their fancy. My 

 homeward path lay along the boundary of the sanctuary 

 a vast hill, whereon no foot of stalker ever comes, nor 

 sound of rifle is heard. 



After two hours of tempest, the sun had shone out 

 once more and sent its level rays into a great corrie, 

 wherein, through the glass, I could detect two herds, 

 numbering in all several hundred deer. They were 

 browsing peacefully or lying down, some of the young 

 stags indulging in mock combats, the calves gambolling 

 round their dams. What an aggregate of happy life, yet, 

 had some people their way, field sports would be cried 



