HUNTING ON THE UPPER GANDER 125 



more stags as soon as possible. Nor was opportunity long 

 deferred. 



About half a mile below Little Gull River was an open 

 stretch of the stream. To the eye it now looked just like a 

 mass of pebbles, but the accession of the two rivers meeting 

 had helped the Gander a bit, and there was a narrow thread 

 of water about ten or twelve inches deep percolating through 

 the stones. I sat down on the bank watching for a stag to 

 appear down stream. There seemed little enough chance of 

 killing one, as the wind was blowing hard towards the only 

 likely part, and both evening and the rain were close at 

 hand. It was already late, and I was about to walk up 

 stream to see if any further accident had happened, when, 

 taking one final glance towards the east, I saw a stag in the 

 act of crossing the river about 800 yards away. He was 

 gingerly picking his way through the stones of the river, and 

 I could not understand how it was he did not get my wind. 

 It seemed to be blowing directly towards him, and yet, as I 

 afterwards found, must have been forced upwards after going 

 for a hundred yards or so. 



Strange things happen in stalking, and the vagaries of 

 air are amongst the most curious. More than once I have 

 succeeded in getting within shot of an animal by hard 

 running and by simply relying on its being too confused to 

 make out the object of attack. No other course was open, 

 so I resolved to try it now. I ran as hard as I could, 

 keeping my eye all the time fixed on the stag so as to 

 know the exact moment he " had " me, and I should lie 

 down and open fire — 600, 500, 400, 300 yards — this was 

 incomprehensible. At this distance I plainly saw the ripples 

 of water going almost direct to the stag, which had now 

 landed on a point and was feeding away stern-on. The 



