258 BIED LIFE IN ENGLAND. 



watches, a feeding hind lifts her head with a quick gesture. 

 What is the matter? Only the crackle of a dry scrap of 

 heather under the feet of a spectacled professor with tin 

 collecting-box, hunting for some obscure lichen only this ; 

 but the hind's quick challenge spreads to her pasturing 

 sisters, a dozen heads are lifted, dainty little hoofs stamp 

 the ground, in an instant the mighty "royal" himself is 

 on his legs. With a defiant toss of the great antlers, and a 

 sniff at the breeze tainted by the presence of the poor meek 

 professor, the whole group are off and away, rousing in their 

 rapid flight other family groups, till to the keen eye of the 

 old gillie the whole hill-side seems in motion ; and, closing 

 his telescope with a sigh, he recognizes the fact that, for a 

 week at least, no sport can be had on that particular hill. 

 It may be said, if the presence of a human being produces 

 results so disastrous, how can the stalkers themselves go 

 through the forest without spoiling their own sport ? The 

 answer is simple. At the commencement of a day on the 

 forest the gillies and watchers have swept with their tele- 

 scopes every nook and cranny of the hill the sportsmen 

 are to try ; every horn in sight is known and marked ; the 

 likely places for deer to lie perdu are noted; the direction 

 of the wind and the turns and eddies with which it sweeps 

 and swirls through the eorries are carefully considered, and 

 a line is chosen whereby, without alarming a single hind, 

 the stag selected may be approached. Cautiously the little 

 party creep from shelter to shelter, ever with an eye on the 

 distant game; should a hind, lift her head, the word is "drop" 

 wherever you are, behind a rock, into a burn, it matters not ; 

 there you must lie till the alarm is past and the herd feeding 

 quietly again. Often with wide circuits to avoid some 

 obstinate cross current of wind that would bear the tale of 

 your presence to the wary quarry, till at last, maybe after 

 hours of patient clambering, creeping, lying hid, in short 

 pitting your wits against the instinct and cunning of the 

 keenest animal that lives, you are within rifle-shot ; and now, 



