244 THE PEAT ISLE. 



eight fowl, we followed in pursuit, and drove him ashore 

 into a bush on Inch Tavannach. I J)ut my hand into my 

 pocket for my powder-flask, to load, in case he might dash 

 out into the water again. No flask was there! I had 

 left it on my dressing-table, when charging my gun, before 

 coming out in the morning. Nothing now for it but to 

 slip the retriever. Before he could reach the bush, how- 

 ever, the wary bird rushed out again upon its native 

 element. Down under water, but the dive was a short 

 one. Dive after dive shorter and shorter. At last it 

 could not get out of sight, and I soon picked up the ninth 

 dun-bird to two discharges. When it is borne in mind 

 that my charge did not exceed an ounce and three-quar- 

 ters of No. 4 shot, and that the dun-bird is nearly as large 

 as a duck, and decidedly the most hardy bird to carry 

 away shot of all the anas tribe, any expert wild-fowl 

 shooter will at once perceive how rare a piece of good 

 fortune a shot of this kind is. It was, therefore, without 

 much grumbling that I rowed to Rossdhu for my powder- 

 flask, a distance of* about two miles. When we returned 

 to Inch Moan, the day had worn on. I got a flying 

 right and left at widgeon, on the far end of the island, 

 killing both. 



It was now late, so we sought the mainland, and I 

 emptied my gun at a fine roebuck passing close to me in 

 the dusk. My No. 4 told well, and he fell dead without a 

 struggle. Eleven head, and a roe. 



Monday, 24^. Mist so thick that stalking was out of 

 the question. Calm. Frost hard, and ground dry. Only 



