48 MY SPORTL\ 7 G HOLIDAYS 



the same f jeld. Between us stretched at least a mile 

 of open, heather-covered hill. Towards evening my 

 stalker and I emerged from the pine-woods on to the 

 open fjeld the valley was not a mile in length 

 without having seen a single deer. I paused, with a 

 sigh, under the shelter of a rocky bank, to hand the 

 rifle to my native companion, light the pipe of con- 

 solation, and admire the view behind me, when the 

 heavy breathing and the thud of an approaching deer 

 became distinctly audible in the still evening air. 

 The rifle was promptly thrust into my outstretched 

 hand as the pipe and pouch fell unheeded to the 

 ground, while over the ridge above me, distinct 

 against the sunset sky, appeared a fine pair of branch- 

 ing antlers, and the next moment the splendid stag 

 that carried them trotted by me within 60 yards. 

 The rifle cracked, and, after a mad rush down the 

 hill, over rolled the stag stone-dead, with an express 

 bullet through the heart. He had evidently been 

 moved from the adjoining beat, and had taken straight 

 over the fjeld. On returning home I found that my 

 friend, although accompanied by an unusually good 

 native stalker, had not seen the stag, and knew 

 nothing of his existence. No doubt he had been 

 lying down. All these are examples of the lucky 

 incidents of sport which come to us all in turn, and 

 which add some fascination to its pursuit. 



One of the best orthodox stalks I ever enjoyed on 

 Hitteren occurred one year on my first day after 

 landing, and when thoroughly out of condition after 

 a long Parliamentary session and then a four days' 

 voyage across the North Sea. But what matters, if 

 but the desired object be attained ? 



We had landed at Havn Bay Alex Henderson, 



