62 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



is that yellow patch beyond the flat, just in the shadow 

 of the pines ?' 



My companion gazed steadily for a while, and then, 

 old hand as he was, became excited. 



' En pen hjort ' (A fine stag), he hoarsely whispered ; 

 4 1 saw his horn move. He is lying down/ 



I took a long look through the glass, and finally 

 made out through the mist, and over 200 yards away, 

 a good stag couched. Should I chance the shot, or 

 try to get nearer ? That was the question. I could 

 only see a small portion of his back and shoulder 

 through trees and mist, and one horn not quite so 

 large a horn as I had hoped to see. The mist kept 

 coming and going, and I feared to chance the shot, 

 though several times I covered his shoulder with a 

 full bead and was on the point of pressing the trigger. 

 But the light was bad and the distance too great. 

 Finally, leaving Daniel behind, I tried a crawl over 

 the flat, came cautiously behind cover to the edge of 

 the wood, and found the glade without sign of life. 



A treacherous curl of wind from the mountain- top 

 had given me away, and the chance, for the time, was 

 gone. We examined the track, and consoled ourselves 

 with the thought that the stag we had seen was not 

 the royal in question, but a smaller animal that was 

 known occasionally to accompany him. 



We rowed over the lake to our sleeping-hut on the 

 other side, catching en route a dish of beautiful pound 

 trout that served for supper and breakfast, and laid 

 bloodthirsty plans for the morrow. But for the next 

 two days we were doomed to disappointment. In 

 vain did we rise before dawn and cautiously approach 

 the old saeter so soon as there was light to see, in 

 order to catch our old friend grazing on his favourite 

 meadow. In vain for two days we quietly crept up wind 



