64 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



valley was nearly a mile across. On one side ran 

 a thick birch-wood for some two miles or more. On 

 the south side the cover changed to pine. The centre 

 of the valley, intersected by a stream, was open 

 ground. It was decided to send the four men quietly 

 through the birch-wood, Ole carrying my gun, with 

 instructions to fire a shot at intervals, and thus help 

 to keep the deer well forward. It was a desperate 

 expedient, and only excusable in a rough and outlying 

 valley such as this. I posted myself in the bed of 

 the stream where a belt of birch -wood stretched down 

 almost to its banks. Some 200 yards higher there 

 was a similar belt, with an open space between. The 

 stag, if in the wood, must either break back down 

 wind, which was unlikely ; or come down one of those 

 belts of wood across the wind ; or go out at the head 

 of the valley. In the latter case I should not see 

 him. If he took the first belt, I should get a c sitting ' 

 shot ; if the second, a long and difficult one. 



An hour later saw me, loaded rifle on knee, and 

 with senses soothed by Nature's varied music the 

 trickle of the stream behind me, the murmur of the 

 breeze-stirred woodland, the occasional note of loom 

 or raven overhead awaiting, with a pleasurable thrill 

 of anticipation, the possible sudden advent of a royal 

 stag. Presently the sound of Ole's first shot re- 

 sounded with its rolling echoes far down the valley, 

 and marked the drive's advance. 



As shot after shot rang out, I watched with growing 

 intentness up an avenue of birch-wood to where the 

 belts divided. c If he's here, and comes at all, he must 

 come soon,' thought I. ' No self-respecting stag will 

 stand this racket long.' Suddenly, and sooner than 

 I could have hoped, ' He's here,' I whispered to myself, 



