The Sport of Our ^Ancestors 



corrle, cross the burn, and climb all the way up the opposite 

 shoulder. You had rather a long walk the day before, and 

 do not feel too fresh. You begin the descent, and keep 

 wondering whether it is more distressing to go downhill 

 than uphill. Going downhill is not so trying to the wind, 

 but the legs seem to be made of paper, and to fold up under 

 you. You almost welcome the thought of the climb that 

 is before you, but when the climb begins you long for the 

 descent once more. The first half-hour is through thick, 

 long heather, which necessitates lifting each foot ever so 

 high at every step. It would seem that wind and limb alike 

 are now strained to the breaking-point, and you wish your- 

 self anywhere else in the whole wide world. Is it worth 

 it .'' Why spend all this money on the agony of stalking 

 when you can sit in a chair at home free from pain, and for 

 , nothing ? Is the stalker never going to stop ? You almost 

 begin to hate him. At last the heather gets shorter and 

 gives way to moss and stones. The stalker only goes all 

 the faster on the easier going ; but just as the world seems 

 to be coming to an end, he sits down on the very top, and 

 you fling yourself on the ground beside him. Then come 

 twenty minutes of the reptilian movement along the face 

 of the hill in full view of some hinds, and presently the rifle 

 is placed in your hands. If you kill, nothing matters. You 

 eat your sandwiches and smoke your pipe, and the way 

 home seems short and easy. But if you miss ! Then 

 indeed your luncheon is cheerless ; you are very likely let 

 in for another long walk to try for another stag, and every 

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