368 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



he is anxiously awaited, this stag goes down- 

 wards to try some cool retreats he knows of in 

 the valley woods below. Beneath some clusters of 

 tall Scotch firs, dark foliaged and red stemmed, 

 he stops stealthily to listen, for although he 

 has heard much, and that unpleasantly near to 

 him, he has seen nothing vet. In the instant 

 that he turns, however, a good sportsman waiting 

 with self denying patience in the roadway that 

 winds up to Slowley Farm is rewarded for his 

 zeal by catching a view of his noble proportions. 

 Silently he waits till the approaching cry of 

 the tufters makes the stag bound across the road- 

 way to disappear in Drucombe Wood below. 

 Then he lifts up his voice after the manner 

 dear to all West Countrymen and staghunters, 

 the tufters come bustling through the bushes with 

 panting breath and eager eyes, the huntsman 

 on his tufting pony comes rattling down a 

 stony track, all waterworn and sprinkled with 

 roots and boulders, and w^ith every here and 

 there a great heap of debris collected by the 

 wood emmets. " What sort of a stag is he, 

 Mr. Ridler ? " "Oh, a rare good one, sure 

 enough, with three atop on one horn, and I 

 couldn't see what he had on the other." " Oh, 

 he'll do then, will you please go up and tell 

 the master on top, and I'll stop the tufters if 

 he breaks away below, and wave my handker- 

 chief for the pack." Ten minutes later the 



