Andalucia and its Big Game 67 



shot, very fast, and intercepted by intervening trees and bush 

 — the second barrel directed merely at a vanishing stern. Yet 

 such was our confidence in the aim — in both aims — that not even 

 the subsequent sight of our antlered friend jauntily cantering 

 away down the long stretch of Los Tendidos impaired by one 

 iota its self-assurance. For a mile and more we followed that 

 bloodless spoor, far beyond the point whereat the keeper's solemn 



verdict had been pronounced, " No lleva nada — that stag goes 

 scot-free." As usual, that verdict was correct. 



An incident worth note had occurred meanwhile. On the 

 extreme left of our line, a mile away, two stags out of four that 

 broke across the sand-wastes had been killed ; and these, while 

 we yet remained on the scene (though a trifle delayed by 

 fruitless spooring) had already been attacked and torn open by a 

 descending swarm of vultures. That, in Africa, is a daily 

 experience, but never, before or since, have we witnessed such 

 unseemly voracity in Europe. 



