124 A Sportsman at Large 



thing occurred, until at last Count Fontainbleu was reduced 

 to a shadow ; the soles of his boots were worn thin as blotting- 

 paper, and his feet were grievously chapped and blistered. 

 He threw up the sponge and made tracks for the South. 



Lord Gralloch was left guessing. 



He called in Macalister and interrogated him sternly : 



" Why what in Heaven's name has come to the forest since 

 I have been laid up, Ronald ? Are there no beasts left on it ? " 



" Oo ay, yere lordship. Foreby there's mony an* mony a 

 bonnie beastie i' the conies." 



" In the name of all that's wonderful, then, how is it 

 that you have not even shown my esteemed friend, Count 

 Fontainbleu, a stag ? " 



Then the murder was out. 



" My name's not MacTavish ! " exclaimed Macalister tersely 

 and turning on his heel he stalked majestically from the 

 presence of his astounded and scandalized master. 



