92 DEER-STALKING. CH. XXV. 



" When was the last, Malcolm ?" I asked. 



" Why, raony a day, Sir ; but, to tell the truth, 

 it is only yesterday since I shot at one." 



" And where was that, Malcolm ?" 



" AVhy, if your Honour wishes to know, and I 

 am sure you will do no ill turn to a lad for taking 

 a shoot, I '11 just tell you." 



I could not help smiling at Malcolm's describing 

 himself as a lad. He was six feet three inches with- 

 out his shoes, and a perfect giant in every propor- 

 tion, but strong and active withal, and a capital 

 stalker, being able to wind his great body about 

 through moss and heather in a manner that was 

 quite marvellous. Malcolm's account, then, was, 

 that a shepherd on an adjoining property, or rather 

 on one divided from where we were by a long lake, 

 had asked him to come up some evening with his 

 gun to " fleg " some deer that had been destroying 

 his little crop of oats. Well, Malcolm had gone ; 

 and the evening before I met him he had fired in 

 the dusk at a stag with a handful of large slugs ; 

 the deer was hit and crippled, but had thrown 

 out the colley dogs, which had pursued him, by 

 taking to the water and apparently swimming the 

 loch. If he had managed to cross he would be on 

 my side of it, and I might by chance fall in with 

 him on my return home the next day in some of the 



