188 THE ROE-DEER 



days during which I strenuously endeavoured to 

 get the one particular buck I coveted, I only saw 

 one other head which approached his in excellence. 

 I could have shot two or three smaller beasts, 

 carrying six points, it is true, but no better than an 

 ordinary Scottish head. I did not fire, because I 

 was afraid of frightening the big buck, whom I 

 knew would not desert the ground unless he were 

 thoroughly alarmed. I had two stalks after him, 

 but never got a shot. The other good buck had 

 already taken the alarm, though he had not seen 

 us. He was slowly making off down the hill, w r hen 

 he suddenly stopped, and with cocked ears stared 

 into the wood in front of him. Almost imme- 

 diately another buck emerged and began walking 

 towards him. He passed my buck, when the latter 

 suddenly whipped round and charged up the hill 

 after him. Another ten yards and I should have 

 had a splendid chance, but alas ! it was not to be. 

 They both dashed into the wood, and I never saw 

 either of them again. 



The little deer has always been a great favourite 

 of mine. Small as he is, he was my first big game, 

 and I love him for that, if for no other reason. It 

 was a dark deed, the slaughter of that unfortunate 

 yearling, and I have often regretted it. Still, a 

 schoolboy of sixteen, armed with a gun, and 

 suddenly confronted by a real live roe big or 

 small looking to his excited imagination the 

 mucklest of muckle harts, cannot at so supreme 

 a moment be harshly judged for forgetting the 

 ethics of sport. That little head has hung in my 

 bedroom for years, and though I am not proud of 

 it, it has a special value in my eyes, for it marks my 



