216 THE STALKING OF A STAG 



seemed uneasy, and walked quickly out of sight. 

 The light was atrocious, and my hopes were down 

 to zero. We dashed down through the wood, and 

 getting off the snow in the open, ran up the 

 opposite slope as fast as we could to the spot at 

 which he had crossed the skyline. I fully ex- 

 pected to find the deer moving away from us out 

 of shot ; for it seemed, to my anxious ears, that 

 we had made a deafening noise. Then, just as I 

 was crawling up to the top of the knoll, he roared 

 loudly close at hand. 1 was very blown, my hands 

 were like ice, and my heart thumped like a sledge- 

 hammer. I peered over the knoll. The three 

 hinds, their great ears cocked, were staring straight 

 at me within sixty yards. I knew the stag must 

 be close, and yet I could see nothing save the 

 hinds. Then, below me, down the hill, I saw 

 him head up, with antlers widely branching. I 

 could not sit down, nor could I lie, for the long 

 grass nearly hid him. Half crouching, half kneel- 

 ing, I drew a long gasping breath and fired. The 

 stag never moved. 



Hastily 1 reloaded. As I did so, he turned and 

 trotted slowly off. Then he swerved as I fired 

 again, but kept steadily on, and the next second 

 was out of sight. 



Any stalker will sympathise with my feelings, 

 though doubtless in his heart of hearts he will say, 

 " Ah ! if I had only had his chance ! " These are 

 the moments which fill one with a wild despair; 

 these, perhaps, are the moments which make stalk- 

 ing what it is. If only it were possible to put 

 the clock back two minutes, even a minute ; if 

 only it were possible to have the chance again! 



