38 CHAPTER V, 



For as I swung, against my will and for absolutely no cause what- 

 soever, without intention and just through sheer idiocy I gave the 

 trigger a jerk; whang went the gun and I'll bet you the bullet didn't 

 go within twenty feet of him. 



What was to be said? Nothing, absolutely nothing. The stupidity 

 of it did its own talking. But Donald again said the shot was one 

 easily missed. 



It was too dark to try another stalk, even if the stag had not gone out 

 of range, which he had, so we turned back toward the path, and so 

 on home again. 



I was tired on this night, but not so much so as the night before. 

 The stalking had cut down the number of miles traveled very ma- 

 terially. As I parted from Donald by the Lodge door, taking the rifle 

 from him to throw out the cartridges from the magazine before I let 

 it go to the gun room to be cleaned, I said: 



"Well, Donald, yesterday it wasn't your fault or my fault, it was 

 the deer's fault. Today it wasn't your fault or the deer's fault, it 

 was my fault." To which the faithful fellow answered,, "A, weel, 

 'twas verra hard shootin', sir; verra hard. Ye'll have better luck soon." 



I told the Chief all about it after dinner that night, with no attempt 

 to varnish up the weak places. I informed him that I had fired three 

 shots at a stag and missed, except for one tiny bunch of hair which 

 nobody could eat, and which was useless as a trophy. He also tried 

 to comfort me, by saying the shooting was extremely difficult, the con- 

 ditions strange and new, and he cited cases of some of the best shots 

 he had known, men who had proven their skill upon ranges where the 

 champions of the world competed, who, when they tried the Scotch 

 deer, found themselves in the novice class and among the "also rans." 



It is true that the background against which the Scotch stag is 

 usually found when you try to shoot him is so difficult that at 200 

 yards eyes of ordinary quality experience great difficulty in finding 

 the line where the stag ends and the background begins. When you 

 look at the fellow through the sights he becomes extremely vague and 

 indefinite. However, as I told the Chief, I thought even better of 

 deer stalking as a game than I did on the first day, and that I had 

 made up my mind to kill a stag if I possibly could. 



