CHAPTER III. 



MY FIRST STALK. 



ALBERT, the butler and general handy man that man could do 

 anything from serving a dinner to acting as loader, with running 

 a motor car for sauce between bringing hot water and a cup of 

 tea, and laying out my shooting clothes on the chair beside my bed, 

 wakened me next morning at an hour which my watch said was 

 seven o'clock. I turned out and quickly tubbed and shaved in an 

 atmosphere which in spite of the open fire merrily burning in my 

 grate was reminiscent of November days in the high hills of Colorado. 

 The sun was shining, but as I took a look from my window at the 

 mountains I saw signs which made me believe there might be some- 

 thing doing in the weather way later on. I was right. There was. 



At breakfast, the Chief said: "You will go with Donald this 

 morning." I answered, "All right." That was all. Where I would 

 go with Donald, what Donald would do with me, what I would do for 

 myself, were questions which I did not ask I left events to speak 

 for themselves. Subsequently, as will be disclosed, they spoke, and 

 in no uncertain terms. 



After breakfast my host told me he was going in another direction 

 from me to stalk in some absolutely unpronounceable place. When 

 the All-Wise Creator made all things, he did, I suppose, either create 

 or authorize the creation of Gaelic. Devout Scotchmen and Irishmen 

 think so. There are others who believe the Devil had a hand in it. 

 The place the Chief said he was going to sounded something like 

 "Alton-Gallagher." That is what it sounded like to me. What it 

 looked like when you spelled it was something altogether different, 

 quite another thing, entirely. 



