180 DAYS OF DEER-STALKING. 



"Lord! Lord! that black deer;* hey, what a deer I 

 There, there, that black deer I Ou, he is ower far." 



The words were scarcely out of Peter Fraser's mouth, ere 

 the shot resounded iu the hills. The hart was running 

 swiftly, at about one hundred and fifty yards distance, or 

 " by 'r Lady," somewhat more, but quite clear, and the ball 

 seemed to smack against the centre of his body. 



" Sandy, Sandy, the dogs, the dogs, quick, quick, man! 

 Lord, will ye never come forrat? Let go Shuloch. Here, 

 Shuloch ! Shuloch ! " 



Away went the gallant old hound, upon his traces. 



" And now he is safe enough ; and we will leave him to 

 Jamieson, who will meet with him at bay, as he comes 

 down Glen Mark, where he will assuredly go. So leave 

 Sandy to gralloch and bleed the other deer ; and let us 

 keep on down the hill, in case the great herd should be 

 turned, and endeavour to come back over Auk-mark moor. 

 They went over the ridge, however, in beautiful style, their 

 backs all reddening in the sunshine ; and they must, and 

 will, cross the glen if every one keeps concealed till the 

 right moment. Hark, I hear a shot I Another, and another, 

 glorious ! Come along, Peter, skim down the mountain 

 like a swallow: surely some of the herd will turn back upon 

 us. There, there Charlie, Crerer is running like an ostrich. 

 Ah, Charlie, Charlie, it winna do ; they are fairly past you, 

 and you will pass us too, but not without a shot." 



One rifle, in fact, was discharged by Tortoise as they swept 

 by, and one more hart lay plunging in the heather. 



" Now, then, let go Percy and Douglas after the others ; 

 and we shall send down a deer or two to the Tilt, which 

 will make a noble day's sport. 



" Bravo, Percy, bravo ! See, he has taken out one hart, 

 and Douglas another ; they are sinking the hill, right down 

 to the Tilt. Sit down whilst I load, and listen to the bay. 

 I hear it sure enough now ; it is Percy's bay. How he 

 makes the valley ring ; I should know his deep tongue 

 from a thousand. He must be just above the marble quarry. 

 Hark ! that is his death-shot, and from the Duke ; for no 



* Black from rolling in the mire. 



