50 WILD SPAIN. 



one of which was taken advantage of), and then bore 

 straight for the writer, well overhead, and not over 60 feet 

 high — an embarras de richesse. 



The first and second shots, with the 12-bore, stopped a 

 pair of what appeared the biggest of the pack, coming in — 

 right and left — and then, picking up a single 4-bore, there 

 followed the further satisfaction of pulling down a third 

 old male at very long range. These three superb birds 

 weighed 931bs. — a notable shot, probably without parallel 

 in sporting annals. 



Before night we found twice more, and each of the 

 batidas added a bird to the bag, the result of the day's 

 sport being seven noble barbunes, or male bustard, now in 

 the fullest glory of their splendid spring plumage. 



Thus ended a successful day, on which Fortune had 

 favoured us, on several occasions, in finding the game in 

 accessible situations. Such good luck does not always, 

 nor even often, await the bustard-shooter ; and even when 

 it does, there still remains the real crux — the quick in- 

 tuition of the requisite strategical movements and their 

 successful execution. 



II. — Santo Domingo. An Idyl. 



The chimes of San Miguel were already ringing out the 

 summons to even-song. Graceful figures in dark lace and 

 mantillas hurried across the palm-shaded Plaza, as two 

 Ingleses (sus servidores de vstedes) rode out of the city on 

 an April afternoon. 



It was rather for a ride than with any special sporting 

 object in view that we set out. Yet, as is always the case 

 in Spain, the guns were slung behind the saddle, and we 

 remembered that, only a few days before, one of us had 

 encountered a band of thirteen bustards — a dozen of which 

 should still be basking on the green corn-lands of Santo 

 Domingo, within a league of the octroi boundary. 



The binoculars, however,, swept the swelling grounds 

 without disclosing any occupants more important than a 



