SEPTEMBER 203 



be beasts on tbe faich. below.' Passive clay and the 

 inexorable potter again! There is no autocrat more 

 compelling than a stalker on his beat. Up we went 

 again ; steeper and more stony grew the way, till at 

 last we lay on the summit of this blessed mount, and 

 Mackintosh was scanning the wide prospect with his 

 glass. 



It was a likely harbour for deer. A thousand feet 

 below us lay a wide strath between our hill and Ben 

 Alder; a stream wound, like a skein of silvery sUk, 

 through dark heather broken by streaks and patches 

 of emerald pasture. I could detect no sign of life 

 except an eagle circling over the flank of Ben Alder. 



Mackintosh spied long in silence, and I nourished the 

 hope that the strath was empty, and that I might be 

 spared the ordeal of another stalk. A craven thought 

 to own to in such a scene and under a soft September 

 sky, but there it was. Howbeit, after a prolonged survey 

 Mackintosh lowered his glass saying, ' There is a good 

 beast yonder in a pretty good place.' He told me to 

 turn my glass upon some dark peat hags, and there, sure 

 enough, was a stag lodged, nearly as dark as the peat, 

 for he had been rolling in the mire after the luxurious 

 manner of his kind in fine weather. 



So here I was in for another stalk — noblesse oblige — 

 and all ignoble as I felt, there was noblesse enough in 

 that distant animal, which might be another royal, to 

 compel me to the task. Approach to him lay down 

 the Chimney — a deep gutter or cleft, vertical in places, 

 which led right down the face of the hill to the plain 

 below. I must shorten this narrative, already too long, 



