CHAP. XXVI GOLDEN EAGLES 233 



Monday. — This morning at sunrise, I with my rifle, Donald 

 carrying my double-barrel, and Bran, took our wayup the glen 

 to the shealing at the foot of Benmore. Donald had no heart 

 for this expedition. He is not addicted to superfluous conver- 

 sation, but I heard him mutter something of a " feckless errand 

 — as good deer nearer hame." Bran had already been the victor 

 in many a bloody tussle with hart and fox. We held for the 

 most part up the glen, but turning and crossing to seek every 

 likely corrie and burn on both sides. I shot a wild cat stealing 

 home to its cairn in the early morning ; and we several times 

 in the day came on deer, but they were hinds with their calves, 

 and I was bent on higher game. As night fell, we turned down 

 to the shealing rather disheartened ; but the shepherd cheered 

 me by assuring me the hart was still in that district, and 

 describing his track, which he said was like that of a good-sized 

 heifer. Our spirits were quite restored by a meal of fresh- 

 caught trout, oatcake and milk, with a modicum of whisky, 

 which certainly was of unusual flavour and potency. 



Tuesday. — We were off again by daybreak. I will pass by 

 several minor adventures, but one cannot be omitted. Malcolm 

 went with us to show us where he had last seen the track. As 

 we crossed a long reach of black and broken ground, the first 

 ascent from the valley, two golden eagles rose out of a hollow 

 at some distance. Their flight was lazy and heavy, as if gorged 

 with food, and on examining the place we found the carcass of 

 a sheep half eaten, one of Malcolm's flock. He vowed venge- 

 ance ; and, merely pointing out to us our route, returned for a 

 spade to dig a place of hiding near enough the carcass to 

 enable him to have a shot at the eagles if they should return. 

 We held on our way, and the greater part of the day without 

 any luck to cheer us, my resolution " not to be beat " being, 

 however, a good deal strengthened by the occasional grumbling 

 of Donald. Towards the afternoon, when we had tired ourselves 

 with looking with our glasses at every corrie in that side of the 

 hill, at length, in crossing a bare and boggy piece of ground, 

 . Donald suddenly stopped, with a Gaelic exclamation, and pointed 

 — and there, to be sure, was a full fresh footprint, the largest 

 mark of a deer either of us had ever seen. There was no more 

 grumbling. Both of us were instantly as much on the alert as 

 when we started on our adventure. We traced the track as 



