242 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS cUap. 



instantly ; but exposed only his front towards me. Still he 

 was very near, scarcely fifty yards, and I fired at his throat just 

 where it joins the head. He dropped on his knees to my shot ; 

 but was up again in a moment, and went staggering up the 

 hill. Oh, for one hour of Bran ! Although he kept on at a 

 mad, pace, I saw he was becoming too weak for the hill. He 

 swerved and turned back to the burn ; and came headlong 

 down within ten yards of me, tumbling into it apparently dead. 

 Feeling confident, from the place where my ball had taken 

 effect, that he was dead, I threw down my rifle, and went up 

 to him with my hunting-ftnife. I found him stretched out, 

 and as I thought dying ; and I laid hold of his horns to raise 

 his head to bleed him. I had scarcely touched him when he 

 sprang up, flinging me backwards on the stones. It was an 

 awkward position. I was stunned by the violent fall ; behind 

 me was a steep bank seven or eight feet high ; before me the 

 bleeding stag with his horns levelled at me, and cutting me off 

 from my rifle. In desperation I moved ; when he instantly 

 charged, but fortunately tumbled ere he quite reached me. He 

 drew back again like a ram about to butt, and then stood still 

 with his head lowered, and his eyes bloody and swelled, glaring 

 upon me. His mane and aU his coat were dripping with watef 

 and blood ; and as he now and then tossed his head with an 

 angry snort, he looked like some savage beast of prey. We 

 stood mutually at bay for some time, till recovering myself, I 

 jumped out of the burn so suddenly, that he had not time to 

 run at me, and from the! bank above, I dashed my plaid over 

 his head and eyes, and threw myself upon him. I cannot 

 account for my folly, and it had nearly cost me dear. The 

 poor beast struggled desperately, and his remaining strength 

 foiled me in every attempt to stab him in front ; and he at 

 length made off, tumbling me down, but carrying with him a 

 stab in the leg which lamed him. I ran and picked up my 

 rifle, and then kept him in view as he rushed down the btirn on 

 three legs towards the loch. He took the water and stood at 

 bay up to his chest in it. As soon as he halted, I commenced 

 loading my rifle, when to my dismay I found that all the balls 

 I had remaining were for my double-barrel, and were a size too 

 large for my rifle. I sat down and commenced scraping one 

 to the right size, an operation that seemed interminable. At 



