XXX THE HIGHLAND FOX-HUNTER 267 



he escapes, whether whole or maimed, after being trapped, he is 

 too well warned ever to be caught again. Altogether, trapping 

 has never been very successfully practised against the fox in 

 the Highlands, and the old native practice of " fox-hunting," as 

 the professional mode of killing them is called here, is still 

 much preferred. 



Of all ways of earning a livelihood, perhaps there is none 

 that requires a greater degree of hardihood and acuteness than 

 the trade of a vermin-killer in the Highlands — meaning by 

 " vermin," not magpies, crows, and " such small deer," but the 

 stronger and wilder carnivorous natives of the mountain and 

 forest — the enemies of the sheep and lambs. In the Highlands 

 he is honoured with the title of " The Fox-hunter " ; but the 

 Highland fox-hunter leads a very different life, and heads a 

 very different establishment, from him of Leicestershire. 

 When you first come upon him in some wild glen, you are 

 somewhat startled at his appearance and bearing. He is 

 generally a wiry active man, past middle age, slung round with 

 pouches and belts for carrying the implements of his trade ; he 

 wears a huge cap of badger-skin, and carries an old-fashioned 

 long-barrelled fowling-piece. At his feet follow two or three 

 couple of strong gaunt slow-hounds, a brace of . greyhounds, 

 rough, and with a good dash of the lurcher, and a miscellaneous 

 tail of terriers of every degree. 



A short time ago the foxes having made too free with the 

 lambs, the sheep-farmer of the glen summoned the fox-hunter 

 to his assistance, and I joined him with my rifle. Before day- 

 light, the fox-hunter and myself, with two shepherds, and the 

 usual following of dogs, were on the ground, and drew some 

 small hanging birch-woods near the scene of the latest depreda- 

 tions. While the whole pack of dogs were amusing themselves 

 with a marten-cat in the wood, we found a fresh fox-track on 

 the river bank below it, and after considering its direction 

 leisurely, the fox-hunter formed his plans. The hounds were 

 coupled up, and left to the charge of the two shepherds, whilst 

 we started with our guns for a steep corrie, where he expected 

 we could command the passes. It was a good hour and half 

 of a jog-trot, which seemed a familiar pace to my companion. 

 We at length turned off the great glen, and proceeded up a 

 small, rapid, rocky burn, tracing it to where it issued through 



