A WET DAY ON THE HILL 85 



entirely spoilt. Amidst such wild surroundings, 

 however, it need not be supposed that enjoyment 

 arises solely from success in compassing the death 

 of a deer. There is a pleasure in contemplating, 

 even at a respectful distance, the free, unfettered 

 movements of a wild stag, or the picturesque 

 attitudes of a lot of hinds while still unsuspicious 

 of danger. If as you approach them a solitary 

 Blackcock springs from some bracken by the burn- 

 side, or a pack of Grouse go streaming away to 

 give alarm to the deer, you see in the appearance 

 of the startled herd another charming picture of 

 wild life in the Highlands. Whether you get a 

 shot or no, seems scarcely to matter. You have 

 seen what you came out to see — a wild red deer. 

 You have watched him while still unconscious of 

 your presence, you have noticed his demeanour 

 when first he took your wind, you have marvelled 

 at his keen sight, his wonderful sense of smell, and, 

 as soon as he moves, his extraordinary pace over 

 rough ground, where at every step he seems to 

 risk a broken limb, until at length he has dis- 

 appeared from view, and the .corrie holds only the 

 Grouse which have given him timely notice to 

 quit. 



Many a time and oft while tramping over the 

 hill with the rifle still in its cover, and the drizzHng 

 rain descending gently but coldly, even in 

 September, have I stood still and felt a greater 

 pleasure in contemplating the changing moods of 

 Nature than in looking for the chance of a shot. 

 Sometimes, indeed, through sheer carelessness and 



