46 Unexplored Spain 
of stalking :—‘ The first stag I ever saw shot with his head 
down!” Other countries, other standards; but there is a ring 
of sterling chivalry in it too. The idea conveyed is that the 
noble stag should meet his death, only when duly forewarned of 
danger and bounding in wild career o’er bush and brake. 
Without unduly trespassing on our Spanish friends’ suscepti- 
bilities, we have nevertheless enjoyed such mornings as this. To 
begin with, that hour of breaking day is ever delicious to spend 
afield. Therein one observes to best advantage the wild beasts, 
undisturbed and following their secret, solitary lives—one learns 
more in that hour than in all the other twenty-three. One seems 
almost to associate with deer, so near can the troops of hinds and 
small staggies be approached; and, moreover, there may be 
afforded the advantage of selecting some splendid head afar, and 
thus commencing a stalk which, believe me, does not always 
prove easy. Yonder comes a fox, trotting straight in from his 
night’s hunting in the distant marisma. Let him come on within 
fifty yards, and then give him a bit of a fright—it is a wild goose 
he drops as he turns to fly! A single glint of something ruddy 
catches the eye; this the glass shows to be a sunray playing on 
the pelt of a prowling lynx, hateful of daylight and hurrying 
junglewards. Rarely are these nocturnals seen thus, after sun- 
up, and not for many seconds will the spectacle last; for no 
animal is more intensely habituated to concealment, or hates so 
much to move even a few yards in the open. 
Following are two or three incidents selected as illustrative 
of this matutinal work :— 
A really fine stag—already against the glory of the 
eastern light, I have counted thirteen points and there may be 
more. Half an hour later we have gained a position—not with- 
out infinite manceuvres, including a crawl absolutely flat across 
forty yards of bog and black mire—a position that in five more 
minutes should secure to us that trophy. The five hinds that, 
before it was fully light, had been in the Royal company, have 
already, long ago, passed away in the scrub on our right, and 
give us now no further concern. Never should hinds be thus 
lightly regarded! The slowly approaching stag stops to nibble 
a golden broom. He is already almost within shot—seconds 
must decide his fate—when a triple bark, petulant and defiant, 
breaks the silence behind. Those five hinds, sauntering round, 
