50 Unexplored Spain 
beat. Then, assuming that the sportsman is a tyro, or subject to 
“emotions ” or buck-fever, there is danger of his forgetting for one 
moment his precise permitted line of fire; in which case a perilous 
shot must result. Once allowed to pass well outside, the stag 
will usually continue on his course. 
In this, as in every form of sport, “soft chances” occasionally 
occur. More often, the rifle will be directed at a galloping stag 
crashing through bush that conceals him up to the withers; or, 
it may be, bounding over inequalities of broken ground or 
brushwood, or among timber, at any distance up to 100 yards, 
sometimes 150, while, should he have touched a taint in the 
wind, his pace will be tremendous. 
Although to casual view a plain of level contours this country 
is undulated to an extent that deceives a careless eye—the 
more accentuated by the monotone of cistus-scrub that appears 
so uniform. In reality there traverse the plain glens and gently 
graded hollows the less apt to be noticed, inasmuch as the scrub 
in moister dell grows higher. 
Far through the marish green and still the watercourses sleep. 
Inspiring moments are those when—before the beat has 
commenced—your eye catches on some far-away skyline the 
broad antlers of a stag. This animal has perhaps been on foot 
and alert, or maybe has taken the ‘‘ wind” from the group of 
beaters wending a way to their points far beyond. For three 
seconds the antlers remain stationary, then vanish into some 
intervening glen. A glance around shows your next neighbour 
still busy completing his shelter—meritorious work if done in 
time—and you have strong suspicion that the man beyond will 
just now be lighting a cigarette! Such thoughts flash through 
one’s mind; the dominant question that fills it is: ‘‘ Where will 
that great stag reappear?” But few seconds are needed to 
solve it. Perhaps he dashes, harmless, upon the careless, perhaps 
upon the slow—lucky for him should either such event befall! 
On the other hand, those moments of glorious expectancy may 
resolve in a crash of brushwood hard by, in a clinking of cloven 
hoofs, and a noble hart with horns aback is bounding past your 
own ready post. What proportion, we inwardly inquire, of 
the stags that are killed by craftsmen has already, just before, 
offered first chance to the careless or the slovenly ? 
