58 Unexplored Spain 
threatens and their natural flight is up-wind. But as it is 
obviously impossible to place guns to windward, the operation 
resolves itself into moving the game—dead against its instinct 
and set inclination —down-wind, or at least on a “ half-wind.” 
The latter is easier as an operation, but less effective in result : 
since the guns must be posted in echelon—otherwise each “ gives 
the wind” to his next neighbour below. Consequently the 
firing-zone of each is greatly circumscribed. 
In practice, therefore, the game has to be moved or cajoled— 
it can hardly be said to be “ driven ”—into going, at least so 
far, down-wind by skilled handling of the driving-line and by 
intelligent co-operation on the part of each individual driver. In 
the great mountain-drives of the sierras (elsewhere described) 
packs of hounds, being carefully trained, perform infinite service. 
Always under control of their huntsman, they systematically 
search out thickets impenetrable to man and push all game 
forward. In the Coto Dofiana, our scratch-pack of podencos and 
monerels of every degree, run riot unchecked at hind, hare, or 
rabbit, giving tongue in all directions at once, and probably do as 
much harm as good. 
Our mounted keepers, however, expert in divining afar the 
yet unformed designs of the game ahead, are quick to counter 
each move by a feint or demonstration behind; and when 
desirable, to forestall attempted escape by resolute riding. The 
Spanish are a nation of horsemen, and a fine sight it is to see 
these wild guardas galloping helter-skelter through scrub that 
reaches the saddle—especially the way they ride down a wounded 
stag or boar with the garrocha—a long wooden lance. 
Despite it all, however, many stags break back. Riding 
with the beaters it is instructive to watch the manceuvres of 
an old stag as, sinking from sight, he couches among quite low 
scrub on some hillock, or stands statuesque with horns aback 
hiding behind a clump of tall tree-heaths—alert all the while, 
stealthily to shift his position as yapping podencos on one side or 
the other may suggest—and watching each opportunity to evade 
the encompassing danger. Now a stretch of denser jungle obstructs 
the advancing line. The beaters are forced apart to pass it, and 
a gap or two yawns in the attack. Instantly that introspective 
wild beast realises his advantage—he springs to sight, ignores 
Spanish expletives that scorch the scrub, and in giant bounds 
