DECEMBER SPORT IN THE HIGHLANDS. 307 



Don," are the remarks,, as a great pack of birds get up at least 200 

 yards off, and disappear over a heathery brow. As we approach 

 the spot where they had been, the dogs crouch low and come to a 

 dead set close together. " Gone away, Don ! Gone away, Paddy ! 

 Hold up ! " The words are hardly out of Ross's mouth, when up 

 gets a splendid old cock within easy shot, promptly receives two 

 barrels, and is stone-dead before he reaches the heather. Fan is 

 allowed to retrieve the bird, which she deposits at our feet without 

 ruffling a feather, and returns to Ross's heel radiant and quite 

 pleased with her sleek, curly self. In some broken ground we are 

 fortunate in surprising a few single birds, occupied no doubt in the 

 mysteries of a grouse's toilet and enjoying the warmth of the sun ; 

 there we bag four brace by dint of our choke-bores, and curving 

 back towards another part of the "face," sit down to lunch. Jack 

 bowling over a white hare on the way with a regular eye-opener — 

 ninety paces, it turned out. ^r**' ^4^ 



We feast our eyes upon the beautiful landscape spread out before 

 us, but I fear our chief interests are centred in exploiting the 

 contents of a certain grouse and woodcock pie, and arranging the 

 programme for the afternoon. Half-an-hour is all we can allow 

 ourselves, and at the end of that space of time there is nothing left, 

 either of the pie or of a substantial chunk of roast mutton. A liberal 

 allowance of whisky is handed round, the gillie takes the setters in 

 leash, and preceded by Fan, we resume operations on a clump of 

 very thick covert, wherein pheasants are sometimes found. Very 

 shortly a hen gets up, but we let her off ; we get a few snap- 

 shots at rabbits, but the covert is too close, and we only get a 

 single bunny, and are beginning to regret the clemency extended 

 to the hen, when from a thick clump of bracken a great cock 



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