THE RED DEER 
their hinds. Others only emit a few grunts when chasing too ardent 
youngsters or the two -year -olds, known to continental sportsmen as 
“ Bei-hirsch,” whose presence is tolerated up to a certain point by the 
master stag. The more roaring a stag does the more likely it is that he is 
not an adult one. Those of six or seven years of age, whose condition and 
strength are both good, are generally the noisiest singers. These seldom, 
if ever, fight, though they may procure hinds at the half-season when the 
sexual turmoil or death of the big stag gives them an opportunity. Such 
stags, if met by another somewhat more adult, generally run at the first 
show of fight. The angry, defiant challenger is generally that of a traveller 
who is looking for hinds, whilst the long-drawn, yawning roar is that 
of one who is already in the pride of possession. There are so many “ ifs ” 
to be overcome before they fight seriously that it is a very rare sight indeed 
to see two big stags engaged in real combat. I have watched stags for 
years and have only seen three genuine fights, once in Savernake forest, once 
in a park, and once at Guisachan. Many a time I thought now we shall 
see a proper battle, but at the last moment — after one clinch — one or other 
of the combatants has turned tail and bolted. I watched two master 
stags — an eleven -pointer and a royal — meet in the Snowy corrie, at Black 
Mount, one September day. Each moved slowly up towards the other, 
whilst the hinds formed a great circle of spectators. They walked to within 
ten yards and each looked the picture of rage and defiance. Then they 
began roaring at each other and continued in this position for over an 
hour, sometimes tearing up the peat with their forefeet and striking the 
ground with their horns. Neither gave way a yard, but nothing happened. 
Then the eleven -pointer, slightly the finer of the two, suddenly turned 
round, drove all his hinds into a bunch and herded them out of the 
corrie. I got a running shot at him as he went down hill and broke his 
back. 
The best fight I ever saw was in the park at Warnham, after the master 
stag, a twenty -eight pointer, had been driven out by a young royal of great 
strength. It so happened that I moved the disinherited and forced him into 
the royal and his herd of nearly one hundred hinds. This the new master 
resented. He at once dashed at the twenty-eight pointer and the two 
became locked for a moment. Then ensued a battle of kings. Each stag 
fought with the utmost fury. Retreating to a distance of ten yards apart, 
they charged at full speed for a period of twenty minutes. To give an idea 
of the strength of these charges it is enough to say that several large pieces 
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