THE RED DEER 
2 lb., but the view on the skyline had deceived us, as I have no doubt it 
will do again. 
Duncan and I were eating our lunch complacently after gralloching 
the last stag, when I chanced to gaze towards the beautiful hills of Monar, 
now bathed in sunshine. There was a black spot there that seemed to move 
— though too far for the eye to guess what it might be. I picked up my 
telescope, and at once saw that it was a splendid stag, of the first class, 
as black as a sloe, and on the run. He was even then crossing the march, 
and entering our ground. 
“He’s on the traavel for hinds,’’ remarked Duncan, without emotion; 
“ an’ I doot he’ll no stop this side o’ Benula,’’ a criticism as chilling to 
one’s hopes as it was truthful. 
The grand fellow, who had just been rolling in some peat hag, kept 
steadily along, at what may be described as a “ running walk,’’ a pace 
nearly all deer adopt when moving from one place to another in search 
of wives. There was no chance to cut him off without being seen, so we 
could only keep him in view as he moved along the steep face of Stob-n-na- 
lappich and hope that he would stop and gaze upon the attractions of certain 
lovely females that lay on the face before him. No — not a bit of it; he never 
paused, though he must have got their wind, but passed right on over the 
march into Benula, from which he probably came earlier in the season. 
After this episode we climbed almost to the top of the high mountain, 
disturbing dozens of ptarmigan from amongst the rocks, and spied the 
western face of the mountain. Here we found a good stag which, unfor- 
tunately, became alarmed as we came within shot. The hinds at once 
surrounded him, and in trying to make a fancy shot, so as to hit the stag 
in the head, I missed altogether. The deer then dashed downhill with the 
stag in the midst of the herd, making another shot impossible. 
October 10. This has been a great day; that is, one of fluctuating success 
and varied interests, such as the deer stalker loves. It was a lovely crisp 
October morning with a clear sky and a “ nip ’’ in the air when Evan 
MacDonnell and I ascended the hill to the Home Beat, which contains the 
best ground for stags on Braulen. Our first destination was the base of 
the huge Punchbowl between the high ridges that mark the confines 
of the forests of Monar and Strathconan. This large corrie is generally 
unstalkable, except from above, when there is a strong south wind blowing, 
as on all other occasions the wind curls round and round, and renders the 
life of any stag with a nose perfectly safe. 
87 
