THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
high, and almost entirely covered with deep heather, which, if burnt, 
would make excellent grouse ground, for which, in fact, the whole beat 
was far more fitted than for deer. Braulen requires a small area of grouse 
ground away from the main deer forest, and here it is just to hand for the 
sake of a little careful burning, but whether the proprietor will see his way 
to doing so is another matter.* We wandered about in delightful scenery 
with about as much chance of seeing a good stag — at this season, at any 
rate — as a pink buffalo. In fact, we saw nothing till the afternoon, when 
Fraser offered to produce the one stag he knew to be on the beat, a big 
switch -horn, that dwelt in the wood above Loch Mhuiln. Woods at the 
base of high deer forests nearly always contain a stag or two at all seasons, 
even though the grazing is nil and the browsing poor, so that hope was 
once more rekindled when Fraser directed me towards a certain spur 
on the top of the ridge above the wooded slopes of the loch. The descent 
to the water was steep and moderately open, so that any deer climbing 
the face were sure to be somewhat slow, whilst there was a good chance 
that they would be “ viewed ” before taking the pass that led over the 
shoulder where I sat concealed by a small bush. 
Meanwhile Fraser had plunged downhill to give his wind to the woods 
and to tap gently with a stick on the birch stems. It was a perfect October 
morning, with the sun shining on the blue waters of the loch, on which 
streamed showers of golden birch leaves. The hills above were as green 
and purple as Scotland only paints them, and all Nature was hushed 
after the storms of yesterday. I sat and smoked a pipe of contemplation 
and expectancy, for a deer drive, with one driver, was in progress, and 
more likely to be a success than some of those conducted by swarms of 
men. Deer are obstinate and suspicious creatures like ourselves. You 
can suggest and even prey on their fears, but you must not insist or coerce. 
If you do they will resent it and do exactly what they are not wanted to 
do. I know of one estate in the Highlands where two deer drives take 
place every year, and never a good stag is killed, though sometimes one 
is seen — by the beaters, of course. An army of men surround the hills 
and block all known deer trails, except those guarded by the rifles, but 
somehow it is never a success. There is too much noise and smoking, 
too many charming ladies in resplendent tartans, and too many heads 
on the skyline, too many flashing rifles brandished in the air, too many 
* Since these lines were written Cairnsorie has been turned into a small grouse moor and the ground properly 
burnt. Mr Henderson has killed as many as 450 brace of grouse there in one season. 
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