THE RED DEER 
wild shots at the first “knobber” that shows his nose, and too little 
consideration given to the wit of the quarry. The illustrated papers which 
convey thrilling accounts of these drives only depict “ magnificent 
trophies ** of 9 and 10 stone. Doubtless these people enjoy themselves in 
their own way, but that is not the way to successfully drive deer. 
Almost at the first tap of Fraser’s stick there was a movement in the 
woods below. First one large hind and then another came into a little 
space of green. They were now moving slowly uphill, in Indian file, passing 
in and out of the trees. When they appeared, climbing towards the open, 
and constantly stopping to look back, I counted twelve hinds and a young 
three -year -old stag. Up and up they came with ease and grace, following 
the windings of the main trail, which passed close to my left. In fact, 
they came so close at last that I feared they would detect me and break 
back, so I lay out flat behind the bush until the small herd had gone safely 
by. Again I looked down the hill and saw four more hinds taking the 
ascent, and in a few moments five young stags ranging from three to 
possibly five years following them. 
None of these deer seemed much frightened, for the wood had not been 
previously “ moved ” during the season, so they took the path they doubt- 
less used to go out to feed at night, without suspicion. They soon passed 
on to the ridge above me where, although they had not yet got the wind, 
they might see me and give the alarm, so I kept closely hidden till all 
danger was over. The sound of Fraser’s stick some 400 yards below proved 
that the extemporary drive was almost at an end when, looking down, 
I saw a single hind followed by a big yellow stag walking slowly up the 
hill not 100 yards away. They seemed to have materialized out of space, 
for it was easy to observe anything below at 200 yards, where all the ground 
was open except for stunted birch. However, there was the big switch - 
horn. He refused to stop, though I whistled to him twice, so I took him as 
he moved, and shot him behind the shoulder. He only staggered a few 
yards and fell dead. A good stag of 15 stone, but much “ run.” So ended 
a delightful week of Highland stalking. I had enjoyed six days on the hill, 
killing eight good stags, of which three had fine heads, though by no means 
exceptional. I could have easily shot twenty ‘‘shootable beasts ” if my host 
had wished them to be killed, but he is not the kind of man who desires to 
kill seventy stags on a forest where forty ought to be shot. It would be a 
good thing for other forests if there were a few more tenants like him. 
J. G. MILLAIS. 
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