THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
in its case. We advanced, and there was no sign of the stag. Presently he 
cleverly took the line of the galloping stag over the hill. I roamed away 
to the right, and after a vain search returned to the hill, where I found 
McLeish standing and scratching his head. It was not until I was almost 
beside him that I found he was standing over the dead stag, luckily hit 
just in the right place. 
This concluded McLeish’s stalking on Black Mount after over forty 
years* service, and I doubt if Scotland has ever produced a better man 
on the hill or one who knew more about the true science of deer -stalking. 
He has now retired on a pension, with a little farm attached, but I rather 
think his simple soul often soars away from bullocks and potatoes to the 
high corries of Ben Starab, where the deer are roaring and where all his 
happy days have been spent. 
“ A man who has killed a deer is like a dog who has killed a sheep — 
he is sure to want to do it again,’* said Edward Ross, and there is no truer 
saying. 
The day following this interesting stalk I had a tremendous tramp, 
from daylight to dark, over the highest mountains in Argyll, with James 
McColl. We went right over the top of Stob-a-na-nalapinach (the peak of 
the wild boar) and looked into Corrie Hurich. We saw many fine stags, but 
blinding snow and hail showers unsettled the deer to such an extent 
that they were running hither and thither all day for shelter, and we 
never got a chance. One inspiriting run of about two miles put some 
warmth into our frozen bodies, but did not achieve the desired object, 
which was to head a party of travelling deer with a big stag amongst them. 
They were too quick for us, however, and we only succeeded in moving 
two other lots of deer in the course of the run. McGoll was always rather 
a sinner in this respect, and did not compare well with the other Black 
Mount stalkers in point of skill. 
The next day I tramped back to the Forest Lodge, and my host kindly 
offered me a day on Ben Toig with the head stalker, McIntyre. I had never 
previously been on the “ Home ** beat, as it was generally stalked from 
Forest Lodge, so I looked forward with great pleasure to the experience, 
as it was the best beat in the best forest in Scotland. I think I never saw 
more deer in one day in a Scottish forest (except once from the road looking 
on the big glen at Strathvaich) than I did on this day, October 9, 1894. 
They were literally everywhere, and it required some skill on the part 
of McIntyre to rise to the summit of the hills overlooking the west side of 
108 
