THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
me looking at the stag, which carried a great head, just opened his glass, 
took one look, snapped it up, and continued the stalk. 
But the deer in front no longer interested me. We feel no enthusiasm 
in the work of the “ cubists ” when the National Gallery is open. So it 
was with no sense of actual sorrow that I saw an old hind in the vale below 
cock her ears and suddenly trot oif up wind into the sanctuary, carrying 
behind her the rest of her party, including the stag we were actually 
stalking. I sat down with a sigh of relief and looked again across the 
corrie. Yes, there he was just snoozing in the afternoon nap. What a head 
too — not very thick, but very long, well shaped, and fifteen good points. 
He had all the appearance of a young stag, though his head would be as 
good as the three best in Scotland that season, and I wondered how he 
could have grown it, the grass of this forest being poor. 
“ Well, I suppose we must try him,” remarked D., “ but I fear we’ll 
no get in.” It was a difficult stalk, and I expected to see the stag rise to 
his feet more than once and dash away. The wind was curling every way, 
though the mist, for once, helped us in showing possible mistakes. 
D. made some really daring moves, so dangerous in fact that, did I not 
know him to have been an absolutely honest fellow, I might have suspected 
he was trying to put the stag away. Things were not conducted on such 
mean lines, however, in that forest, so when our closest shaves on the 
edge of the wind came off, I could only admire the man’s perfect knowledge 
of his own ground. The last little slope was crept over, and we craned our 
necks round a great boulder to see the fifteen -pointer at one hundred 
yards, and there he was lying as still and quiet as we had first seen him. 
D., usually a quiet and excellent stalker, was now in a frenzy of agitation. 
His face was pouring with sweat and looking the picture of misery. ‘‘ Well, 
I think I will kill him,” I remarked confidently, to allay his alarms. 
‘‘ It’s no that,” he replied, almost crying, ” that’s the staig a’ve bin 
saving for her leddieship these twa years syne, and noo a dinna ken what’s 
to be din ava.” The truth was out, and I paused to reflect. There is no 
doubt a very little persuasion would have been required to have allowed 
me to fire the shot, but when I looked at the stag at this short range I could 
plainly see that it was a young and ” improving ” beast. My host, too, 
was keen on getting up his forest, and would, I know, not have fired at such 
an animal, however tempting. He had always treated me so well that I could 
not do what I knew he would disapprove of. I confess it was a bitter disap- 
pointment, yet I had no option but to crawl away and look for another beast. 
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