THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
a bullet just at the right place — the base of the neck. He was a fine stag, 
15 stone 9 lb., in the best of condition, with a strong black nine-point head. 
After gralloching the stag we moved down the hill in the direction 
of the stalker’s house, as it was not usual, on Black Mount, to kill a second 
stag owing to the difficulties of getting it home, even on the following 
day; Altahourn being nearly twenty miles away from the larder at the 
Forest Lodge. As we marched along in the dusk we suddenly came upon 
a great mob of deer, moving swiftly up the hill towards us, evidently scared 
from the low ground by the river or from Dalness on the other side. Our 
glasses showed us three or four fine stags amongst them, one being a 
very heavy beast with a wide head. As we surveyed them the whole glen 
echoed with a series of thunderous explosions from the far side of the 
river. Evidently C. was having trouble or sport of an unusual kind with 
his old black powder *500 express. We counted seven shots, at each of 
which the mass of deer below us surged and rushed upwards. 
But one man’s misfortunes are often the opportunity of another. The 
herd below collected under some steep rocks at our feet, and I had only 
to move a short distance to command them with ease. The only difficulty 
was to see one’s sight and to get the big stag clear. At last he stood partly 
out from the rest, and I got a shot at his neck. He collapsed at once and 
rolled nearly a hundred yards down the hill whilst the rest of the herd 
stampeded in all directions. A heavy stag, over 16 stone, but with a some- 
what poor head. 
October 12, 1897. A great honour has come to me. I am deemed worthy 
to stalk the stag in the royal Forest of Dalness, whilst poor C. has left 
in something like disgrace. Our hostess seldom goes near the forest 
or knows what is going on there, but on this occasion she herself had 
heard the terrible bombardment of yesterday, and had ascertained its 
cause. C. had actually wounded a fine stag on Dalness — and, worse still — 
had chevied it down the hill and, amidst unprecedented uproar, had 
“ shooed ” it on to that inferior place. Black Mount, where rival stalkers 
would rejoice. Her “ pet rifle ” might indeed err — that was bad enough — 
but that those hateful people across the march should laugh was a thing 
too bitter for words. It is all very well to say that deer stalking at Dalness 
must only be conducted in the true old Highland style when “ the rifle ” 
has a twelve -mile walk in prospect before he gets to his beat, and is not 
allowed to start before 9.30 a.m., but it means a man must possess youth 
and a taste for the “ strenuous life.” Added to this he is expected to be home 
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