THE RED DEER 
trigger the stag turned round, and my shot tinkled on the stones in front 
of his chest. He with the others started and ran along the face directly 
below us, and though the shot was an easy one, I dared not fire for, if suc- 
cessful, the beast must have fallen at least 600 feet. So I had to wait until 
he was fully 230 yards away, when he stood on a tiny plateau. I aimed 
very carefully with the 200 yard sight, and heard the bullet tell. The other 
four stags ran away, but my stag, evidently hit too high, stood still. X. was 
anxious that I should not fire again for fear of alarming the corrie, so I 
withheld, and soon had the mortification of seeing the stag rouse up 
and go straight down the hill for more than a mile and then ascend the 
opposite face, where he lay down. 
The wind being wrong for that ground, X. said we had better leave him 
until the next day and go and look for another beast on the Glen Etive 
side. Much to my chagrin we did so, and soon found a good nine pointer. 
This stag was exceedingly alert, and had all the appearance of being 
recently disturbed, probably he had heard my two shots in Larig Ashton 
and had perhaps been just over the hill when I had fired them. At any 
rate it was three hours before we could do anything with him, for he foiled 
our attempts to stalk him on three occasions by moving suddenly up 
and down the glen. At last he moved over a ridge on to a basin on the east 
side of Buchaille Mhor, and by running down on to the ridge he had just 
vacated, I got a long shot at 200 yards, and killed him dead. His head, 
a nice strong one of thirty -three inches, is now in Dalness House, but I 
look on this day as a black letter one, for the memory of that lost royal 
will always stay with me. Just a little more patience and a wider sweep 
above him, and he would have been mine, but when you are under orders 
from a stalker who is careless, you may be sure things will often go 
wrong. X. was certainly very careless to-day. 
October 14. The last day of the season, and I am again granted the 
honour of looking for “ the big stag.” I was allowed to start at 8 a.m., 
so after consulting with X. we decided to walk right round Glen Etive 
and up Glencoe to Larig Ashton, on the chance of seeing him. If he is 
not there we can then advance up Corrie -na-Gabhail and look for the 
wounded ten pointer, and so home over the mountains. We arrived at 
the entrance of the glen at 12 noon and had not opened our glasses for one 
minute when X. remarked that he saw a very large stag in the same posi- 
tion as we had found “ the great one.” A short advance up the glen and 
we had a better view and another spy. Immediately my glass was on the 
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