THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
lived Johnny Ross, perhaps the most knowledgeable stalker of Roe in the 
north. He had tales to tell me of one wonderful buck with exceptionally 
fine horns, and we started to search for this animal one lovely July morning 
in 1890. The bucks had just commenced to bark, for the rutting season 
was at hand, and their hoarse cries welled up from more than one hollow 
as we ascended the hill above the cottage just as dawn was breaking. 
In the course of the morning we saw no fewer than seven adult bucks, 
but I did not fire at, or seriously stalk, one of them, for all our efforts 
were concentrated on finding the big fellow. 
Four or five times we circled and returned to the birch wood to the west 
of the house, and although we distinctly heard the collie -like cry of a 
large buck in the wood, the animal itself refused to come into the open. 
In the course of the next three days I saw many roebucks, and going out 
one morning we gave the wind to a fine buck, which galloped along the hill- 
side opposite to me at about eighty yards. Whilst the Stag is not a very diffi- 
cult object to hit when moving at this pace, the reverse is the case with the 
Roe, for he is a small target at the best of times, and when galloping seldom 
moves in a straight line. As he plunged along over the broken ground 
I fired three shots, and evidently hit him with the last one, for he plunged 
to one side as if about to fall, and then recovered, and went over a small 
hill out of sight. 
“ I think we will go back to the hoose for Roy,” remarked Johnny, 
who possessed a fine old dog, half collie, half setter, of tried capability. 
Having brought out the dog the stalker laid him on to the trail, and we 
followed at leisure. Roy went off at a slow canter and soon passed beyond 
our sight. Presently we ascended a small hill and saw him assiduously 
following out the line. At length the dog showed by his stiffening attitude 
that he was drawing something, and we saw him come to a dead point 
opposite a large juniper bush. In rigid attitude he waited there for us to 
come up, and I felt the buck was mine. But it was not to be. When we were 
still 200 yards distant the roe suddenly emerged from the bush and 
galloped away slowly for a large covert on the hill, and we had the 
mortification of seeing the dog return to heel. The only thing now to 
be done was to approach the wood from above and work up wind 
downhill towards the point where the Roe had disappeared. This we did, 
making frequent ” casts ” across and across the wood, and though this 
occupied the best part of the morning, we never set eyes on the wounded 
buck again. 
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