THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
in the waning light. This may seem a poor excuse, but when the shot 
went off I knew at once I had missed the best head I had ever seen, or 
was ever likely to see. 
Johnny did his best to console me, but for a whole year visions of that 
buck kept returning, and my peace of mind was only partially restored 
when I received another invitation to go to Kiltarlty in 1891. That season 
I got only one buck, a curious malformed head, that I killed the last day 
as it galloped up the hill. It was a very “ fluky ” shot, and I thought I had 
missed it, but Ross found the animal dead, by chance, some time after- 
wards, and sent me the head. The big fellow was still on the beat, but he 
had moved into Boblainey, and although we hunted there, the chances of 
seeing him in so large a wood were somewhat remote. 
In 1892 I again went to Beaufort to stalk Roe, at the invitation of Mr Van 
Andre, and had four delightful days. I killed one fair buck on the second 
day, and again searched assiduously for the big buck, which still fre- 
quented the birch wood at intervals. Coming home on the fourth evening 
we saw a doe on the sky line, towards the Eskadale march, and stalked 
to within 150 yards of her. As the season was late July we made sure there 
would be a buck close at hand, and dallied for a long time in the hope that 
this would be the case. Just as we were about to leave her, Johnny’s sharp 
eyes found something lying in the bracken, and further investigation 
proved it to be the head of a roebuck. The animal lay half hidden, and I 
did not feel any enthusiasm about its size until it suddenly stood up and 
revealed its proportions. It was the big buck, without doubt, and standing, 
as it did on the skyline, looked remarkable. This time I had a good rifle 
and a good light to shoot in, so when we had crawled forward sixty yards 
or so, and I found the beast quietly feeding, I pressed the trigger as if my 
life depended on a sure aim. At the sound of the shot the big buck gave 
just one step forward and fell dead. His horns were thick, rough, and very 
long, ten and three-quarter inches, and the animal himself evidently 
slightly over his prime. I cannot help thinking that in 1890 his horns 
were even longer, but I was well contented at killing such a beautiful 
trophy, that seldom falls to the lot of any sportsman — in Scotland at 
least. In the same month I got another very good head of nine and a 
half inches at Cawdor. The keeper, Sutherland, and I were walking 
quietly along a forest road, and the buck simply stood and looked at us 
at about twenty-five yards, evidently hoping we would pass by. I had 
an exciting chase after a fine buck at Eskadale once through hitting 
170 
