THE BARASINGH STAG 
him produce that flute -like note of the wapiti, called by the Americans 
“bugling,” which, once heard, whether in the Rockies or Tian Shan, is 
never forgotten. 
Probably the most deadly time to hunt him is in the spring, shortly 
before the horns are dropped, but the game law does not allow him to be 
killed nowadays after March 15, so that the possibilities are rather 
curtailed. The barasingh seems to carry his horns very late, and I once 
saw two fair stags on the southern side of the Sinthan Pass still in 
possession of theirs on April 19. I think, however, this must have been 
exceptional. 
H.H. The Maharajah of Kashmir has a certain number of rukhs> or 
preserved nullahs, in which his guests are occasionally permitted to shoot, 
and the care with which these are protected has a beneficial effect on the 
stock in the neighbouring valleys. 
One of the best of these rukhs is called Dachgam, and the entrance to it 
is only a few miles’ drive from Srinagar. Here, in 1910, as a guest of the 
Maharajah, I got a very fine royal with antlers measuring 47 J inches in 
length; and as the proportions of the head are almost perfect it may be 
regarded as one of the best specimens on record. 
This was killed early in March in the deep snow, the season not being 
sufficiently advanced to produce the patches of young grass which tempt 
the deer from the forest about this time. What the old stags can find to 
subsist on in the winter time is a mystery, as they seldom come down, 
and therefore must content themselves with a diet of tree bark and twigs, 
as one seldom finds indications of their having scraped away the snow to 
look for food beneath. 
My particular stag was spotted by an assistant shikari, standing in 
thick tree jungle, across a narrow valley. Even with my telescope I could 
only see one horn clearly, and decided to chance the second one being as 
good and to take the shot, which was rather a long one, as soon as the stag 
moved to a more open spot. I had to lie prone in the snow a considerable 
time before my opportunity came. Then, as he moved forward a few paces, 
I was able to get a clear shot at his body and saw at once that he was badly 
wounded. There ensued a desperate chase of three-quarters of an hour, 
through deep snow, along the side of a steep hill. I occasionally got a 
glimpse of him toiling along in front of me, but the jungle was too thick for 
a sure shot. At last we were both reduced to such a stage of exhaustion that 
neither of us could go another yard. When I got up to the stag and was able 
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