RED DEER HUNTING IN GALICIAN FORESTS 
markably good models of the very best, the originals of which the Prince 
always gives to the successful stalker. Some of these are truly magnificent 
specimens, such as the eighteen-pointer, shot by Mr Rudolph Pick, the 
artist; the broken head with nine points on the left horn and 49 inches 
long, shot by the Duke of Braganza; the thirteen-pointer, 47 inches long, 
shot by Prince Alten Sachsen in 1896; the seventeen-pointer, shot by 
Mr E. N. Buxton, etc. But to my mind the two best heads are a perfect 
fourteen -pointer and a very large fifteen -pointer, 51 \ inches long, shot by 
Prince Henry himself, and now hanging in his study at Vienna, of 
which I give sketches. These are quite ideal red deer heads, and have few 
superiors amongst heads killed in Europe in recent times. 
It is curious to note that most of these giants have fallen to the rifle 
of the hunter not by the ordinary methods of approach, but by some 
curious incidents in stalking, which can only be termed “ flukes,” or 
“ hunting luck.” For instance, Mr Pick got his big stag by an extraordinary 
piece of good fortune. He was asleep on a high alp at midday. The chance 
of a shot was next to impossible, when he was suddenly awakened by the 
clash of horns. There, on the open green, not thirty yards away, were the 
two master stags of the valley, both eighteen -pointers, engaged in deadly 
strife. Of course he seized his rifle and shot them both in a moment. Prince 
Alten Sachsen was also asleep one day when a small dog he had with him 
came and licked his face. He woke up to chide the hound and saw the 
splendid thirteen -pointer walking along a path opposite to him. Prince 
Henry was toiling up a steep slope one day through fallen timber when he 
saw a vision of horns on the other side of a log just in front. In a moment 
he leapt on to the log and fired at the “ brown,” himself falling back- 
wards head over heels after the effort to recover his balance. He did not 
think the stag a remarkable one, until he came to examine it, but it is the 
rough fourteen -pointer here figured, and a head any sportsman might be 
satisfied with were he never to kill another. And so many tales could be 
told of how fortune comes to the man who least expects it, whilst the fickle 
goddess often scorns the man who works hardest and even possesses the 
most hunting skill.* 
After an inspection of dropped horns gathered in the previous spring, 
amongst which there was nothing remarkable, we spent the afternoon 
in a study of the map of the forest, when certain features of the various 
•An intimate friend of mine, who is an excellent hunter and hard worker as well, has been to Canada four times 
to try and kill a bull moose. He has had the best guides, has gone to the best places, and spent the whole season 
in the woods, yet so far he has never seen one. 
TT 
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