RED DEER HUNTING IN GALICIAN FORESTS 
winter. Accordingly it lay down across the metals and went to sleep. The 
first train coming from Hungary decapitated it, and its carcass was found 
the next morning by a platelayer going his rounds. One season the Prince 
gave orders that the hunters were to take note of all fresh spoor of bears 
seen upon the coming of the first snow. In this manner the presence of 
over fifty bears was recorded from different parts of the Tartarow forest. 
Sometimes our host has a drive for bears at the end of the season if there 
are a sufficient number of rifles to cover the passes. The entire staff of 
over fifty beaters drive the mountain sides, and sometimes several bears 
are seen and one or two killed. 
On September 26 1 rode, accompanied by the usual retinue, to the moun- 
tain beat of Pit-Seredra, situated about two and a half hours from our new 
base at Zelonica. This was the most interesting and beautiful place I saw in 
the Carpathians. In the first place the scenery was magnificent, and three 
big stags were known to be roaring at each other all day long up there. 
Each seemed to bear a charmed life, since for many seasons they had been 
in the same situation, and had pitted their wits successfully against the 
most brilliant brains in Austria. There would be some credit in killing 
one of these knowing fellows, to say nothing of the mighty horns all were 
said to bear. My new stalker was one Petro Gudla, an ingenious creature 
and a fine hunter, very keen and so modest in the belief of his own powers 
of stalking (and no wonder, for old stags of Fededzyl, Toaste and Dobosh- 
anka had beat him annually for many years) that he was for ever suggesting 
a drive or some nonsense of that sort. One day he said to me sweetly, 
“ What sort of a man are you ? ” 
“ An Englishman,” I replied. 
“Well, why don’t you shake all over ? ” imitating the action with the 
words. To this odd question he volunteered an explanation. 
“ I know only one Englishman. His name was Andrews, and he coughed 
and shook all over — like so. Do not all Englishmen shake like that ? ” he 
asked innocently. I assured him that there were several men in England 
besides myself who did not suffer from chronic jumps, and he seemed 
satisfied. 
In the evening we waited for old “Toaste,” as he is called, after the 
name of the mountain on which he dwells — a dreadful place, all dry beech 
leaves and sticks. One experience in his habitat, which ended in defeat as 
usual, was sufficient to convince me that unless rain or snow fell this stag 
was unstalkable, even if the tricky winds, which swirled in all directions 
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