THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
amongst the hill basins , could die down and let us approach. Even 
the silent felt boots which I wore made some noise in such places, whilst 
the men made still more noise; so we wiped old “ Toaste ” off the slate 
and resolved to devote our energies to the big eighteen -pointer on Fededzyl, 
where there was some slight hope of success. I will not bore my readers 
with all the chances and changes of my stalks after this noble fellow. These 
were very exciting and pleasant, for every time you were filled with hope 
owing to his splendid roaring, which lasted without intermission all day, 
except when you got within 200 yards. Fededzyl wood lay on a steep slope 
facing south, and the wind being due north, curled over the high mountain 
of Doboshanka and descended through two great gullies on either flank. 
In the air currents where these two winds met our stag generally took 
up his position in a spot which, after three failures, I knew was unassail- 
able. I noticed, however, that early in the morning he was generally 
higher up the mountain, almost into the wind, or at evening he was low 
down, where stalking was extremely difficult and there was no wind at 
all, or only slight puffs. I will describe my last and fifth stalk at him because 
it is typical of Carpathian hunting. 
After an unsuccessful morning and afternoon with a stag at the far 
end of our beat we approached Fededzyl from the river bed below, as I 
resolved to try and work uphill to the stag, and so meet him as he came 
downhill at dusk out of the curling winds. Arrived within half a mile 
of the dense woods we heard our stag making his usual series of sup- 
pressed growls and grunts, so different from the angry leonine roar of 
old “ Toaste,” who answered his challenge from the opposite hill. Old 
“ Fededzyl ” was, as usual, accompanied by six hinds and a “ bei-hirsch,” 
that is, a young stag, or hanger on, who lingers round the rutting herd, 
and whose cries are easily distinguished by their different tone. The calls 
of these Carpathian stags vary far more than those of Scottish or English 
park stags. There seems to be every gradation of tenor, baritone and 
bass. I heard stags howl almost like a wolf. Some old stags never call 
the whole season, except to give an occasional grunt; others only “ yawn,” 
whilst some, generally immatures, keep up the usual yawning roar con- 
tinuously, and are in marked contrast to the deep “ stomachy ” grunts 
of the irritable patriarchs. 
Having located the exact position of our quarry, Petro and I entered 
the dense timber and crawled like ants up through the forest. Every 
footstep was taken with the utmost caution, every dry stick was removed 
330 
