RED DEER HUNTING IN GALICIAN FORESTS 
or stepped over and every sweeping branch turned gently aside. The going 
was good, nothing but soft moss and wild hyacinths. The wind had gone, 
and we could hear a great black woodpecker half a mile away, giving 
sledge-hammer blows to some decayed stump. A flock of coal-tits came 
and inspected us at close quarters, and squeaked and chirped around the 
fir cones. We sat to listen for the next call, and heard the clanging trumps 
of a flock of wild geese passing far overhead on the way to the Danube. 
Through the air, too, went a steady stream of ring ousels, fieldfares and 
thrushes, now on their autumnal migration; whilst such familiar resi- 
dents as the common robin, wren and hedge accentor, flitted round us with 
the tameness born of knowledge that the great change was close to hand. 
“ My-au-ugh! — ugh! — ugh! ” There he is again, and evidently chasing 
the “ bei-hirsch ” out of the way, by the crunching of sticks that follow 
the challenge. The stag is still a good 400Jyards off, so we can hurry on 
for a while. We advance another 200 yards, and then Petro’s face is a 
study of worry and uncertainty. It is the next 100 yards that matters, 
and he knows it only too well. Just a slight puff of wind fans our cheeks, 
so I ask my hunter to sit still whilst I proceed alone. The forest here is 
fairly open and a view of eighty yards is open to the eye. There are abundant 
signs that the deer are close at hand, but they are not feeding, and con- 
sequently the hinds, at least, are sure to be staring about at every point 
of the compass. I creep forward for fifty yards, bending low to get a better 
view between the giant aisles of the forest, the trees here being over 100 
feet in height, but can see nothing, and so crawl on inch by inch hoping 
that those sharp eyes will not observe my slowly moving legs. But what 
is that — a slight moan in the tree -tops — the wind is stirring, and I feel a 
gentle puff at the back of my ears. A dull crash and then a single stamp 
about 100 yards in front, and I know the hinds have detected me. There 
is nothing to be done but to rush forward in the hope of cross-cutting 
the line of the retreating deer, so I run with all my might, and am just 
in time to see a white stern and then a pair of truly magnificent antlers 
swinging out of sight round the ridge of the hill. It was only a glimpse, but 
it was enough to convince me that “ Old Fededzyl ” had six atop on each 
side and that his cranial ornaments were not exaggerated. 
A somewhat amusing incident occurred at Pitseredna one day. The time 
was midday, and it was blazing hot, so we decided to ascend the high 
mountains of Doboshanka and admire the glorious scenery. Above the big 
timber we sat down to spy the great coverts of Lafchen (dwarf or creeping 
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