GALICIA, 1910 
I N the foregoing chapter I have endeavoured to show the reader that 
stag-hunting, as practised in the Galician forests, is neither a luxu- 
rious sport nor one attended with frequent success. The triumphs, 
in fact, are few and the disappointments many, and yet to the true 
hunter, whose chief pleasure is in the overcoming of difficulties, it 
has its attractions, which, combined with the knowledge that luck 
plays a prominent part in the game, urges a man forwards. Luck is sure 
to come your way if you have the opportunity to persevere long enough, 
and so it was with renewed hopes of a better season that I set out for Tar- 
tarow on September 14, 1910. Prince Henry, in his generous way, had 
said, “ Come when you like,” and so I left England with the intention of 
spending four days in examining the exhibition of hunting trophies then 
being held in the Prater at Vienna. So much has been written about this 
wonderful show, so full of interest to lovers of Nature and the rifle, that 
I need do no more than say it was the best thing of its kind ever brought 
together, or ever will be in our generation. All that good taste and skill could 
suggest, together with a knowledge of the whereabouts of the best heads, 
combined to show us the best trophies that the continent of Europe has pro- 
duced. The exhibitions of the Austrian and German Emperors, the sepa- 
rate pavilions of the Austrian Archdukes and Princes, were all crowded 
with the most remarkable examples of stag and roe heads arranged in a 
manner beyond all praise; whilst the unique Moritzburg collection of 
red deer heads may be said to have occupied a class by itself — one head 
(with frontlet only) in this collection being of such a size as to weigh no 
less than 28 kilos. The British exhibit, though well arranged by Mr Fair- 
holme, was scarcely representative, whilst those of Norway, Sweden and 
the various Austrian states were full of good things dear to the soul of the 
hunter. 
I could have stayed a fortnight in such an absorbing place, but Sep- 
tember 20 had come — it was getting frosty at night, and stags would be 
roaring now. 
It was freezing hard as I stepped out of the train at Stanislau early next 
morning. Four hours more and I drove up to the Forest Lodge at Tartarow 
to find that Prince Henry, and the few guests who had come, were away 
at their kolibas in the mountains. As yet no stags had been killed, but the 
frost had come early and that gave the prospect of a good roaring season. 
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