THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
and more, each uttering their well-known cries; whilst the great black 
woodpecker utters his screeching yell in full flight, or his peevish pipe as 
a call note. In a Carpathian forest one has not to sit for long before bands of 
marsh, coal, and, most beautiful of all, crested tits, flit by or come to 
inspect you most closely; whilst sometimes great flocks of mixed nut- 
hatches, tits and golden -crested wrens proclaim the close advent of winter. 
The best of the morning comes with the warmth of the sun, for the trees 
now sparkle as with a thousand jewels and colour and life awake in all 
Nature. 
But we could not wait for the sun to rise on this particular morning 
because the big stag of Satki gave one splendid roar right below us, and 
we had already felt a puff of wind at the back of our necks. In the morning 
the wind nearly always blows down hill in these mountains, so it did not 
take long to find that Pietro was in agreement that we should descend 
500 feet to the bottom of the valley and work upwards to our deer. A rough 
descent and then a flank movement brought us exactly beneath the point 
of the mountain we had lately occupied, but it was a long time before the 
stag again grunted to give us his exact position. 
“ We will go up straight to him,” whispered Pietro, and when I looked 
at the hill and its surface I wondered how on earth it was to be done. The 
ground was of the very worst, so steep one had to use the hands in climb- 
ing, and entirely covered with granite stone, small sticks, and, worst of all, 
beech leaves. As we panted and ground the loose shale beneath our feet 
I said to myself fifty times that no self-respecting stag would stop and 
listen to that infernal noise. The thing seemed an impossibilty, and yet 
I could not help thinking of a remark that Count E. Hoy os once made 
to me: “ Far more stags are lost than shot by advancing slowly and creep- 
ing about. When I find a stag in a bad place, I advance straight up to him 
as quickly as possible, hoping that he will take me for another stag. It is 
the only chance.’* The truth of this wise view of one of Austria’s most 
experienced hunters was shortly to be proved, for we had just reached 
the spot where the stag had last called and had paused for breath when I 
heard a stick crack above, and, looking up, saw the sun glinting on a fine 
pair of horns. The noble beast now appeared, glancing nervously to left 
and right, but fortunately not in our direction. I felt sure of an easy shot, 
but what was my disappointment to find that he kept the greater part of his 
body hidden amongst the serried stems of trees, and when he did halt, at 
forty yards’ distance, only the side of one haunch was visible. In this form of 
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