THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
predestined, Pietro crouched beside me, with a happy smile of certain suc- 
cess. His mind was in complete contrast to my own, for I could not now see 
the edge of the forest and was shivering as well. Ten minutes went by before 
the stag again roared, this time right below us on the open hill, and yet I 
could see nothing — all was obliterated in mist. Then up went the curtain, 
and I saw for a moment what appeared to be an enormous stag, standing 
broadside on. I put up the rifle and aimed, but at that moment the cloud 
descended and I saw nothing. Three times was this repeated, and at last 
I resolved to fire at anything that looked like a body. Slowly the mist moved 
upwards, when, aiming as carefully as possible and holding the rifle per- 
fectly still, I fired. Looking downwards, I could see nothing; Pietro, how- 
ever, was already on his feet and bent his head to kiss my hand. He had 
heard the bullet strike the stag and was satisfied. We now ran down the 
green slope to get some warmth into our bodies, and at once saw the stag, 
a nice fourteen -pointer, with black horns, lying dead on the edge of the 
forest. The distance of the shot, as I afterwards paced it, was exactly 150 
yards, so I cannot complain of being unlucky that evening. 
The lives of all who hunt the wild beasts of the earth are made up of 
periods of success and failure. The most trifling incidents may be the 
cause of one or the other, so that it behoves us to give the utmost attention 
to details that might to the uninitiated appear trivial. Rifles and cartridges 
are now for the most part so excellent and reliable that we seldom hear of 
failure in them when the hunter is an old and experienced hand, because 
he is sure to have given them an exhaustive test before final adoption. 
In 1908 I bought a new *375 cordite rifle, throwing a heavy bullet, from a 
celebrated Bond Street maker and had given it a thorough test, which had 
proved satisfactory. Each year, before starting on a hunting expedition, 
I had fired twenty cartridges rapidly at a mark, and there had been no 
hitch, but now it was to fail me at a critical moment. 
Two days after the last incident recorded, Pietro suggested that we should 
spend the afternoon in working slowly against the wind, along the much- 
used paths of a great stag which he knew frequented the forest -line beneath 
the great Doboshanka mountain. Not a stag would call, so it was a good 
suggestion which I readily adopted. About 3 p.m. we were creeping slowly 
up wind through the forest, when suddenly there was a loud crash in front 
and I saw four hinds dash down hill out of sight; a moment afterwards the 
best stag I have ever seen rose from a hollow, and after running a few steps, 
stooa regarding us at fifty yards. It was the chance of a lifetime, and as I 
350 
