THE LAST STALK OF THE SEASON 177 
about three-quarters end on, a very difficult shot. 
I raised the rifle, sighted the stag, and pressed 
the trigger. There was a sound of a little click, 
and that was all. " A misfire ! " I muttered 
below my breath. " Are you sure you loaded 
the rifle after lunch ? " " Yes, sir, I am," said 
Macdougall. " Very well, then," I replied, "I'll 
try him with the second barrel," and raised the 
rifle. " Don't fire," said Macdougall ; " we'd 
better make sure." With some difficulty, owing 
to the position I was in and the necessity of keep- 
ing as flat as possible, I opened the rifle, and lo 
and behold it was empty ! I loaded it as quickly 
as I could. Meantime, the stag had moved on a 
few yards, and was now standing broadside on. 
I put up the rifle, took a steady aim, and fired. 
There was a thud ; the stag gave a start and 
then moved slowly forward. "You have him," 
said Macdougall. I said, " I don't know that." 
" He's varra sick," said Macdougall, " and will 
never get over the hill." The stag had evidently 
been shot in the stomach. He was looking very 
sick, poor beast, and was walking slowly forward, 
stopping every now and then. All the other deer 
had disappeared as if by magic except the little 
stag, who kept some distance in front of the big 
23 
