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76 
British Deer and their Horns 
few seconds. The tension had grown extreme, when there was a momentary lift in the 
gloom, and I made out the dim forms of the deer just as a big hind, which I had not 
noticed, “ bruached ” loudly within 20 yards of us. The outline of the stag was barely 
visible when, after carefully aiming, I pressed the trigger, knowing that a moment later there 
would be no second chance. At the shot the deer at once disappeared, but I felt sure I had 
hit him, and on following the tracks for some 50 yards, there he lay as dead as a door-nail. 
Weight 13 stone 6 lbs. ; a wild head of 10 points, thin and evidently that of a deer on the 
decline. In the evening M‘Coll chaffed me for shooting what he called his old friend; 
but M‘Leish was jubilant, as he said that M‘Coll had often tried, but never managed even 
to stalk that particular stag. 
Friday , 6 th October .—The most tremendous tramp I think I ever had. We started at 
8.30, and were not home till 9 at night, being practically on the move the whole day, for 
the weather was too cold even to sit down to lunch. Went with MfColl all over his high 
ground to the top of Stob-a-na-nalaphnh (the peak of the wild boar). We looked into 
Corrie Hurich, where the stags were roaring like cattle in a Western corral. Many stags 
too were on our own ground, but hardly one of them was stationary for any length of time, 
the bitter wind, the snow and the hail showers keeping every beast on the move. At 
one time we ran nearly two miles to try and cut off a travelling stag, but without success. 
Arrived home pretty well done up, but thoroughly enjoyed my day on the whole, as the 
scenery on Glashven and the peak with the unpronounceable name were simply superb. 
Saturday 1 spent in walking home to Forest Lodge, and as one of the home beats 
was vacant on the Monday, mine host kindly asked me to stop and stalk it. 
Monday , 9 th October .—The sort of day a stalker often dreams of, but seldom experiences. 
A touch of frost, a heavenly blue sky, and a glorious view everywhere. To the top of 
Ben Toig with Donald MTntyre, the head stalker, a most charming companion. I saw 
more deer to-day than I think I ever saw before. They were literally everywhere. We 
made three distinct stalks without a shot, and found ourselves at 3 o’clock on the top of 
Ben Toig. On the way up the hill we sprang a good stag, which had been lying behind a 
rock ; he ran about 100 yards and then stood “at gaze,” and as I could neither sit nor lie 
down, I had to take him from the shoulder. Result, a handsome miss. This, however, 
did not discourage us, as we shortly spied from the summit of Ben Toig a magnificent stag 
lying in the midst of his harem, far away beneath our position. On a hillock facing him 
were some fifteen other stags scattered about, roaring occasionally, and evidently anxious 
to annex any of the hinds they might be able to cut out and drive off. The big stag, which 
could not have been much less than an 18-stone beast, gave us a lot of trouble. We 
made three stalks after him, but he defeated us every time ; and as it was then getting 
late, MTntyre begged me to take an old dark-coloured stag that was standing some 60 
yards off Just as I got into position he moved down the hill, and I fired as he was going 
out of sight—a broadside shot. On running forward he was nowhere to be seen, but just 
as I was sitting down against a rock three others, fair beasts, came into view and stood at 
about 200 yards’ distance down hill. Thinking stag No. 1 was missed, MTntyre told me to 
fire at the last of the three, and I did so. Much to my delight, he staggered forward and 
rolled over dead. My companion, who had left me, now commenced searching amongst 
