A Day in Larig Dochart 83 
a line for itself down the hill-side, ending in a marshy burn, where little or no protection could 
be obtained. It was one of the most exciting and most pleasurable stalks I ever enjoyed, 
for within 150 yards of us were half a dozen hinds, in full view nearly all the time, and every 
nerve was braced up in the effort to avoid alarming them. At last, after half an hour of 
doubts, hopes, and fears, we gained the coveted standpoint, but only to gaze on the hind¬ 
quarters of the last stag as he fed rapidly away out of shot, with the herd spread out like a 
fan in front of him. It was a bitter disappointment, but there was hardly time to utter a 
naughty word before another scene presented itself. Glancing backward, Grant noticed that 
FEEDING NERVOUSLY AFTER BEING MOVED 
the hinds were advancing every minute nearer to our line of retreat, and unless we hurried 
up at once, they would get wind of us and all would be over. So off we started for the top 
of the hill again, taking every step with redoubled caution, as some of the hinds had already 
moved to within sixty yards of our only covering, and seemed to be more unsettled in their 
movements. Happily for us, their attention was mainly directed to the retreating line of the 
stags; so, though our pace up the hill was twice as fast as that of our descent, we succeeded 
in regaining the summit without a single hitch. 
It was now a case of “ check,” but not “ checkmate,” thanks to Grant’s intimate 
knowledge of the ground and his quick manoeuvres. Our chance of a shot was but a poor 
one, but there was just the hope that some of the stags might return to their former position 
before the light failed; and for even a difficult shot at the noble hart I had seen, I was mad 
