86 
British Deer and their Horns 
that his horns almost rested on his back, I saw at once that, if not the big stag we had 
been so anxiously watching, he was at any rate quite as good. 
And now for the shot ! In place of my own rifle, the striker of which had gone wrong 
on the previous day, my host had kindly lent me a 450 Reilly, which, though otherwise 
perfect, shot very high at a close range, as he was careful to point out. So when this 
monarch of the glen stood and boldly faced me within 30 yards, I took a very fine sight 
below his heart. What, then, was my amazement on seeing him swing round and dash at 
full speed down the hill again as the only response to my shot ! It seemed to me impossible 
to have missed him standing as he was, even supposing the bullet had gone point blank 
without any rise in the trajectory. Still there he was, bolting down the rocks apparently 
unscathed, and at the moment there was no chance of getting in the other barrel, as at the 
THE LAST CHANCE BEFORE NIGHT 
foot of the rocks immediately beneath us he was met by two other big stags, upon which he 
turned away along the hill-side, with them so close at his heels that it was impossible to 
shoot without the risk of “ haunching ” him. For some 50 yards the three animals sailed 
along at a steady gallop, when suddenly number two made a savage thrust with his horns at 
the leading stag, throwing him upon his haunches right off the path. Grant was now sure 
our stag was badly hit ; yet after recovering his legs he still moved on at a good pace, 
following in the steps of the other two, who had by this time shot past him. At last a sharp 
turn in the path brought him to a slow trot, and from that to a quick shuffling walk, which 
was apparently distressful. As he was still only about 100 yards off, and presented a good 
broadside, I let him have the left barrel as he was on the point of turning away again, and 
once more he started off at a hard gallop. But it was the poor beast’s last effort. After 
going some 30 yards his legs suddenly gave way under him, and he rolled over and over 
like a rabbit shot bolting from a hill-side. As he bumped along from one plateau to another 
Grant was loud in his lamentations. “ Hoots, toots,” he cried, “ when will she stop ? when 
will she stop ? She’ll be jelly whatever” ; and as the corrie was six or seven hundred feet 
