A Day in Larig Dochart 87 
deep, I felt sure that the carcass would be smashed to pieces if it reached the bottom. But 
fortune favoured us this time. The line of the fall was happily an unbroken series of grassy 
slopes terminating in big boulders. Only one rock had been struck, and in a few minutes 
Grant and I were at the side of the dead stag, filled with delight in his beauty and at the 
wonderful good luck that had enabled us to enjoy it. 
“ Now, Mr. Millais, how about that six months’ pay ? ” remarked the stalker, with a 
sly twinkle in his eye. Yes, there was no doubt about it, this was the identical stag that 
all day long I had been so anxious to shoot, and now I could hardly contain myself for joy 
at the realisation of my hope. He was not by any means a heavy stag, scaling only 15 stone 
clean, but his beautifully compact frame, leonine neck, and branching antlers came fully up 
to my anticipations on first viewing him through the glass. The tops of the horns, which 
lacked one point to make him Royal, were very fine, as were also the tray points, but there 
was a perceptible falling off in the strength of the brows and bays, showing that he was 
evidently an old beast on the decline. Whether or not the lost point was broken off in the 
fall down-hill we could not say, but the loss was evidently a recent one. The first bullet, 
we found, had struck below and behind the heart, narrowly escaping a clean miss, while the 
second, penetrating the ribs, had brought matters to a conclusion. 
\ 
WAITING FOR DONALD 
