Roe-Stalking and Roe Heads 203 
and November shoot the roebucks that they wish for without disturbing the covers. But this 
must be done by men who know every bit of the ground. It may be properly termed 
“ roe-moving ” and not “ roe-driving.” 
During the thirteen years we were at Murthly, I only remember two old roebucks 
being killed, at the annual two days’ cover shoot about the middle of October, when, by the 
way, every one expected to shoot them. I therefore had the pleasure of hunting bucks after 
it was over, and generally managed to get two or three good ones every season. In the last 
six years of our tenancy we killed no does, unless an occasional visitor wished to shoot one, 
so the stock increased rapidly and wandering bucks from the hills were induced to stay. 
These crisp autumn days are delightful in the big fir woods of Perthshire, and there is far 
more real sport, and consequently real enjoyment, in wandering about, with perhaps one 
companion, and studying at leisure the ways of the wild creatures and their surroundings, 
than amid the bustle and management that have to take place at every big cover shoot. 
The roe is generally looked upon as a stupid, easy beast to shoot, and so he is — some¬ 
times. Still, for all that, I have seen more roe missed than woodcocks, and by good shots too. 
Their peculiar bounding gait, being so entirely different from anything else in the game 
list, is apt to be confusing to those who have not shot many. One meets keepers who can 
shoot rabbits well and are duffers at driven birds, so an old friend of mine, Mr. A, is a very 
ordinary shot, but rarely misses a roe ; he loves roe-hunting in its proper sense, and knows 
all about the deer and their habits. One day at Dupplin a remark of his to another friend, 
Mr. B, a capital shot and most anxious to kill a roe, was both characteristic and to the point. 
Th ere had been two or three drives, and B had been put in the passes where the roe would 
most likely come, but he showed himself at the critical moments, frightening one lot 
back, whilst in another drive a good buck had detected him and come to me. Lamenting 
his ill-luck to A at lunch, the only consolation he received was, “Well, old chap, when I 
want to shoot a roe I don’t light my pipe with a lucifer in the first drive, nor blow my nose 
with a blankety-blank pocket-handkerchief in the second just as the deer are coming on.” 
He had spotted B committing both these enormities. 
Th is work is of necessity becoming long, as one thing leads to another, but I cannot 
help telling just one little yarn about roe-shooting that is beautifully illustrative of Scotch 
caution. Every year at Stobhall, at the end of the season, my father used to give the 
tenants and little farmers a day through the woods. Some of them could shoot, and others 
were only dangerous to their friends. One winter the party included the local “ wut,” Jock 
M‘Donald, who, like the rest, thirsted for the blood of a roe. After lunch (during which 
several healths had been drunk) Jock was placed at the end of a wood, where, on the 
approach of the beat, he was seen to fire several shots into one spot. The small boys, who 
were exceedingly thick on the ground, asked Jock what he had been blazing at, as he 
appeared to be nervous and excited ; but his reply was that it was “naethin’,” he was “jist 
shutin’ to while awa’ the time.” 
Two days afterwards Jock appeared, looking crestfallen, at the head keeper’s house. 
There was no fire in his eye, and his cheery impudence had deserted him for once. 
“ Weel, Jeames, that wus a graun’ day’s shutin’ twa days syne,” he suggested. 
“Yes, Jock, I’m glad ye enjoyed it,” was the reply. 
