REINDEER-STALKING IN RYFYLKE. 
45 
country for two days, and at any rate these old stor 
bocks taught us a lesson. 
In reindeer-stalking one sets out full of hope and 
keenness, and with the favouring wind. But towards 
evening, when one begins the long tramp back, tired 
and empty-handed, and conscious too that the traitor 
breeze is now disclosing our presence to every deer for 
two miles in advance, then that intense keenness is apt 
to relax. This was our case to-night when, after ten 
hours’ fruitless hunting, we came suddenly right on 
these two big bucks in the depths of a rocky ravine. 
They had seen us just as we saw them, and were off like 
grey shadows. Lars had the rifle, and ere it could be 
unslung and loaded, the deer had vanished. These deer, 
it should be noted, had been directly to leeward of us, 
but in that deep gorge the human scent had been carried 
high over their heads. Had we spied the glen with due 
care, the stalk would have presented no difficulty, indeed 
we were already within long shot. But, of course, I did 
not know the ground or of the existence of this ravine, 
which opened upon us with the usual abruptness. 
One other incident will I relate. Towards the 
end of our sojourn on the fjeld, Lars and I had 
separated to spy the corries on either side of a high 
ridge, agreeing to meet on the lake beyond. I had 
crossed the apex of a sort of double moraine, when I 
heard the rattle of hoofs behind, and a fine rein-buck 
was galloping up within thirty yards. In an instant, 
with a tremendous bound, he turned and fled. Inside that 
same instant the rifle was pitched up and a snap-shot 
fired as though at a rabbit—every resolve forgotten, no 
apology for an aim taken. The deer winced, but away 
