I took the landmarks more accurately this time, and we returned back the way we had come, over the top of the hill again.

It seems very absurd, but in spite of all my precautions we did precisely the same thing a second and third time. I could not have thought it possible to have been so completely deceived. At last we came to a mountain lake, and farther than that there was no more cover; so placing my companion in a peat bog and telling her on no account to move or put up her head, I crawled down on my hands and knees till I got on a level with the deer, which was 80 or 90 yards off. I was more than doubtful about getting it, as I found I had no exploding bullets with me, and the bullets I had were so small that unless the deer was struck in a vital part, it would be sure to get away without showing a sign of being hit at all.

I would not venture to put it up, but took a very long and steady aim, with a perfect rest on the bank of the bog, into which my blackened knees were slowly sinking.

With my eyelids tightly closed (after my usual fashion), I fired my one little barrel, and had the immense satisfaction of finding that the deer could not

rise. I loaded again as quick as possible, and ran forward to shoot it through the head, and thus put an end to its life.

We were both immensely pleased, as the deer was a very nice one, and in good condition; and I ended the day by shooting four rabbits on the way back, as we hurried home to send up some one to grallock the deer before it got spoilt. The keeper who was sent to do this had no difficulty in finding the exact spot only from my description; though it was so dark he had to go with a lanthorn, he walked as straight as a line to the place where the stag lay, while I made all 'those mistakes in broad daylight.

SKETCH XXIII

MORE ABOUT STALKING

HE first time I took my little single-barrel

rifle out stalking, was when there was none other available.

I had been using a mongrel rifle, the stock of which was made by Lancaster and the barrels by Purdey. Then it met with an accident, and the stock got broken, so it was sent to the smithy to be repaired, and a piece of some sort of bright metal was added to the thin end of the stock, in order to join it on to the lock.

While this was being done I had the offer of a day's stalking. I could not throw away one of my few chances, though I was told it would be quite useless to go a long expedition with such small bullets as mine, as I should be sure only to wound the deer, even if I got near enough to get a shot at any of them. Well, Mac

and I set off up a glen some miles distant, to try our luck; and he must have felt as if he were walking upon air, having such a little light rifle to carry after that fearful Purdey.

It was a very stormy day. The wind came in great gusts, and there were cold showers of rain and hail to make it more cheerful.

After walking four or five miles, we found some deer half-way up the side of a very steep mountain, and we soon saw that they had established themselves in a place where the wind blew round them in a complete circle. We watched the hail, and saw that it began by sweeping up the glen from west to east, then turned up the mountain, and finally, before the storm was over, beat right down from the top on to the deer.

The case seemed very hopeless, but there was always the chance of the deer moving on to some place where the wind was true, if we failed to get at them the first time we tried. So we started up the hill with the wind at our backs, while a storm was just beginning.

With my usual luck, we managed just to get within shot while the wind was blowing down from above the deer, and I fired my one barrel-and the deer galloped

away down the hill as hard as they could go, across

the valley we had just toiled along, and up an equally steep mountain on the other side.

"Mac, where's my stag?"

"He's jist gone awa' with the others."

"But, Mac, I'm sure I hit it!"

"No, there's just the varra one ye shot at, leading

the rest."

How many stags were there?"

There were just the six that ye see yonder."

"Well, he must be wounded!"

"No I don't think it."

"Well, Mac, I insist on your going up to the place where they were, and looking for his dead body."

I was miserable.

To miss; to be laughed at; to be greeted with “I told you so" when I got home! I could have cried; but there was moisture enough without tears. I took out my little packet of damp sandwiches, but they did not console me. The rain was coming down in torrents, the hail bounced off the piece of cake which I tried to eat, and I did not attempt to move or get shelter, so disgusted did I feel, when I looked up, and saw Mac waving his cap to me. With one bound I was up and