“Take the second one, sir,” said Maclennan, who had his glass on them. I was just about to fire when he said: “No, not that one, but the third; he’s better.” Again I was on the point of shooting when Maclennan said: “Wait, sir, wait; take the fifth, he’s the best.” Directly the stag topped the knoll I fired, and he ran a few yards and fell down. On coming up to him I found it necessary to give him another bullet through the neck. We found that this stag was by far the best we had seen that day. He was a royal, in splendid condition, and weighed 17 stone 6 lb. clean. He had a magnificent head, with very thick black horns, and long points with white tips. After gralloching him, and tying a handkerchief to his horns to scare the eagles and foxes, we made our way back to the lodge. I had several good days in the forest subsequently, with one or other of the regular stalkers, but none more enjoyable than this one, in which, without the assistance of a regular stalker, I had the good fortune to kill four stags averaging over 16 stone clean, without heart or liver. [Illustration: “TAKE THE FIFTH, HE’S THE BEST.” By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.] [Illustration: ON THE TOPS] VI A STALKER’S PERIL The accident to the head stalker which I mentioned in the preceding article shows that stalking, like almost every other sport, has its dangers, and every one acquainted with the pursuit of deer knows the necessity of exercising great care in approaching them after they have been shot. A serious accident is, however, very rare, but sometimes even the most experienced stalkers, as in the instance referred to above, incur risks which they ought not to take.