Far more serious than the accident which I have described was one which occurred several years ago, recorded by a former neighbour of mine in the north, the owner of a well-known deer forest. I give the story in his own words, as well as I can remember. “It was late one day in the forest of Fannich, where I was stalking as the guest of one of my relatives who was at that time a tenant of the forest. After a long and difficult stalk, I had succeeded in getting up to the stag and shot it. The stalker, Duncan, an excellent man of long experience, approached the animal to give it the _coup de grâce_, and, with his open knife in his right hand, seized one of the stag’s forelegs with his left. Instantly the stag gave a tremendous plunge and threw Duncan back. The knife went into Duncan’s thigh, and he bled profusely. Both of us made frantic efforts to stop the bleeding, but without avail. The gillie, who was behind, came up, and we did all we could, but having no medical training, or even a knowledge of first aid, were unable to render useful assistance. Duncan got weaker and fainter, and was apparently bleeding to death. He was, however, perfectly cool and collected, said there was no one to blame but himself, that he was awfully careless, and ought never to have taken hold of the stag in the way he did. [Illustration: IN THE FOREST OF FANNICH. By FINLAY MACKINNON.] “He appeared to be rapidly getting weaker, and said quite quietly that he thought he was dying, and asked me to take some messages for him to his wife and children, and then seemed to be losing consciousness. It was getting dusk, and the gillie urged me not to wait any longer, as I could do no good, and unless I started for the lodge at once I should not be able to find my way. So with a heavy heart I said good-bye to poor Duncan and started homewards. From time to time I turned to look back at the two men, and at last, when I reached the top of the last hill I had to cross before losing sight of them, I turned to take one final glance. When I looked round, however, I was startled to see, close to the place where Duncan had been lying, the figures of two men walking slowly. There was no mistake about it--they were Duncan and the gillie. I ran back again, and found that soon after I left them the bleeding had stopped quite unaccountably, and Duncan, though still very weak, had gradually revived and finally insisted on trying to walk. We persuaded him to rest, and, leaving the gillie beside him, I went back to the lodge as quickly as I could and sent up a pony. Duncan got safely home, and when the doctor saw him he said it was a marvellous escape, for if the knife had gone into Duncan’s thigh two inches from the spot where it entered, nothing could have saved his life.” [Illustration: Nearing the End.] VII THE LUCK OF SALMON FISHING