On Monday, until late in the day, it looked as though I was to have the same experience. About four o’clock, however, having been lying on a ridge overlooking a wide, deep corrie, the mist suddenly lifted for a very few minutes and we spied some deer moving downwards on the far side of the corrie, and amongst them what appeared to be two or three good stags. There were also a number of hinds rather nearer to us than this lot of deer. We decided that the only way in which we should be likely to get a shot at the stags would be to go right round the upper edge of the corrie and try to get in between the hinds and the other lot of deer amongst which were the stags. This entailed a most uncomfortable walk; the wind was so strong that one could hardly stand, it was quite impossible to keep a cap on one’s head, and it rained or hailed incessantly. At last we got round, and went down to the lower ground; we then managed, with a good deal of difficulty, to crawl safely past the hinds, and found that the other lot of deer were moving slowly, feeding downwards. After a time the deer lay down on a small hill in a sheltered place, and we crawled up to the top of an adjoining hill about 140 yards distant. We there made out that there was one good stag, an eight-pointer, who was lying down, and whose horns only could be seen from the place where we were lying. I got into position to shoot in case the stag should rise and give me a chance. It was now about half-past five, and we thought, considering how late it was getting and the conditions of the weather, that we should not be kept waiting very long. The stag, however, did not move for about half an hour, when he got up and turned round, and immediately lay down again. Time went on, and what with the cold and wet I began to shiver, and felt that I must do something to alter the condition of things. It was close on 6.30, and we were five miles from the point where it had been arranged that Stuart and I were to meet the car, if possible, at six o’clock, and in any case not later than seven. I told the stalker that he must get the deer up somehow or other, and that he had better whistle them up; he strongly advised me not to do this, but to wait a little longer, as, if we did so, they would probably bolt and not give me a chance to shoot. I, however, persisted, and said we could not keep Mr. Stuart waiting any longer; besides, I was getting colder and colder. I therefore whistled; the deer took no notice. “A little louder,” said the stalker. I whistled louder. Two of the smaller stags got up, and then the eight-pointer on the far side of the hill slowly got up, looking in our direction, and exposing his body over the edge of the hill, a fair broadside shot, at about 140 yards. I fired. “Just over his shoulder,” said the stalker, and the stag still stood, as stags often will do when the bullet passes over them. I fired again and the stag instantly fell. “Good shot,” said the stalker.