The following day, Tuesday, showed no signs of improvement in the weather. Thick mist on the tops, steady rain, and a wind, as usual, in the wrong direction. Stuart was obliged to drive some miles off to see a friend, but I determined once more to try the hill. This time I was sent out on the home beat. I started off with the stalker and an old gillie named Angus, who had had so much experience that he would have made an admirable stalker, and who is always very keen. I also had two ponies and a pony boy. The pony path goes straight up the mountain-side for two and a half miles. By the time we reached the point where the path stopped we were close to the edge of the mist, and the outlook seemed hopeless. We decided to cross over the opposite hill and go down on the other side, hoping that by that time the mist might have lifted. We left instructions with the pony boy to wait for two hours, and then if he heard nothing from us to go back right round to a point on the other side of the hill and wait there. On our way up the hill I found some beautiful little bastard pimpernel in flower, not very common in this part of the country. As we worked our way up the mountain-side the wind became stronger and the rain heavier. It was intensely cold, and very difficult to see what was in front of us. Having arrived at the ridge, nearly 3000 feet up, we tried to spy the corrie below. What with the tremendous wind and driving rain this was a matter of the greatest difficulty, and in conditions of this kind I always think there is a better chance of picking up deer with first-rate field-glasses than with a telescope. I managed, with my field-glasses, to discover two stags feeding in a sheltered part of the opposite side of the corrie, and, after shifting our position in order to get a better view of them, we found that there were some hinds feeding below them. We came to the conclusion that the only chance of obtaining a shot at the stags was by getting in between them and the hinds. After some trouble we succeeded in doing this, but old Angus, who knew the corrie well, said that the wind at this place was very uncertain, and that it was a question whether the stags would not get our wind. He had hardly uttered this warning before there was a fatal puff in the wrong direction, and away went the stags long before we were near them. We decided to go on and try the next corrie. It is difficult to imagine a greater contrast than the comparative warmth and peace which we were now enjoying as compared with the strife of the elements outside the corrie. The rain, too, had stopped, and I said to the stalker, “No wonder the deer came here; what a haven of rest!” [Illustration: THE FIVE SISTERS OF KINTAIL. By FINLAY MACKINNON.]