After a very laborious crawl, sometimes on all-fours, sometimes flat, sometimes in the burn, sometimes out of it, for about three-quarters of a mile further, we reached a point in the burn about 600 or 700 yards below the five stags which I have before referred to. In the meantime the wind had risen, and the weather was now very rough and stormy. Macdougall whispered to me that we should have to crawl up the hill in full sight of the deer, and this we proceeded to do for some 500 yards, watching the deer with the greatest care, and whenever one of their heads went up instantly becoming as motionless as statues, and so gradually getting up the hill until at last we got behind a little tussock. The little stag was in front of the four stags, close to him was the big stag, and some little distance behind the latter were the other three stags. Macdougall pulled the rifle out of its cover and beckoned to me to crawl up. He then whispered, “You’ll have to take him now, sir; it’s the only chance you’ll get. We can’t possibly get a yard nearer.” “Take him now,” I said; “why, how far off do you say he is?” “Oh, maybe 330 yards,” said Macdougall. “He’s too far,” I said. “I shall probably wound him, or more likely miss him.” Macdougall’s reply was, “I think you can manage him, sir, and, anyhow, it’s your only chance; we cannot get nearer.” “Why not try to get to that next knobby,” I asked, “about 100 yards further on, behind which the big stag is just going?” Macdougall said that if we tried to do that the other three stags behind the big stag would be certain to see us and would bolt and put the whole lot off. “Well,” I replied, “if they do, we shan’t be worse off than if I fire now and miss. Come on, let’s do the bold thing, it sometimes pays.” Macdougall shook his head and said, “It’s no wise, I’m thinking.” “Come on,” I said. “Well, sir,” said Macdougall, “if you will have it, we’ll try, but I don’t think it will be any good; we shall have to crawl as hard and fast as ever we can up the hill, quite flat the whole way.” Away we went as hard as we could, and it took me all my time to keep up behind Macdougall, who propelled himself along at a prodigious rate. Arrived behind the knobby, we very carefully raised our heads, and found that Macdougall’s prophecy had fortunately proved only partly correct. The three stags behind the big stag and his fag, the little stag, had seen us and had bolted, but instead of going forward, as Macdougall had expected, they had turned tail and made off in the other direction, with the result that they had only put off the deer behind them and none of the deer in front of them. Macdougall hurriedly whispered, pulling the rifle out of the cover: “The big stag is still there, sir, but he and the wee staggie are getting varra suspeecious, and you’ll have to take him varra quick. He’ll be about 220 yards.” “Well,” I said, “I must get my breath; I’m absolutely blown,” the