I hesitated for a moment, and then, I am afraid, considering how late it was, weakly yielded to the temptation. I said: “All right! We shall have to be quick, otherwise we shall not be able to see what we are doing.” We soon decided our method of approach, and lost no time in getting down the hill. The deer were feeding on a small flat piece of ground near the ruins of what had been a watcher’s cottage many years ago, and we hoped, by getting into a broad and fairly deep burn, to reach a point about 200 yards further down, from which I could get a shot. The water was sometimes up to our waists and bitterly cold, and our movements were necessarily slow, but we arrived at last at a point which was about 140 yards from the stag. Peering over the top of the bank of the burn, we saw that the stag was on the far side of the hinds from us, and was lying down in a dip of the ground, so that only the tops of his horns were visible. After we had been waiting in the burn for some time, the stag got up, and, without giving me a chance for a shot, walked on to lower ground, where he began to feed in such a position that it was impossible to see him until he put his head up, and then we could only see the upper part of his horns. After a few minutes I whispered: “I really can’t wait here any longer, it is so frightfully cold, and the light will soon be gone. Let us get out of the burn and chance our being seen: at any rate, we shall be higher up there, and be more likely to see the stag.” We cautiously hoisted ourselves out of the burn on to the flat ground on the top of the bank, but even there could only see the stag’s horns and a very small part of his head. Sandy whispered to me: “You will have to shoot off my back, sir; it is the only chance.” He carefully raised his back, and I put the rifle over it. I said: “I am too low now; I can’t see the stag’s body.” “Ye’ll just have to put the coat on my back,” said Sandy, pushing towards me my rolled-up shooting-cape, which was fastened up with a strap. I hoisted the rolled-up cape on to Sandy’s back, and then prepared for a shot by putting the rifle on the top of the cape--an extraordinarily foolish proceeding. What I certainly ought to have done was to have stood straight up and fired at the stag from my shoulder. However, I took my shot in the position described, and something, I don’t know what exactly, caused me to pull off. “His hind leg is broken,” said Sandy, as away went the stag and the rest of the deer. I instantly handed him the rifle, as I knew he was a first-class shot at running deer, and told him, if he could get the chance, to finish the stag off. After a short interval I heard a shot, and then a second shot. Soon afterwards Sandy returned, and said, “You’ll never see him again, sir. I never touched him.”