Lord Aberfeldie and his son were as well aware as their skilled old keeper that in stalking the chief things to regard are the eyes and nose of the deer. His vision, quick as that of an eagle, can detect a human head above a ridge of rock or belt of bracken, and he can scent an intruder on his 'native heath,' if the breeze blows _from_ the former, at a wonderful distance; and old Dugald Glas, who had brought the father and son to the forest at dawn with us much care and secresy as if an assassination was in hand, had long scanned the vicinity with his glasses before he discovered the stags in question, and gave the concealed stalkers the signal to approach them. The two animals were rather far apart; both were quietly feeding, and--as the season was considerably advanced--both in colour were marvellously like the grey stone and brown heather around them, and both were, as yet, all unalarmed as Lord Aberfeldie, the Master, and Dugald Glas, while pausing and holding ever and anon a council of war in low whispers, crept up the stony corrie, keeping carefully to leeward of the quarry they had selected, leaving Cameron of Stratherroch and Hawke Holcroft to approach the other as best they might; but it was in the present instance absolutely necessary that both parties should fire at the same instant, or one of the stags would vanish at a gallop, perhaps to the most distant limit of the forest. In crawling after such game the head must be foremost when going up a hill, and the feet foremost when going down, and the stalker must creep on his stomach and knees; and all this, when done in the kilt, over rough rocks, sharply-pointed heather, and mossy bog, is not to be effected without considerable toil and even discomfort. Nearly an hour of this kind of work had gone on, the father and son creeping side by side, softly and in silence, dragging their rifles after them, old Dugald following in the same fashion, with Bran straining on his iron chain; and once or twice they had actually to traverse the bed of a mountain burn that brawled hoarsely downward over its brown-worn pebbles and boulders. The stag was still feeding quietly, and all unconscious of the approach of death; and the stalkers were, they thought, within a safe distance now, and that it could not escape them; so Dugald Glas dropped behind, after whispering to the Master in Gaelic, 'Blood upon the skein, Allan!' Then the heart of the latter began to beat highly as the moment for shooting drew near, for after all their care and toil it was quite possible that a grouse might whirr up from the heather, and with a warning cry scare the stag to full speed. 'You take aim, Allan,' whispered Lord Aberfeldie, 'and I shall reserve my fire. It is years since you had a shot at a dun cow, my boy.'