Amazing Deeds and Misdeeds at a Deer-Drive.  
To some casts of mind there is no aspect of nature so enchanting or romantic as that which is presented, on a fine summer day from the vantage ground of a ridge or shoulder high up on the mountains of one of our western isles.
 
It may be that the union of the familiar and beautiful with the unfamiliar and wild is that which arouses our enthusiastic admiration. As we stand in the calm genial atmosphere of a summer day, surveying the land and sea-scape from a commanding height that seems to have raised us above the petty cares of life, the eye and mind pass like the lightning-flash from the contemplation of the purple heather and purple plants around—and from the home-feelings thereby engendered—to the grand, apparently illimitable ocean, and the imagination is set free to revel in the unfamiliar and romantic regions “beyond seas.”
 
Some such thoughts were passing in the mind of Giles Jackman, as he stood alone, rifle in hand, on such a height one splendid forenoon, and contemplated the magnificent panorama.
 
Far down below—so far that the lowing of the red and black specks, which were cattle, and the bleating of the white specks, which were sheep, failed to reach him—a few tiny cottages could be seen, each in the midst of a green patch that indicated cultivation. Farther on, a snow-white line told where the wavelets kissed the rugged shore, but no sound of the kiss reached the hunter’s ear. Beyond, as if floating on the calm water, numerous rocky islets formed the playground of innumerable gulls, skarts, seals, loons, and other inhabitants of the wild north; but only to the sense of vision were their varied activities perceptible. Among these islets were a few blacker spots, which it required a steady look to enable one to recognise as the boats of fishermen; but beyond them no ship or sign of man was visible on the great lone sea, over, and reflected in which, hung a few soft and towering masses of cloudland.
 
    “If thus thy meaner works are fair,
    And beautiful beyond compare;
    How glorious must the mansions be
    Where Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!”
 
Jackman murmured rather than spoke the words, for no human ear was there to hear. Nevertheless there were human ears and tongues also, not far distant, engaged in earnest debate. It was on one of the ledges of the Eagle Cliff that our hunter stood. At another part of the same cliff, close to the pass where Milly Moss met with her accident, Allan Gordon stood with nearly all his visitors and several of his retainers around him.
 
“Higher up the pass you’ll have a much better chance, Mr Barret. Is it not so, Ivor?”
 
The keeper, who, in kilt, hose, and bonnet, was as fine a specimen of a tall athletic Highlander as one could wish to see, replied that that was true.
 
“Nae doot,” he said, “I hev put Mr Jackman in the best place of all, for, whativer way the deer come, they’ll hev to pass close, either above or below him—an’ that’s maybe as weel for him wi’ his queer new-fashioned rifle; but at the heed o’ the pass is the next best place. The only thing is that ye’ll hev to tak’ sure aim, for there’s more room for them to stray, an’ ye may chance to git only a lang shot.”
 
“Well, then, it is not the place for me, for I am a poor shot,” said Barret; “besides, I have a fancy to stay here, where I am. You say it is a very good spot, Ivor, I understand?”
 
“Weel, it’s no’ that bad as a spote,” answered the keeper, with a grim smile, for he had not much opinion of Barret’s spirit as a sportsman; “but it’s ackward as the lawnd lies.”
 
“Never mind. I’ll stay here, and you know, laird, that I have some pleasant associations with it in connection with your niece.”
 
“That is more than Milly has,” returned the old gentleman, laughing. “However, have your way. Now, gentlemen, we must place ourselves quickly, for the beaters will soon be entering the wood. I will take you, Mr Mabberly, to a spot beyond the pass where you will be pretty sure of a shot. And MacRummle—where shall we place him?”
 
“He can do nothing wi’ the gun at a’, sir,” muttered the keeper, in a low voice, so that he might not be overheard. “I wad putt him doon at the white rock. He’ll git a lang shot at them there. Of course he’ll miss, but that’ll do weel enough for him—for he’s easy pleased; ony way, if he tak’s shootin’ as he tak’s fishin’, a mere sight o’ the deer, like the rise o’ a salmon, ’ll send him home happy.”
 
“Very well, Ivor, arrange as you think best. And how about Captain McPherson and McGregor?”
 
“I’ll tak’ care o’ them mysel’, sir.”
 
“Ye need na’ fash yer heed aboot us, laird,” said the skipper. “Bein’ more used to the sea than the mountains, we will be content to look on. Iss that not so, Shames?”
 
“That iss so—what-?-ver,” returned the seaman.
 
“Well, come along then; the beaters must be at work now. How many did you get, Ivor?”
 
“I’m not exactly sure, sir,” returned the keeper; “there’s Ian Anderson an’ Tonal’ from Cove, an’ Mister Archie an’ Eddie, an’ Roderick—that’s five. Oo, ay, I forgot, there’s that queer English loon, Robin Tips—he’s no’ o’ much use, but he can mak’ a noise—besides three o’ Mr Grant’s men.”
 
“That’s plenty—now then—”
 
“Please, father,” said Junkie, who had listened with open eyes and mouth, as well as ears, for this was his first deer-stalk, “may I stop with Mr Barret?”
 
“Certainly, my boy, if Mr Barret does not object.”
 
Of course Mr Barret did not object, though he was rather surprised at this mark of preference.
 
“I say, me boy,” whispered Pat Quin, “ask av I may stop wid ye.”
 
Junkie looked at the Irishman doubtfully for a moment, then said—
 
“Father, Quin says he wants to stop with me.”
 
“You mayn’t do that, Quin,” returned the laird with a smile; “but you may go and stay with your master. I heard him say that he would like you to be with him to keep you out of mischief.”
 
“Thankee, sor. I was used to attend on ’im in the jungles to carry his spare guns, for it’s ellyphints, no less, that we was used to bag out there; but I make no question he can amuse himsilf wid deer an’ things like that where there’s nothin’ better. He was always aisy to plaze, like Mr MacRummle.”
 
“Just so, Quin; and as MacRummle knows the hill, and has to pass the place where Mr Jackman has been left, you had better follow him.”
 
This arranged, the different parties took up their positions to await the result of the beating of a strip of dwarf forest, several miles in extent, which clothed part of the mountain slopes below the Eagle Cliff.
 
On reaching the spot where Jackman was stationed, old MacRummle explained to him the various arrangements that had just been made for the comfort of all.
 
“I am sorry they gave me the best place,” said Jackman. “I suppose it is because the laird thinks my experience in India entitles me to it; but I would much rather that Mabberly or Barret had got the chance, for I’m used to this sort of thing, and, after bagging elephants, I can afford to lay on my oars and see my friends go in and win.”
 
“An’ sure, aren’t thim the very words I said, sor?” put in Quin.
 
“Have they given you a good place?” asked Jackman of MacRummle, taking no notice of his man’s remarks.
 
“They’ve given me the worst,” said the old man, simply; “and I cannot blame them, for, as the keeper truly remarked, I can do nothing with the gun,”—still less with the rifle, he might have added! “At the same time, I confess it would have added somewhat to the zest of the day if Ivor had allowed me some degree of hope. He thought I didn’t overhear him, but I did; for they give me credit for greater deafness than I deserve.”
 
There was something so pitiful, yet half amusing, in the way in which this was said, that Jackman suddenly grasped the old gentleman’s hand.
 
“Mr MacRummle,” he said firmly, “will you do me a favour?”
 
“Certainly, with pleasure—if I can.”
 
“You can—and you shall. It is this: change places and rifles with me.”
 
“My dear, kind sir, you don’t know what you ask. My rifle is an old double-barrel muzzle loader, and at the white rock you wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance. I know the place well, having often passed it in fishing excursions up the burns. Besides, I never used a repeating rifle in my life. I couldn’t manage it, even if I were to try.”
 
“Mr MacRummle, are you not a Highlander?”
 
“I believe I am!” replied the old man, drawing himself up with a smile.
 
“And is not that equivalent to saying that you are a man of your word?”
 
“Well—I suppose it is so—at least it should be so.”
 
“But you will prove that it is not so, if you fail to do me a favour that lies in your power, after promising to do it. Come now, we have no time to lose. I will show you how to use the repeater. See; it is empty just now. All you have to do is to take aim as you would with any ordinary rifle, and pull the trigger. When the shot is off, you load again by simply doing this to the trigger-guard—so. D’you understand?”
 
“Yes, perfectly; but is that all? no putting in of cartridges anywhere?”
 
“No, nothing more. Simply do that (open—and the cartridge flies out), and that (shut—and you are loaded and ready to fire)! Now, try it. That’s it! Capital! Couldn’t be better. Why, you were born to be a sportsman!”
 
“Yes, with fish,” remarked the gratified old man, as he went through the motions of loading and firing to perfection.
 
“Now, then, I will load it thus. Watch me.”
 
As he spoke, he filled the chamber under the barrel with cartridge after cartridge to the amazement of MacRummle and the amusement of Quin, who looked on.
 
“How many shots will it fire without reloading?” asked the old man at length.
 
“Sixteen,” replied Jackman.
 
“What! sixteen? But—but how will I ever know how many I’ve let off?”
 
“You don’t require to know. Just blaze away till it refuses to fire! Now, I must be off. Where is this white rock that I have to go to?”
 
“There it is—look. A good bit down the hill, on the open ground near the forest. If you have good eyes, you can see it from here. Look, just behind the ridge. D’you see?”
 
“I see. Great luck to you. Do good work, and teach that rascal Ivor to respect your powers with the rifle. Come along, Quin.”
 
“But really, my young friend, it is too good, too self-denying of you to—”
 
He stopped, for Jackman and Quin were already striding down the mountain on their way to the white rock.
 
MacRummle had been somewhat excited by the enthusiasm of his young friend and the novelty of his situation. To say truth, he would much rather have been pottering along the banks of one of his loved Highland streams, rod in hand, than crouching in the best pass of the Eagle Cliff in expectation of red-deer; but being an amiable and sympathetic man, he had been fired by the enthusiasm of the household that morning, and, seeing that all were going to the drive, including the laird, he made up his mind to brace himself up to the effort, and float with the current. His enthusiasm had not cooled when he reached the Eagle Cliff, and Jackman’s kindness, coupled with hope and the repeating rifle, increased it even to white heat. In which condition he sat down on a rock, removed his hat, and wiped his bald, perspiring head, while a benignant smile illuminated his glowing features.
 
About the same time, Barret and Junkie having selected a convenient mass of rock as their outlook, so that they could command the pass for some distance in both directions without exposing themselves to view, rested the rifle against the cliff and began to talk. Soon the young man discovered that the little boy, like many other mischievous boys, was of an exceedingly inquiring disposition. Among other things, he not only began an intelligent inquiry about the locks of a rifle, but a practical inquiry with his fingers, which called for remonstrance.
 
“Do you know, Junkie, that this is the very spot where your Cousin Milly fell?” said Barret, by way of directing the urchin’s thoughts into a safer channel.
 
“Is it? Oh, dear, what a thump she must have come down!”
 
“Yes, indeed, a dreadful thump—poor thing. She was trying to get flowers at the time. Do you know that she is exceedingly fond of flowers?”
 
“Oh, don’t I? She’s got books full of them—all pasted in with names printed under them. I often wonder what she sees in flowers to be so fond of them. I don’t care a button for them myself, unless they smell nice. But I often scramble after them for her.”
 
“There is a good deal to like in flowers besides the smell,” said Barret, assuming an instructive tone, which Junkie resented on the spot.
 
“Oh, yes, I don’t want to know; you needn’t try to teach me,” he said, firmly.
 
“Of course not. I wouldn’t think of teaching you, my boy. You know I’m not a schoolmaster. I’m not clever enough for that, and when I was your age, I hated to be taught. But I could show you some things about flowers and plants that would astonish you. Only it would not be safe to do it just now, for the deer might come up and—”
 
“No they won’t,” interrupted the boy; “it’s a monstrous big wood they’ve got to pass through before they can come here, so we have time to look at some of the ’stonishin’ things.”
 
“Well, then, come. We will just go a little way up the cliff.”
 
Leading Junkie away among the masses of fallen rock, which strewed that ledge of the cliff, the wily youth began to examine plants and flowers minutely, and to gradually arouse in the boy’s mind an interest in such parts of botanical science as he was capable of understanding.
 
Meanwhile the small army of beaters had extended themselves across the distant end of the forest, which, being some miles off, and on the other side of a great shoulder of the mountain, was not only out of sight, but out of hearing of the stalkers who watched the passes of the Eagle Cliff.
 
All the beaters, or drivers, were well acquainted with the work they had to do, with the exception of Robin Tips, to whom, of course, it was quite new. But Ian Anderson put him under Donald’s care, with strict injunctions to look well after him.
 
“Now, Tonal’, see that ye don’t draw together an’ git ta–alkin’ so as to forget what ye’re about. Keep him at the right distance away from ye, an’ as much in line as ye can.”
 
“Oo, ay,” returned ragged head, in a tone that meant, when translated into familiar English, “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs!”
 
In a sequestered dell on the slope of the hills, a lordly stag and several hinds were enjoying themselves that morning among the bracken and bright mosses, partially screened from the sun by the over-arching boughs of birch and hazel, and solaced by the tinkling music of a neighbouring rill. Thick underwood concealed the dell on all sides; grey lichen-covered boulders surrounded it; no sound disturbed it save the faint cry of the plover and curlew on the distant shore, or the flap of a hawk’s wing as it soared overhead. Altogether it looked like a safe and sure retreat, but it did not prove to be so.
 
Mingled with the plaintive cries of the wild fowl, there came a faint—barely perceptible—sound of the human voice. The stag pricked up his ears, and raised his antlered head. It was by no means a new sound to him. The shepherd’s voice calling to his collie on the mountain-side was a familiar sound, that experience had taught him boded no evil. The converse of friends as they plodded along the roads or foot-paths that often skirted his lairs, had a tone of innocence about it which only induced caution—not alarm. But there was nothing of this in the sounds that now met his ears. He raised himself higher, opened his nostrils wider, sniffed the tainted air, and then, turning his graceful head, made some remark—we presume, though we cannot be positive on this point—to his wives.
 
These, meek and gentle—as females usually are, or ought to be—turned their soft inquiring gaze on their lord. Thus they stood, as if spell-bound, while the sounds slowly but steadily increased in volume and approached their retreat. Presently a shoulder of the mountain was turned by the drivers, and their discordant voices came down on the gentle breeze with unmistakable significance.
 
We regret being unable to report exactly what the stag then said to his wives, but the result was that the entire family bounded from their retreat, and, in the hurry and alarm of the moment, scattered along various glades, all of which, however, trended ultimately towards those mountain fastnesses that exist about and beyond the Eagle Cliff.
 
Two of the hinds followed their lord in a direction which led them out of the wood within sight of, though a considerable distance from, the white rock behind which Jackman and Quin were concealed. The others fled by tracks somewhat higher on the hill-sides, where however, as the reader knows, the enemy was posted to intercept them.
 
“Sure it’s a purty stag, afther all,” whispered Quin, who, in spite of elephantine-Indian sport, was somewhat excited by this sudden appearance of the Scottish red-deer. “But they’re a long way off, sor.”
 
“Not too far, if the rifle is true,” said Jackman, in a very low voice, as he put up the long-range sight.
 
“You’ll git a good chance at the stag whin he tops the hillock forenent you, sor,” remarked the somewhat garrulous Irishman.
 
“I won’t fire at the stag, Quin,” returned Jackman, quietly. “You and I have surely killed enough of bigger game abroad. We can afford to let the stag pass on to our friends higher up, some of whom have never seen a red-deer before, and may never have a chance of seeing one again.”
 
All this was said by the sportsman in a low, soft voice, which could not have been heard three yards off, yet his sharp eye was fixed intently on the passing deer. Seeing that there was no likelihood of their coming nearer, he raised his rifle, took steady but quick aim, and fired. One of the hinds dropped at once; the other followed her terrified lord as he dashed wildly up the slope.
 
Partial deafness is a slight disadvantage in deer-stalking. So, at least, MacRummle discovered that day. After having wiped his forehead, as already described, he set himself steadily to fulfil the duties of his situation. These were not so simple as one might suppose, for, as had been explained to him by Jackman, he had to watch two passes—one close above his post, the other close below it—either of which might bring the deer within easy reach of his rifle, but of course there was the uncertainty as to which of the two passes the deer would choose. As it was a physical impossibility to have his eyes on both passes at once, the old gentleman soon found that turning his head every few seconds from one side to the other became irksome. Then it became painful. At last it became torture, and then he gave up this plan in despair, resolving to devote a minute at a time to each pass, although feeling that by so doing his chances were greatly diminished.
 
When Jackman fired his shot, MacRummle’s ears refused to convey the information to his brain. He still sat there, turning his head slowly to and fro, and feeling rather sleepy. One of the scattered deer, which had gone higher up the mountain, passed him by the upper track. MacRummle was gazing at the lower track just then! Having given the allotted time to it, he turned languidly and beheld the hind, trotting rather slowly, for it was somewhat winded.
 
The sight sent sportsman-fire through the old gentleman’s entire frame. He sprang, he almost tumbled up, but before he could fire, a jealous boulder intervened. Rushing up a few yards, he was just in time to see the animal bound over a cliff and disappear.
 
Depressed beyond measure, he returned to his post and resumed the rapid head-motion which he had foolishly discontinued. This was fortunate, for it enabled him to see in time the stag and hind which Jackman had sent bounding towards him. Another moment, and the affrighted creatures were within range. MacRummle sprang up, put the repeater to his shoulder, and then commenced a fusillade that baffles description. Bang, bang, bang, went the repeater; bang, bang, double-bang, and banging everywhere went the startled echoes of the mountain. Never since it sprang from the volcanic forces of nature had the Eagle Cliff sent forth such a spout of rattling reverberation. The old man took no aim whatever. He merely went through the operations of load and fire with amazing rapidity. Each crack delivered into the arms of echo was multiplied a hundredfold. Showers of bullets seemed to hail around the astounded quarry. Smoke, as of a battle, enshrouded the sportsman. The rifle became almost too hot to hold, and when at last it ceased to respond to the drain upon its bankrupt magazine, the stag and hind lay dead upon the track, and MacRummle lay exhausted with excitement and exertion upon the heather!
 
This unwonted fusillade took the various parties higher up the hill by surprise. To Ivor, indeed, it was quite a new experience, and he regarded it with a smile of grim contempt.
 
“There iss noise enough—what-?-ver!” remarked Skipper McPherson, who sat beside the keeper with a double-barrelled gun charged with buckshot, which he had in readiness.
 
“Look! look!” exclaimed Ivor, pointing to another part of the pass, “your friend McGregor has got a fright!”
 
“Ay, that’s true. Shames would be troubled in his mind, I think.”
 
There was indeed some reason to suppose so. The worthy seaman, having got tired of waiting, had, against Ivor’s advice, wandered a few yards along the pass, where, seeing something farther on that aroused his curiosity, he laid down the single-barrelled fowling-piece with which he had been provided, and began to clamber. Just as the repeater opened fire, two hinds, which had got ahead of the others, ran through the pass by different tracks. One of these McGregor saw before it came up, and he rushed wildly back for his gun. It was this act that his comrades rightly attributed to mental perturbation.
 
“Look out!” whispered the keeper.
 
As he spoke the other hind, doubling round a mass of fallen rock, almost leaped into McGregor’s arms. It darted aside, and the seaman, uttering a wild shout, half raised his gun and fired. The butt hit him on the chest and knocked him down, while the shot went whizzing in all directions round his comrades, cutting their garments, but fortunately doing them no serious injury.
 
“Oh, Shames! ye was always in too great a hurry,” remonstrated the skipper, oblivious of the fact that he himself had been too slow.
 
“Quick, man, fire!” cried Ivor, testily.
 
The captain tried to energise. In doing so he let off one barrel at the celestial orbs unintentionally. The other might as well have gone the same way, for all the execution it did.
 
When he looked at the keeper, half apologetically, he saw that he was quietly examining his leg, which had been penetrated by a pellet.
 
“Eh! man, are ’ee shot?” cried the captain, anxiously.
 
“Oo, ay, but I’m none the worse o’ it! I had a presentiment o’ somethin’ o’ this sort, an’ loaded his gun wi’ small shot,” replied the keeper.
 
Profound were the expressions of apology from McGregor, on learning what he had done, and patronisingly cool were the assurances of Ivor that the injury was a mere flea-bite. And intense was the astonishment when it was discovered that a stag and a hind had fallen to old MacRummle with that “treemendious” repeater! And great was the laughter afterwards, at lunch time on the field of battle, when Junkie gravely related that Barret was upon a precipice, trying to reach a rare plant, when the deer passed, so that he did not get a shot at all! And confused was the expression of Barret’s face when he admitted the fact, though he carefully avoided stating that his mind was taken up at the time with a very different kind of dear!
 
It was afternoon when the assembled party, including drivers, sat down to luncheon on the hill-side, and began to allay the cravings of appetite, and at the same time to recount or discuss in more or less energetic tones, the varied experiences of the morning. Gradually the victuals were consumed, and the experiences pretty well thrashed out, including those of poor Mabberly, who had failed to get even a chance of a shot.
 
“An’ sure it’s no wonder at all,” was Pat Quin’s remark; “for the noise was almost as bad as that night when you an’ me, sor, was out after the elephants in that great hunt in the North-western provinces of Indy.”
 
“Oh, do tell us about that,” cried Junkie and his brothers, turning eagerly to Jackman.
 
“So I will, my boys; but not now. It will take too long. Some other time, in the house, perhaps, when a bad day comes.”
 
“No, now, now!” cried Junkie.
 
Seeing that most of those present had lighted their pipes, and that the laird seemed to wish it, Jackman washed down his lunch with a glass of sparkling water, cleared his throat, and began.