But I must now have once more recourse to
my current notes.
I have now been something like five hours on the tramp, plodding my
way through a deep glen in a pine forest, but have not yet come across
any sign of a stag, I started with the Chief and the Count, but the
former soon went off at a tangent somewhere on his own hook, and the
latter, who had got his Hotchkiss with him and found it heavy work to
drag it up and down the mountain paths, I have left behind to take a
rest and recuperate himself. I pause in my walk and listen. The forest
is intensely still. Not a sign of a stag anywhere.
JEPSON is left at home, as he is expecting a couple of local Ministers
to tea, but he has told me I'm "bound to come across whole herds of
them," if I only tramp long enough. Well, I've been at it five hours,
and I certainly ought to have spotted something by this time. By Jove,
though, what's that moving in the path ahead of me? It is! _It is a
stag!_ A magnificent fellow--though he appears to have only one horn.
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