The former, who has been listening attentively, says that, from my
description, stalking a stag must be very much the same as hunting
the double-humped bison in Mwangumbloola, and that the only weapon he
shall take with him will be a pickaxe. I have pointed out to him that
I don't think this will be any use, as in deer-stalking I fancy you
follow the stag _at some distance_, but he seems resolute about the
pickaxe, and so, I suppose, I must let him have his way. The Bulgarian
Count was deeply interested in the matter, and says that evidently
the proper weapon to use is a species of quick-firing, repeating
Hotchkiss, and that he has one now on its way through Edinburgh, the
invention of a compatriot, that will fire 2700 two-ounce bullets in
a minute and a-half. I fancy, if he uses this, he will surprise the
neighbourhood; but, of course, I have not said anything to interfere
with his project.

[Illustration]

We have arrived at Spital-hoo all safe and sound, and JEPSON has given
us a most cordial welcome. 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.