“There’s two of them—­two stags,” Roderick whispered, “and we can get at them easily if there’s no more wandering about that I cannot see.  Mebbe the others are over that hull.  There’s one of them is a fine big beast, but he has only the one horn; the other one, his head is not ferry good.  But a stag is a stag whatever; and the evening is wearing on.  Now come aweh with me, sir.”

What Roderick meant by getting at them easily Lionel was now to find out; he thought he would never have done with this agonizing stooping and crawling and wading through burns.  Long before they had got to the neighborhood of the deer, he wished heartily that the night would come suddenly down, or the stags take the alarm and make off—­anything, so that he might be released from this unspeakable toil and suffering.  And yet he held on, in a sort of blind, despairing fashion; the idea in his head being that if nature gave way he would simply lie down and fall asleep in the heather—­whether to wake again or not he hardly cared.  But by and by he was to have his reward.  Roderick was making for a certain cluster of rocks; and when these were reached, Lionel found, to his inexpressible joy, not only that he was allowed to stand upright, but that the stalk had been accomplished.  By peering over one of the boulders, he could see both stags quietly feeding at something like seventy yards’ distance.  It was going to be an easy shot in every way; himself in ample concealment; a rock on which to rest his rifle; the deer without thought of danger.  He would take his time and calm down his nerves.

“Which one?” he whispered to Roderick.

“The one with the one horn is a fine beast,” the keeper whispered in return; “and the other one, his head is worth nothing at all.”

With extremest caution Lionel put the muzzle over the ledge of the rock, and pushed it quietly forward.  He made sure of his footing.  He got hold of the barrel with his left hand, and of the stock with his right; he fixed the rifle firmly against his shoulder, and took slow and steady aim.  He was not so nervous this time; indeed, everything was in his favor:  the stag standing broadside on and hardly moving, and this rock offering so convenient a rest.  He held his breath for a moment—­concentrated all his attention on the long, smooth barrel—­and fired.

“You’ve got him, sir!” exclaimed Roderick, in an eager whisper, and still keeping his head down; but seeing that the other stag had caught sight of the rifle-smoke and was off at the top of his speed, he rose from his place of concealment and jumped on to the rock that had been hiding him.

“Ay, ay, sir, he’ll no go far,” he cried to Lionel, who was scrambling up to the same place.  “There, he’s down again on his knees.  Come aweh, sir? we’ll go after him.  Give me the rifle.”