KNEE-DEEP in bracken, breathing hard from a helter-skelter gallop down the ridge, we watched Lady’s stern waving on the far side of the steep combe. Unwaveringly, she stuck to the scent of the one-antlered stag, pushing it out of cover towards the guns, even as a dozen hinds spilled down the slope. A little way behind was Willing. Riders watched from the skyline, others had disappeared deep into the combe while car followers observed through binoculars as we headed up and over into the next cleft of the hills. Another dash down, sliding on wet grass, one eye on the rider ahead, one eye on the stag, slipping out of sight into the trees along a stream, over and up, down a narrow contour path and finally up again, to…
