“He has taken to the soil, sire,” cried Nicholas coming up.  “To the river—­to the river!  You may see by the broken branches he has gone this way.”

Forcing his way through the wood, James was soon on the banks of the Darwen, which here ran deep and slow.  The hart was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any slot on the further side to denote that he had gone forth.  It was evident, therefore, that he had swam down the stream.  At this moment a shout was heard a hundred yards lower down, proceeding from Nicholas; and, riding in the direction of the sound, the King found the hart at bay on the further side of the stream, and nearly up to his haunches in the water.  The King regarded him for a moment anxiously.  The poor animal was now in his last extremity, but he seemed determined to sell his life dearly.  He stood on a bank projecting into the stream, round which the water flowed deeply, and could not be approached without difficulty and danger.  He had already gored several hounds, whose bleeding bodies were swept down the current; and, though the others bayed round him, they did not dare to approach him, and could not get behind him, as a high bank arose in his rear.

“Have I your Majesty’s permission to despatch him?” asked Nicholas.

“Ay, marry, if you can, sir,” replied James.  “But ’ware the tynes!—­’ware the tynes!—­’If thou be hurt with hart it brings thee to thy bier,’ as the auld ballad hath it, and the adage is true, as we oursel’s have seen.”

Nicholas, however, heeded not the caution, but, drawing his wood-knife, and disencumbering himself of his cloak, he plunged into the stream, and with one or two strokes reached the bank.  The hart watched his approach, as if divining his purpose, with a look half menacing, half reproachful, and when he came near, dashed his antlered head at him.  Nimbly eluding the blow, which, if it had taken effect, might have proved serious, Nicholas plunged his weapon into the poor brute’s throat, who instantly fell with a heavy splash into the water.

“Weel stricken! weel stricken!” shouted James, who had witnessed the performance from the opposite bank.  “But how shall we get the carcase here?”

“That is easily done, sire,” replied Nicholas.  And taking hold of the horns, he guided the body to a low bank, a little below where the King stood.

As soon as it was dragged ashore by the prickers, James put his bugle to his lips and blew a mort.  A pryse was thrice sounded by Nicholas, and soon afterwards the whole company came flocking round the spot, whooping the death-note.