I tried driving, stalking, and every manoeuvre to circumvent them, without success.

At last one day I started with my beaters to a place where there were many tracks of fallow deer.

I was posted at a sort of small mountain pen, having on one side of me a young friend of mine, and at the other a native (these fellows won't go out unless they are allowed to carry their guns).
Shortly after the beaters had begun to halloo, a fallow hind glided by between me and my young friend, like a ghost.

Not a sound in the wood gave notice of its approach.

It was even quieter in its movements than a hare would have been.