150 BULLETIN 16 2, UNITED STATES NATIONAL MUSEUM 



the young ; they have disappeared completely ; and search as we may, 

 our chances of finding any are small. We had better not hunt for 

 them, as we may step on them. But, if we conceal ourselves and 

 wait patiently, we shall see a pretty sight, which is well described by 

 Edmund J. Sawyer (1923) as follows: 



There follows perhaps ten minutes of silence. Then conies a low, mewing 

 note, pe-e-e-e-u-u-r-r-r. The note can be imitated by trying to pronounce the 

 word " pure " in a strained, tremulous way with the mouth nearly closed. 

 Soon there is an entirely different note like the low clucking of a hen or tur- 

 key ; this grows louder and more confident and I catch a glimpse now and then 

 of the watchful hen picking her cautious way back among the low plants. 

 Tsee — tsee — tsee-e-e-e, answers a chick here and there about me, all unseen. 

 Puck-puk-puk, from the mother; tsee-tsee-tsee-e-e-e, from the chicks, and one of 

 the latter comes flying down from some leafy lower branch ; tsee-tsee-tsee — and 

 another appears from around a stump or log. There follows more calling 

 back and forth, more chicks come out of hiding and already the puk-puk-puks 

 have begun to grow faint in the distance as the mother quickly leads the brood 

 off under cover of the ferns. I have on two or more occasions discovered one 

 of the chicks in his hiding place on the leafy ground. In each case he was 

 merely squatting there, his coat of mottled down perfectly matching the browns 

 and grays of the forest floor. 



The wings start to grow soon after the young are hatched, and 

 before they are half grown they are able to fly, or, at least, to 

 flutter up into the lower branches of a tree. They are zealously 

 guarded by their mother all through the period of growth, and in the 

 fall their father joins the family group, which keeps together during 

 winter in a loose flock. Edwyn Sandys (1904) had an interesting 

 experience with a pointer pup, which was attacked by a hen grouse, 

 the guardian of a brood about as large as quail. He describes the 

 incident as follows: 



A sudden tremendous uproar attracted my attention, and, to my astonish 

 ment, I saw an old hen grouse vigorously belaboring the bewildered pup with 

 her wings and giving him a piece of her miud in a torrent of cacklings, such 

 as I had never dreamed a grouse capable of uttering. The poor pup, after 

 first trying to make a point, and then to grab her, finally bolted in dismay. 

 She followed him for about a dozen yards, beating him about the rump with 

 her wings, which kept up a thunderous whirring. She acted exactly like a 

 wrathful old fowl, and the pup like a condemned fool. 



Edward H. Forbush (1927) relates the following incident: 



Once I saw a fracas between the ordinary inoffensive rabbit and a grouse 

 hen, defending her chicks. She " bristled up " and struck at bunny, but he 

 apparently tried to leap upon her. In the ensuing running fight he drove her 

 about a rod. Her chicks having hidden in the meantime, she then flew away. 

 Very rarely, when the young are in danger, the male bird appears and takes 

 his turn at running toward and strutting near the intruder, and he has been 

 known to care for a brood after the death of the mother bird. 



