THE CHINA OR DENNY PHEASANT IN OREGON of 
“Yes sir, a China’s nest with a dozen eggs!” 
“You go over the trestle and drop down into the pasture, then follow an open furrow 
southwest about ten yards until a pole and balm tree on your right come in line, then 
over at the foot of a little rose-bush about five steps away you'll find the nest.” 
Next morning I went “over the trestle,” and there in a slight dusty hollow, probably 
the footprint of some heavy animal, made when the ground was soft, surrounded by a 
little dead grass, and shaded by a mere sprig of briar, scarcely more than a foot high, 
lay a nest full of beautiful brownish-drab eggs. One more had been deposited, and today 
there were thirteen, but not a bird in sight. Two days later I returned to find the same 
conditions, and so with occasional visits during subsequent days. Only twice did I get 
a glimpse of the buffy-brownish mother as she slipped quietly from the nest into the sur- 
rounding grass, and then only towards the end of the period of incubation. But on the 
twenty-second day after the last egg had been deposited, several little chips appeared 
on the hitherto glassy shells and many far-away voices peeped faintly from their prisons. 
The following day revealed thirteen empty shells, but not a bird in sight; they had been 
led to the brush by the anxious mother. 
Summer passed with only an occasional glimpse of the little brood, now in the bushes, 
again sunning or dusting in the powdery wagon-trail, but not until early autumn did the 
