RUFFED GROUSE—PARTRIDGE 167 
of its pursuer, the grouse does not always do this. Fre- 
quently it takes wing as quietly as the smallest bird, so 
that unless the shooter happens to be looking in the 
bird’s direction he may not be aware that it has flown. 
Sometimes, too, it will merely hop up into a tree and 
remain there, standing close to the trunk or to some 
branch, stiff, straight and motionless, and looking like 
a stub of wood. An old partridge may be counted on 
to do some unexpected thing. It deals in surprises. Its 
grace and beauty and the readiness with which it adapts 
itself to changing conditions, as well as the difficult 
places that it inhabits and the charm of its surround- 
ings, unite to command the gunner’s admiration. 
Although where constantly shot at it practices a 
variety of such stratagems, yet in regions seldom pene- 
trated by man and where it has not been pursued, it 
is absolutely gentle and unafraid, and if startled from 
the ground flies no farther than to a low branch of a 
tree where it may sit with outstretched neck and erect 
crest while half a dozen shots are fired at it from pistol 
or rifle. If, however, a ball should strike the branch 
on which it is resting, or if a twig cut from above it 
drops down and touches the bird, it darts away with 
the swift flight with which we are all so familiar. If 
in a park or in private grounds the grouse are left un- 
disturbed, they may often be seen walking about and 
feeding, paying little attention to men who may pass 
near them, recognizing that no danger is to be appre- 
hended from them. 
