HIMALAYAN BLOOD PARTRIDGE 9 



remains immovable until the suspicion passes. Like most inhabitants of high or arctic 

 altitudes, they are not wary, and unless they have been persecuted, they will prefer 

 to watch curiously any unusual object rather than run off. In this they differ most 

 markedly from species living at lower altitudes. 



When, however, danger actually threatens so that they have to flee, all the members 

 of the flock give voice to a series of sudden, sharp notes — seep! seep ! seep I After the 

 scattered members of the flock have recovered from their alarm, they utter the covey 

 call, which is only the alarm note drawn out — see-e-e-e-e-lpe 1 snapping off short at the 

 end. I once heard a call uttered by a male when with the flock, something like silpe- 

 silpe-silpe-silpe ! which is the nearest approach to what some authors have vaguely 

 called a cackle. The scanty literature in regard to this and many species of true 

 pheasants is indeed chiefly remarkable for vagueness. For example, what are we to 

 gather from Hooker's statement that the Blood Partridge ''seldom or never crows." 



The usual gait of Blood Partridges is a rather slow, fowl-like walk. They do not 

 impress one with the dignity of the more stately, mincing kaleege pheasants ; their 

 carriage is less alert, more matter-of-fact. As Hodgson says, the tail is usually carried 

 low, partridge fashion, except when walking over rough ground, when it is raised, but 

 not spread. 



When suddenly alarmed, a covey will rise in all directions, and, quail-like, the flight 

 is scaling, direct and brief. If opportunity offers, on alighting the birds prefer to run 

 up-hill, but the first object is to reach and enter shelter, usually scrub rhododendrons, 

 where they are safe from pursuit. If the underbush is more open, and one follows them 

 up, they will be found separated, listening and watching intently, but so unsuspicious 

 as to take a second glance at the approaching danger before running off again. If trees 

 are near and the alarm comes from a sudden rush on the part of a dog, the covey will 

 take to the lower branches. If the alarm is less abrupt, they scurry off on foot, necks 

 outstretched, heads and tails held rather high. 



In feeding, the birds tend always to work out to the open country, passing slowly 

 over meadows, generally within easy running distance of scrub. 



Soon after the autumn coveys have been formed, the advance of the snowfall forces 

 them downward. They seem to show no partiality for either northern or southern 

 exposures, but are found both on exposed and protected slopes, lower down, of course, 

 on the former. While they spend much of their daily life at this season in the open, it 

 is almost always in the vicinity of patches of low, dense undergrowth. In the eastern 

 Himalayas the silver fir and rhododendron forests share much the same zones. At 

 eleven thousand feet the firs predominate, while, two or three thousand feet higher, the 

 taller trees gradually yield to a dense growth of rhododendron scrub. In certain parts 

 of Nepal these birds are reported to prefer clumps of mountain bamboo. 



The winter home of the Blood Partridge is among the open coniferous forests 

 of fir and juniper nearer the lower levels. Here it is kept company by the hardy 

 Himalayan nutcrackers and coal tits, while hosts of northern sparrows and finches 

 feed with it amid the weeds and scrub. There is no hard-and-fast line, however, and 

 these partridges may occasionally be found away from trees amid deep snow in January, 

 as Hooker has reported. 



In the spring of the year a slow, irregular ascent takes place, and the summer 



