WHITE EARED-PHEASANT 187 



widespread stretch of straight-edged wings, completing the picture with his calm 

 grandeur— the virile aerial creature which mocked our panting efforts to look down 

 upon the world. 



When we passed the last of the frozen bog, the view expanded into a magnificent 

 panorama of tumbled mountains. Behind was the far-stretching gorge, an opening 

 vista of distant lowlands and warm plains, but before — the wilderness of northern 

 China held its mean level but little beneath our own, while its peaks towered thousands 

 of feet above us. 



Everywhere the rounded heads of the rhododendrons dominated all other growths, 

 with lofty dead and gnarled veterans whose knotty, stubby branches showed at what 

 terrible cost had been gained their supremacy of years long past. 



This bleak zone housed other brave creatures, which had begun their wandering 

 downward, driven from the unsheltered ridges and eastern slopes by the heavy snows 

 which covered the peaks above us. Once, and once only was a glimpse permitted to us 

 of the wonderful White Eared-pheasants. As we rested for tiffin, three birds came into 

 an open space where a slip of rock had swept down a swath of trees some distance below. 

 The instant they appeared they saw us, and simultaneously discovered the eagle, 

 which by this time had become a mere speck in the blue. We were disregarded — each 

 head was turned sideways — every circle of the bird of prey was followed with those avian 

 eyes which all but shame our telescopes. The white ghosts of birds showed clearly 

 against the dark green rhododendrons. They showed no fear, not even a movement 

 which indicated uneasiness. Only every fibre was alert, concentrated on the threatened 

 danger. Two steps would carry them into the very heart of the impenetrable thicket, 

 where they would be safe from pursuit ; hence, I suppose, their nonchalance and disdain 

 of instant flight. 



I was impressed with the difference of action of this White Crossoptilon as compared 

 with that of the brown eared-pheasant in the presence of a bird of prey. The latter 

 crouched at once, merging their sombre forms with the surrounding rocks and grass. 

 These birds stood erect, ready for instant movement, but without a hint of attempt at 

 concealment. Did they know by the instinct of long lives of experience of the futility of 

 attempting to conceal their immaculate figures in any but the densest, darkest tangle of 

 the rhododendron underworld ? It would seem so. 



A mist sifted low across the valley below us, thickened into cloud and drove swiftly 

 on an eddy of wind up to our very feet, reflecting the sun as through a sea of foam. 

 Swiftly as it had formed it dissolved again, and the valleys, the opposite slopes, the dark 

 rhododendrons, the pale green ranks of bamboo all came out crisp and clear, but the 

 White Pheasants — where had they gone? Into the dark, mysterious ravine, whence 

 they were as safe from pursuit as if on another planet. 



The vision was one which I shall never forget, a glimpse so evanescent, so ethereal, 

 that I could hardly believe that the whole had not been a figment of the imagination. 



The eagle, too, had vanished, and now there came from the cold peaks long streams 

 of cloud mist, which sifted down each valley, coalesced, thickened, and soon we were 

 enveloped in a dense fog which shut out everything from view. Not a glimpse of tree or 

 mountain or sky was permitted ; of the sinking of the sun we knew only by the gradual 

 darkening of the impenetrable cloud, and when at last we crawled, shivering, into our 



