146 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



One of the women, hardly distinguishable in her rags and dirt from the men, had a long, 

 slender object in her hair, and a glance through the glasses showed this to be a feather 

 from a Reeves Pheasant — a sense of beauty even in these lowest of toilers. Even as I 

 looked it fell out and was trampled underfoot. 



A few minutes more took me out of sight and sound of the writhing, squirming 

 mass, and the peace of the wilderness closed down upon me. For a mile or more I 

 struggled on, through dense growths of coarse grass or stunted bamboo, which scraped 

 and clung to my leggings, making every step an effort. Then the undergrowth 

 thinned and a scattering of pines and cypress-like growth appeared, with occasional 

 oaks. 



When crossing a ridge, the sky cleared for a moment and the gorges of Ichang 

 appeared clear in the sunlight, deep, steel blue near at hand, purpling and fading into 

 the distance. Then the cold clammy mist shut down again and for the rest of the day 

 downright rain alternated only with drizzle. On the previous days I had heard the call 

 of this splendid pheasant, but had not caught even a glimpse of one. I had learned 

 something of their habits from a native hunter, and to-day I intended to pit this know- 

 ledge against their keen sight and hearing. Reaching at last the main dividing ridge, I 

 sent my China boy straight down toward the bottom, while I made my way along and 

 just below the ridge-top for a mile or more. At this point oaks predominated and in 

 their shelter I crept downward until I stood upon a little outjutting mass of rock, with a 

 shallow fault on the top, into which I crept. Here I occasionally had an excellent view 

 of the whole valley. 



Within reach of my hand were mosses, reeking with moisture. To the left down 

 the slope a tangle of grass was surmounted by a mass of pale rose-coloured azalea 

 blooms, the only touch of warm tone in the entire landscape. Beyond this, my view 

 was intermittent. Now it was so obscured with driving rain and fog that the world was 

 only a few steps of rock and moss leading into a chaos of pale blue mist. Then a lift of 

 warmer air would come rushing up the valley and the tossing needles of the trees would 

 come into view, and even the rugged dull green of the opposite slope. 



I knew I was far from any Chinese village, but even in this isolated, wild spot I 

 saw evidence of the omnipresent Mongolian. In the centre of the opposite side of the 

 valley was a large grave of weathered stone, the gracefully semicircular wall nestling into 

 the steep slope, and though obviously of man's handiwork, yet not out of harmony with 

 the wildness. What tremendous labour it must have been to get the great stones up to 

 that spot and with their rude tools to hollow out the grave and the thirty-foot niche. 



A low call came from far below me, and soon a babbler flew up and uttered its loud 

 guffaw. I knew that it had discovered something, and I sent forth the low, penetrating 

 trill, which I knew would make my boy freeze into immobility for as many minutes 

 or hours as I chose. 



Then came my first view of a live Reeves in its wild home— a hen, which walked 

 slowly into view, with head erect, showing the contagion of suspicion aroused by the 

 babbler. She leaped upon a boulder and stood quietly for many minutes, then crept 

 down the side of the rock and began to feed up the slope toward me. I gave the signal 

 for the boy to return to the sampan, but quietly as he must have progressed, he was 

 nearer the birds than I had thought possible, and with a low croak the babbler flew a 



