ELLIOT'S BARRED-BACKED PHEASANT 191 



the past years ; here, in this apparent wilderness, it is mankind of which we think ; as 

 we gaze at the mountains close-cropped as far as the eye can see ; as we look down at 

 the river where scores of sampans comb its depths for any small fish which may by 

 chance have escaped the myriad meshes spread for it and its kindred throughout past 

 years. 



One must look at this country from a wholly new point of view. One comes looking 

 for some hint of real wilderness, and when at last one realizes that such is not to be 

 found, then a new pleasure can be taken in the majestic cliffs and noble outlines. But 

 to do this one must sink low down among the undergrowth and take a pheasant's-eye 

 view of life to see the forlorn little maples and pines striving to rear themselves into 

 a forest. 



Even the prostrate brakes seem doomed, as the villagers gather thousands of 

 bundles, drying them for some kind of chow. 



Such the stage. Then enter the actors. The ring-necked pheasants have ceased 

 their crowing, the kite has vanished beyond the bend of the river, when a commotion 

 among the ferns some twenty yards away draws my attention. For some time I can see 

 nothing but an intermittent shaking of the fronds. Then the scene of action shifts and 

 two cock pheasants come into view, an Elliot which has lost its two longest tail-feathers 

 and a ring-neck. The birds are sparring, but in a half-hearted way, and between bouts 

 they peck at the ground or leaves in a self-conscious, aimless manner. Twice a bird 

 leaps completely over the other, landing with outspread wings upon the stiff fern fronds, 

 and dropping awkwardly to the ground. Then the Elliot seems to tire of the desultory 

 combat and goes viciously for his opponent with beak and spur. The ring-neck at once 

 recognizes the change of temper, and, after a single feeble attempt at retaliation, turns 

 and flicks out of sight. 



The Elliot preens his plumage, then gives a thorough shaking which rearranges 

 every feather from crown to tail and vibrates his wings for a moment. Coming a few 

 yards nearer he scratches lustily, and now I am conscious of a female some distance 

 away, perfectly protected by her marbled tints except when she too begins to scratch 

 among the debris. The birds work nearer to each other, and in low murmuring chuckles 

 and whispers begin to chat as they work. 



The male interests me greatly. Most of the time he is exceedingly conspicuous 

 against his surroundings, but twice when he is close to, or actually among, a mass of red- 

 brown leaves, touched up by the silvery under-sides of some half-bent ferns, he almost 

 vanishes, although in full sight. The first time he is moving constantly, and so easy is 

 it for the eye to follow this motion that only by half shutting my eyes can I fully 

 appreciate the excellent approximation of colour of plumage and vegetation. The second 

 time he stands motionless for several seconds, three-quarters of his body protruding 

 from the reddish shrub, and dissolves before my very eyes, disintegrating into grey 

 lichen, silvery fern frond and coppery foliage. Then, at the first turn of his head, the 

 pheasant reassembles its parts to my eyes and steps forth. 



I had several other opportunities of watching these pheasants under diverse 

 conditions, but never again saw even an approximation to close protective resemblance 

 on the part of the male. 



