WILD KALEEGE HYBRIDS 85 



Mosquitoes rose in clouds and pestered me sorely. Once the low tree-ferns on the 

 opposite bank were shaken, and through the deeper shade of their fronds I saw a 

 small tiger-cat passing, slowly, sinuously. He, too, sensed that pheasants come here 

 to drink. 



Knowing from the silence that they were not yet among the bamboos above, I 

 crept on up the valley. Tree-vines had hung their great masses of bloom overhead, 

 and graceful wisteria-shaped flowers lightened the gloom with their pink and salmon 

 petals, and spread far their musky odour — that of hemiptera. Some four-footed 

 creature dashed from my path and, marking its fright, left another sharp stratum of 

 musk upon the air. 



I came upon a maze of footprints, where pheasants had that morning crossed 

 the muddy rim of the pools, and here I turned upward. I know of no more difficult 

 feat than attempting to climb noiselessly up a steep bank through clumps of bamboo, 

 the ground covered with the driest of sheaths and leaves. Finally I passed the 

 grave of a Kachin chief, covered by an oval, thatched hut and a curious ornament 

 of dyed bamboo. Just beyond I reached the mule trail, which at this point cut into 

 the bank of the upper slope. Still hearing nothing, I climbed half-way to the summit 

 of the ridge, here an open growth of oaks, when suddenly a shift in the breeze 

 brought to my ears a loud scratching and rustling among the fallen leaves beyond 

 the summit. I was exposed to full view, so with all possible speed I backed down 

 the slope on hands and knees, crossed the trail and ensconced myself in a small 

 thicket, which gave me full view of the oak slope which I had just left. 



For half an hour I heard nothing, then a leaf flew upward from a tangle of 

 vines, and a sturdy form leaped high over a log into view. It was not a pheasant, 

 but a big, black-gorgeted laughing thrush. Another and another hopped down the 

 slope, now hidden by tree-trunks or bushes, now standing out in full silhouette. 

 There were sixteen in all, spread out in a segment of a circle, and chuckling low 

 to themselves at every succulent morsel. They are splendid, sturdy birds, jay-like 

 from beak to claw, now holding a wormy acorn and pounding away as hard as a 

 woodpecker, then, ant-thrush like, picking up leaves and throwing them far over 

 their backs. I was absorbed in watching their gradual approach when a jungle-fowl 

 crowed loudly in the valley beyond the ridge, and brought my mind sharply back to 

 pheasants. I was keenly disappointed at having apparently missed my birds, and 

 half rose to go. At my first motion a laughing thrush set up a truly jay-like yell, 

 and answers came from a score of throats, guffaws and peals of loud laughter which 

 no real jay could ever produce. I sat quiet, their alarm passed, and they began to 

 sail overhead down the valley. Not being certain at this time of the species I fired 

 and secured one. 



I waited five minutes and heard not a sound, save the calls of the laughing 

 thrushes far down below me. Rising stiffly, and slowly moving out into the trail, I 

 began to reload, when half-way up the slope a black head and neck shot up, and 

 the warning or suspicion cry of a kaleege pheasant rang out sharp and shrill. 



I dropped flat upon the trail, and wriggled back over the edge into my thicket 

 again. Not a cluck or call came from the slope above, but little by little a low 

 sub-sound of rustling leaves, and in ten minutes the ground over which the laughing 



