RED JUNGLEFOWL 173 



From the distant village comes the long-drawn, wavering crow of chanticleer, 

 and then pandemonium in the shape of two hundred mules loaded with rice and 

 ammunition, and guided by an escort of swarthy Punjabis. The jingling of bells, 

 screaming of coolies, and undisguised complaints of the mules themselves fill the air 

 with a continuous din, as I crouch unseen in a clump of bushes near the trail which 

 leads to China. Finally, the last falsetto shriek dies out in the distance, and a dyal- 

 bird sends up his clear, sweet phrase, clearing the jungle air and giving it over again 

 to the sounds of the wilderness. 



Two hundred yards farther on, the edge of the jungle opens upon the encampment 

 of the preceding night, a disordered litter such as only ten score of army mules can 

 leave. The scavengers are already at work, doing their part to re-sweeten the field 

 again. Forty great black pigs, several vultures with others circling downward each 

 minute, a score of many-hued doves and dyal-birds, all at work, the first snuffling 

 among the remains of the forage bags, the latter daintily catching flies— those scavengers 

 of a still lesser world of life. 



Suddenly in the very midst of it all my eye caught a bit of incongruity. Walking 

 with quick, nervous steps among the lethargic pigs and the crowding, scratching hens 

 was a wild Red Jungle cock. Every poise of body, every turn of the head spelled 

 caste. Never for an instant was he off his guard. Only at the rarest intervals did he 

 snatch some morsel of food. 



Once a native cock approached with ruffled hackles ; the wild cock gave a sudden 

 turn in the direction of the threat and the coward took to instant flight. My glasses 

 showed the sleek, slender body, the dark, trim legs and the sinister black curving spurs 

 capable of dealing death with a single thrust. Once, and once only, did the jungle bird 

 forget himself for a moment. He crossed the path of a brown hen, much too big for 

 any strain but that of the farmyard, yet without the white and blacks which marked 

 the other hens. She had retained the jungle tints, and as if he recognized it, the wild 

 cock turned aside and made one quick, brilliant obeisance. A narrow circling-turn 

 sideways to the hen, inner wing dropped, back flattened, hackles and tail spread. Just 

 for a moment he was agleam, the sun reflecting metallic red, green and purple from his 

 plumage. Then a great lumbering pig interrupted my view, and when seen again the 

 bird was quietly making his way through the throng, unnoticing, but not unnoticed. 

 Not a cock or a hen but ceased feeding or scratching when he passed near. They 

 recognized him as something alien, perhaps as superior, certainly to be respected, for 

 they took no liberties with him. 



All this came clearly through my glasses, and then, when about to walk on, I saw 

 the jungle cock give one leap and vanish behind a low bush. The other creatures paid 

 no attention to the cause of the alarm, and only when I stealthily stood upright did 

 I perceive the native chowkidar, who had left the dak bungalow and was making his 

 way down to the river. 



The cock crept carefully off" toward the jungle, with never a stop for even a snatch 

 at a morsel of food. Ten minutes later, some distance to my left, I heard his sharp, 

 decisive double crow, so free of quaver or drawl, so like to the wild call of his pheasant 

 kindred : cock-ka-chdrr ! 



After a hasty cup of cocoa and a cracker I started on a stalk, and creeping up to 



