146 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



When I finished my photographing, I looked around the dancing-ground, and, 

 admitting my defeat, ruefully made my way back to camp. 



It was at another dancing-ground and before the above experience that I witnessed 

 the actual display of the male Argus. Although I am probably the first person who 

 ever saw a wild bird thus show off, it was the hen which interested me the more, for I 

 had seen the display itself several times in captive birds, and it offered nothing new or 

 unexpected. I was safely hidden in my underground hole with a full view of the 

 clearing. A male Argus, full feathered and perfect, had been walking restlessly about, 

 occasionally taking a few steps into the jungle and back again. Once he stopped within 

 six feet of my hiding-place, when I closed my eyes and froze stiff. It seemed to hear or 

 sense something to the west of the clearing, and after a short time, surely enough, a 

 female walked quietly in from that direction. This and other meetings which I observed 

 have led me to think that after the female once responds, she remains associated with the 

 male for several days or a week, during which time I believe the male wholly ceases his 

 calling. The meeting was characterized by no great enthusiasm on the part of either 

 bird, but both were restless and seldom still for more than a few seconds. She had 

 been present for perhaps five minutes when the male began to show signs of displaying. 

 Pie followed the hen about, endeavoured to get in front of her, raised the feathers of his 

 head and ruffled those of the neck. Now and then a half-hearted lift would be given to 

 his wings, but they would soon settle back again into position. 



Suddenly he turned and ran headlong toward the escape trail, and to my astonish- 

 ment there stood a second female. The brief glimpse I had was enough to show that 

 the bird was not a young male. But this plurality of applicants for his favour was 

 evidently not to his liking, for he gave her short shrift and dashed full tilt after her as 

 she turned to flee. In half a minute he returned, and female number two did not appear 

 again. This action on the part of a decidedly polygamous bird is hard to explain, and I 

 saw nothing further to clear it up. Within a few minutes after his return, the male 

 Argus spread his wings, and with the last rays of the sun sifting through the branches, 

 the wonderful bird stood thus, now and then quivering all over and rustling his 

 marvellous plumage. His back was toward me, but although he kept in full display 

 for at least a minute, not once did he attempt to push his head through the feathers to 

 observe what was going on. I could see the hen about half the time, and the aggravat- 

 ing creature paid no more attention than if she had had the clearing to herself. For 

 some seconds a buzzing beetle interested her, and eyeing it closely she ran toward it 

 when it alighted and eagerly seized and swallowed it, after beating it two or three times 

 against the ground. The Argus soon lowered his fan, and then his enthusiasm too 

 seemed to ebb, and the two birds walked slowly off through the little arched escape 

 trail, beginning to scratch and pick up food when they had gone only a few yards down 

 the slope. For many minutes they remained within earshot. I waited until dark set 

 in, and then signalled and left with my men. There was no calling from this arena for 

 the next two nights, but after that the bird called frequently. 



This experience, dove-tailed into a number of others which I had, led me to realize 

 that the routine of the Argus is different from what we have usually thought. The 

 calling is most usually heard in early morning and late evening, also frequently on 

 moonlight nights, and unquestionably, as far as this summons goes, the bird is truly 



