THE PLUMED PARTRIDGE. 15 



and Dr. A. K. Fisher obtained it in the Argus Range of mountains in south- 

 eastern California, the most easterly known point of its range. It is essen- 

 tially a bird of the mountains, where it is more partial to the open pine forests 

 and rocky ridges, covered with chaparral and undergrowth, than to the densely 

 timbered portions of the ranges. I have always found it a shy and retiring 

 bird, usually to be found only in* small coveys, and on being alarmed trusting 

 more to the legs than wings for escape. While equally abundant on both 

 sides of the Sierra Nevada, and common enough on the western slopes of the 

 Cascade Mountains in Oregon, it does not seem to occur on the east side of 

 the latter range; at any rate no specimens have been brought to the notice 

 of naturalists from such localities, and as far as known to me, unless recently 

 introduced, it does not occur in Washington. It is a resident and breeds 

 wherever found, excepting in the higher portions of the mountain's frequented 

 as summer haunts, from which the birds retire on the approach of winter. 



Mr. Charles A. Allen, of Nicasio, California, a careful and trustworthy 

 observer, writes me as follows: "I find this Partridge all through the Sierras. 

 In the spring many go up to the snow line, returning. in the fall below the 

 point of snowfall. These vertical migrations are performed entirely on foot, 

 unless streams must be crossed, when they take to their wings, but alight at 

 once on gaining the opposite side, and continue their travels on foot." 



The mating season begins in the latter part of March and the beginning of 

 April, according to latitude and altitude. The call note of the male is a clear 

 whistle, like "whu-ie'-whu-ie'," usually uttered from an old stump, the top of a 

 rock, or a bush. When alarmed, a note like "quit-quit" is used. In the higher 

 mountains but a single brood is raised; but in the lower foothills they rear two 

 broods occasionally, the male caring for the first one while the female is busy 

 hatching the second. 



I met with a brood of young birds, perhaps a week or ten days old, near 

 Jacksonville, Oregon, on June 17, 1883. The male, which had them in charge, 

 performed the usual taictics of feigning lameness, and tried his very best to 

 draw my attention away from the young, uttering in the mean time a shrill 

 sound resembling "Quaih-quaih," and showed a great deal of distress, seeing 

 I paid no attention to him. The young, already handsome and active little 

 creatures, scattered promptly in all directions, and the majority were most 

 effectually hidden in an instant. As nearly as I was able to judge they num- 

 bered eleven. I caught one, but after examining it turned it loose again. 

 The feathers of the crest already showed very plainly. 



Their food consists of insects, the buds and tender tops of leguminous 

 plants, small seeds, and berries of various kinds. The nest, simply a slight 

 depression in the ground scratched out by the bird, and lined perhaps with 

 a few dry leaves, pine needles, grasses, and usually a few feathers lost by the 

 hen while incubating, is sometimes placed alongside an old log, at other times 

 under low bushes or tufts of weeds, ferns, and, when nesting in the vicinity of 

 of a logging camp, a favorite site is under the fallen tops of pine trees that 



