66 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



near by, were joined by a third about this time, whereupon a terrific battle ensued, the 

 combatants falling almost at my elbow in their fury. And thus, one after another, came 

 the actors on this splendid stage, while the unsuspected audience of one, attended with 

 breathless attention and interest, but forbore to applaud. 



Over the little patch of forest grass in front, shadows now and then passed, 

 revealing lammergeiers or vultures, and once a nutcracker came and preened his 

 plumage for five minutes in a tree down the slope, close to the level of my eyes. 



Then a whirr of wings came from behind, and a wonderful cock Tragopan, the 

 Western bird, flew straight overhead into the nutcracker's oak. For a moment after 

 alighting he stood motionless, his keen eyes scanning every detail within view. 

 Fortunately I had been watching the nutcracker, so the imperceptible shift of the 

 glasses to the left was unobserved by the newcomer, who was facing directly away 

 from me. My heart thumped wildly against the mossy rocks, and in my excitement 

 it seemed as if my pulse must be audible even to the bird. 



For at least ten minutes I watched this glorious creature, so close that not a 

 feather or a spot was lost. When satisfied all was well, he began to preen plumage, 

 wings and tail, balancing sometimes in most awkward positions on the branch, but 

 constantly coming back to "attention " for a fraction of a second, before again burying 

 his head within his feathers. A final ruffling and thorough shake of the whole body 

 settled his plumage to his satisfaction. It also loosened a large body feather, which 

 fell out and eddied slowly to the ground. 



Then the Tragopan began to search the crevices of the bark and the strands of 

 moss near by, now and then tearing off an entire skein and dropping it again. All this 

 time he kept up a contented conversation with himself through closed bill — a low, 

 murmuring, running chuckle, brimming with good nature. I have never heard 

 anything like it from a captive bird, and considering it as a vocal utterance of a 

 certain mental state, I can compare it best to the song of a domestic hen — that drowsy 

 waaa-waaaaaaaak ! waaaak! waaaak! which she utters when leisurely searching for 

 food. It seemed the epitome of wild Tragopan contentment : another day had passed, 

 food had been found, dangers avoided, a safe roost attained. The bird settled at last on 

 a higher branch, not far from the trunk, where he was partly concealed from my view 

 and here, as the shadows deepened, he squatted down. I did not wish to disturb him, 

 so tried the experiment of first attracting his attention by slow movements. These 

 made him crouch only the flatter, and I crawled off backward on all fours, enfolded by 

 my green observation tent-cloth, with glasses swung round my neck. My last view 

 of the bird silhouetted against the distant yellow sky, was of a head and neck drawn 

 out to their longest, while keen eyes lost not a movement. Some dead branch crashed 

 to the ground in the forest far below, and the bird's head turned in that direction. 

 I slipped away behind the nearest trunks and left the Tragopan to the solitude of its 

 lofty oaken perch, watching the day slowly die and the valley fill with the thick gloom 

 of night ; the cold, breathless summer night of the Garhwalese Himalayas. 



GENERAL DISTRIBUTION 



This species makes its appearance only a few miles beyond the western limit of 

 the satyr tragopan's range, in native Garhwal. In fact, it is said that the ridge between 



