SCLATER'S IMPEYAN PHEASANT 155 



climb upward, first through a steep ascent of soft mould densely shaded by wild-sown 

 bananas. The undergrowth seemed scant, and as I brushed aside the first thicket of 

 soft-leaved plants I anticipated an easy first stage. But the grey down on the myriad 

 green stems proved scourging whips of nettle which lashed face and hands at every 

 step. There was no alternative, so I clambered painfully on, seizing hold of every 

 cold, smooth-enamelled banana trunk as a haven from the merciless needles. 



A small side ravine spread out into a broad, fern-filled bog, and the nettles were 

 left behind. Then came more bananas and small evergreen trees with little or no under- 

 growth. Here was the feeding ground of the pheasants and deer. There was hardly 

 a square yard of mould which did not bear the marks of the tiny hoofs of the barking 

 deer or the strong claws of the birds. Now and then I picked up a feather of some 

 silver pheasant clinging to a bramble on the steep slope. The earth was crumbling 

 and again and again I fell headlong. Once I grasped a banana and brought it over 

 upon me — a light, air-filled stem bearing streamers of old, crackling leaves, and a 

 rosette of long wavy green ones. As I struggled, face and ears half covered with 

 earth, my hand touched something which seemed to move. I turned my head and 

 became suddenly sick with horror as I saw a king cobra crawling slowly out of the 

 fallen debris, fortunately making its way to the other end of the prostrate banana stem. 

 Its body was dull and brown, and trailing along, crackling like the dead palm leaves, 

 were remnants of half-shed skin. My touch upon the sinuous body had seemingly not 

 disturbed it. 



If it had changed its course and turned toward me I could not have escaped from 

 its path, half pinned down as I was by the mass of leaves and the stem. I watched the 

 tapering point of the tail slowly disappear, and, weak-kneed and trembling, crept slowly 

 off in the opposite direction. 



Fortunately serpents of all kinds are rare, and this most fatal and irritable species 

 is nocturnal. I had disturbed it among the roots of the palm by my awkward fall. 

 During the past week it was not at all unusual to find king cobras in the deadfalls of 

 the natives. 



I had hardly crept five yards from the place of my ugly adventure when two feathers 

 caught my eye, and straightway I forgot my fears. They were from the plumage of no 

 silver pheasant, but brilliant, iridescent, changeable green and purple. I was at a loss 

 to know from what gallinaceous bird they had come. A little way farther I found 

 another. Later, while worming my way through a barking deer's tunnel at the roots 

 of a perfect tangle of bamboo, I heard subdued chuckles and the rustling of leaves ahead. 

 A few feet brought me to a deeply worn but steep sambur trail, along which I made my 

 way on hands and knees, without making a sound. 



The rustling of leaves and the spray of earthen pellets falling down, came more 

 distinctly to my ears, and at last I rested for many minutes with my face buried in a 

 clump of blue, sweet-scented pea flowers. 



Inch by inch I then edged myself upward, digging with fingers and toes into every 

 deepened hoof-rut. A shower of earth fell upon me, and with joy I saw that a clump of 

 soft-leaved, mint-like plants lay before me. I did not have to increase my numerous 

 wounds by a slow penetration of either nettles or briers. 



The revelation came sooner than I expected. Noiselessly plucking away leaves and 



