258 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 
HOME LIFE 
The breeding season varies considerably in the various portions of the bird’s 
haunts, and even in one locality several months may intervene between the laying 
of neighbouring pairs. I believe that this and not a double brood explains the 
presence of chicks of various ages in any one place. It usually corresponds with some 
portion of the dry season, from June to November, more often in the first month or 
two of the East Monsoon, for then the abundance of insect life and the newly sprouting 
plant life is propitious for the rearing of the hungry young birds. In Patjiran the 
extremes of the breeding season must extend at least from June until November, 
judging by the ages of the young birds which I secured. In the interior they are 
reported to nest usually in June, and I believe this is correct. 
The cocks are said to fight fiercely during the breeding season and assiduously to 
court their mates. Their method of courtship does not differ from that of the red 
junglefowl, except that the head is brought more prominently into display. They 
seem to be fully aware of the beauty of their comb and wattle, and when the cock is 
strutting before the hen and flattening himself obliquely toward her, the head is always 
stretched out and leaned well in her direction. At such times the wattle is stretched 
to the utmost, and temporarily the head of the bird appears merely a small median 
connection between the two great parti-coloured sheets of skin—the comb and 
wattle. 
I have seen the Junglefowl only in pairs, and I have watched many of these day 
after day. Other observers report that the species is sometimes polygamous, a cock 
having as many as four hens in his harem. 
The nest is usually a hollow in the ground hidden amongst dense vegetation of 
some kind. Several, however, have been authentically reported as being placed in the 
shelter of a clump of parasitic ferns growing at some height against the trunk of a tree, 
and again, more than one has been found in the heart of a tree-fern’s top, surrounded 
by the curving fronds, with a lining of the soft red down from the stalks of the 
ferns. 
The only nest which I found was one which had retained its traces from the 
preceding breeding season, preserved by the dryness of the air and the security of its 
location. I had made my way to a new ridge of limestone a mile or more inland, and 
with great difficulty had forced a path through briars and cacti to a sheltered wall of 
jagged rock, the whole surface of which was gutted and sculptured and whetted to 
razor edges by the wind and water. Close above a ledge, breast high, several large 
oak-leaf ferns were growing, strongly rooted to the face of the rock, and just beneath 
one, on the ledge itself, I found considerable old sign, weather-worn feathers in the 
deep crevices, and a number of pieces of dried egg-shell. Having satisfied myself that 
this was without doubt the remains of a Junglefowl’s nest, I broke down several thorny 
plants in order to set up my tripod. A thousand bits of flame burned my flesh, and 
regardless of sharp rocks and cactus needles, I leaped down from the ledge covered with 
ahost of fireants. After I had freed myself from them I carefully approached, ‘but an hour 
afterwards the whole ledge was still alive with them, and I had to content myself with 
a distant photograph. Thus was the nest of one Junglefowl protected from disturbance. 
