BORNEAN ARGUS PHEASANT 143 



floor became when viewed from their own stratum of life. One's real proportions became 

 indefinite, forgotten ; the grasses became great bamboos, the ferns like huge hairy plants 

 of carboniferous days, while trees vanished utterly and became nameless ; they were too 

 mighty to be considered. Tragedies and comedies were performed close to my eyes. 

 Murder, rapine and courtship went on within reach of my hand. 



But I watched all this with only secondary interest. The clear space before me was 

 the real lodestone, its actor was the object of my whole desire at present. And finally 

 he came. My observations here were reinforced by several repeated visits, at different 

 times of the day and night, and the approach of my men and myself, and the apparent 

 subsequent departure of all of us, were soon accepted by the Argus as a normal daily 

 routine, and had I been able to stay for another week I believe the bird would scarcely 

 have been absent for more than a few minutes after they left. At the end of a certain 

 time, agreed upon beforehand, they would wait for my signal to return, the clear whistle 

 of a wood quail, and I would slip out and leave with them without attracting the bird's 

 attention to my hiding-place. 



On the day in question I saw my pheasant utter its call. In the late afternoon it 

 came quietly to the clearing from the opposite side after I had waited half an hour, and 

 for five minutes more it stood at the mouth of its escape trail, hardly moving, with all 

 its attention apparently concentrated upon its sense of hearing. I was sure my heart- 

 beats must be communicated to the earth, so still did I try to be, and I gave almost a 

 gasp of relief when the ordeal was over. I had won ; the bird failed to detect anything 

 and accepted conditions as normal. 



The escape trail which I have mentioned is an opening at one side of the dancing- 

 place, which, like the leafy or grassy tunnels in turf of little ground rodents, extends 

 through the densest undergrowth in the vicinity of the arena. The Dyaks call it jeli 

 ruoi, the path of the Argus. Unless an enemy actually approaches by way of this trail, 

 the bird invariably makes its escape by it. I have followed such a trail for thirty feet 

 before it was lost, debouching into the general trackless maze of the forest. Throughout 

 this length the footprints of the bird are distinct, and the constant use is attested by the 

 trodden-down moss and underfoot growth of the trail attached to any constantly occupied 

 dancing-place. I have never, out of six or eight carefully examined, detected any signs 

 of intentional clearing, or removal of interfering twigs or leaves. The bird simply 

 chooses the safest side of the arena for a hasty exit, and holds constantly to it, and soon 

 the constant patting of its feet mats down the debris, and the pressure of its body and 

 plumage bends aside the ferns and begonias, and shapes the trail. 



My Argus walked slowly into the arena at five o'clock on this particular afternoon 

 and shook itself thoroughly, fluffing up its body plumage until it seemed twice normal 

 size, then half raising its wings and tail and shaking itself until it fairly staggered on its 

 feet. It then turned and faced the escape trail, whether by intention or not I do not 

 know. Raising its head and neck it gave forth the call — the summons of the loneliest, 

 most solitary pheasant in the world to its equally solitary kind. Ke-iuaaaii rang out, 

 the last syllable drawn out as the bird lifted itself on tiptoe, putting every effort into the 

 note. The tail drooped low against the earth, even the wings trailed the ground, the 

 whole bird relaxed as it forced its very soul into the penetrating cry. In the silence of 

 the Bornean jungle, and to my over-wrought nerves, the cry seemed filled with emotion. 



