﻿COMMON 
  KOKLASS 
  PHEASANT 
  9 
  

  

  Halley's 
  comet 
  was 
  drawn 
  across 
  the 
  sky 
  like 
  a 
  second 
  Milky 
  Way. 
  At 
  the 
  apex 
  the 
  

   head 
  glowed 
  with 
  a 
  dull, 
  pale 
  green 
  glare. 
  It 
  was 
  the 
  comet 
  more 
  than 
  the 
  stars 
  which 
  

   etched 
  into 
  the 
  blackness 
  of 
  night, 
  and 
  when 
  my 
  eyes 
  slowly 
  readjusted 
  themselves, 
  

   brought 
  many 
  silhouetted 
  details 
  into 
  view. 
  

  

  For 
  a 
  while 
  no 
  sound 
  came 
  to 
  me 
  from 
  the 
  night 
  world 
  all 
  about, 
  not 
  a 
  breath 
  of 
  

   air 
  stirred 
  the 
  branches 
  below 
  me, 
  and 
  I 
  watched 
  the 
  comet 
  with 
  an 
  abstracted 
  fascina- 
  

   tion 
  which 
  was 
  almost 
  hypnotic. 
  Here 
  was 
  I 
  in 
  the 
  twentieth 
  century, 
  gazing 
  on 
  this 
  

   splendour 
  of 
  the 
  heavens— 
  a 
  solitary 
  scientist 
  in 
  the 
  heart 
  of 
  this 
  great 
  wilderness 
  of 
  

   tumbled 
  mountains. 
  There 
  came 
  vividly 
  to 
  mind 
  the 
  changes 
  which 
  had 
  taken 
  place 
  in 
  

   the 
  affairs 
  of 
  men 
  on 
  the 
  globe 
  since 
  last 
  its 
  splendid 
  train 
  swept 
  past 
  our 
  earth. 
  This 
  

   Asiatic 
  continent 
  was 
  then 
  all 
  but 
  unknown 
  — 
  as 
  indeed 
  its 
  heart 
  is 
  at 
  present 
  — 
  Africa 
  

   was 
  but 
  a 
  mystery 
  ; 
  Japan 
  a 
  mere 
  hermit 
  nation 
  of 
  Mongolian 
  islanders 
  ; 
  Italy 
  and 
  

   Germany 
  were 
  not 
  then 
  kingdom 
  and 
  empire 
  ; 
  the 
  flag 
  of 
  Mexico 
  flew 
  over 
  Texas 
  and 
  

   California; 
  not 
  a 
  mile 
  of 
  railroad 
  had 
  been 
  built 
  in 
  Europe; 
  the 
  telegraph 
  and 
  the 
  

   "Origin 
  of 
  Species" 
  were 
  unheard 
  of. 
  Then 
  my 
  momentary 
  dream 
  passed, 
  for 
  an 
  

   insistent 
  call, 
  a 
  mysterious 
  metallic 
  double-note, 
  came 
  to 
  my 
  ear 
  from 
  the 
  deodars, 
  the 
  

   low 
  note 
  or 
  call 
  of 
  some 
  creature 
  — 
  whether 
  bird 
  or 
  batrachian 
  I 
  know 
  not 
  — 
  which 
  never 
  

   ceased 
  during 
  this 
  and 
  other 
  following 
  nights, 
  becoming 
  an 
  unnoticed 
  background 
  of 
  

   soft 
  insistent 
  sound, 
  from 
  dusk 
  until 
  dawn. 
  

  

  I 
  rose 
  abruptly, 
  and 
  padded 
  softly 
  down 
  into 
  the 
  forest 
  of 
  deodars 
  and 
  silver 
  firs, 
  

   the 
  mighty 
  columns 
  rising 
  from 
  the 
  steep 
  slope 
  out 
  of 
  a 
  dense 
  carpet 
  of 
  needles. 
  The 
  

   overhead 
  foliage 
  was 
  scanty 
  where 
  I 
  seated 
  myself, 
  and 
  the 
  branches 
  and 
  trunks 
  stood 
  

   out 
  dimly 
  in 
  the 
  diluted 
  comet- 
  and 
  starlight. 
  

  

  Fifteen 
  minutes 
  elapsed 
  and 
  the 
  eternal, 
  mournful, 
  four-toned 
  call 
  of 
  the 
  hawk 
  

  

  cuckoo 
  came 
  from 
  a 
  distance. 
  It 
  was 
  now 
  four 
  o'clock 
  in 
  the 
  morning. 
  I 
  was 
  startled 
  

  

  by 
  a 
  sudden 
  rush 
  of 
  some 
  creature 
  up 
  the 
  trunk 
  of 
  a 
  tree 
  close 
  by. 
  It 
  ascended 
  by 
  

  

  starts, 
  each 
  movement 
  sending 
  down 
  a 
  rain 
  of 
  twigs 
  and 
  bark 
  almost 
  upon 
  me. 
  Then 
  

  

  another 
  animal 
  climbed 
  after 
  it, 
  this 
  one 
  steadily 
  and 
  more 
  slowly. 
  Their 
  silhouettes 
  

  

  against 
  the 
  sky 
  enabled 
  me 
  to 
  see 
  that 
  both 
  had 
  long 
  tails. 
  I 
  watched 
  silently. 
  The 
  

  

  second 
  creature 
  gained 
  on 
  the 
  first 
  and, 
  suddenly, 
  a 
  dark 
  form 
  hurtled 
  through 
  the 
  air 
  

  

  towards 
  me. 
  It 
  swooped 
  between 
  my 
  head 
  and 
  the 
  nearest 
  tree, 
  a 
  claw 
  brushing 
  my 
  

  

  cap 
  as 
  it 
  went 
  past. 
  It 
  crashed 
  into 
  a 
  low 
  shrub 
  and 
  clambered 
  nimbly 
  to 
  the 
  top. 
  The 
  

  

  second 
  animal 
  ran 
  down 
  the 
  trunk 
  a 
  short 
  distance, 
  and 
  also 
  leaped 
  or 
  fell 
  with 
  even 
  a 
  

  

  harder 
  crash 
  on 
  the 
  other 
  side 
  of 
  where 
  I 
  sat, 
  tense 
  with 
  excitement. 
  It 
  ran 
  to 
  my 
  very 
  feet, 
  

  

  when 
  I 
  flashed 
  the 
  electric 
  light 
  full 
  upon 
  it, 
  and 
  with 
  a 
  snarl 
  it 
  drew 
  back, 
  showing 
  the 
  

  

  sinuous 
  body 
  and 
  flashing, 
  cruel 
  teeth 
  of 
  a 
  pine 
  marten. 
  It 
  slunk 
  off 
  into 
  the 
  blackness 
  

  

  behind, 
  but 
  not 
  before 
  other 
  actors 
  had 
  made 
  their 
  presence 
  known. 
  A 
  third 
  animal 
  

  

  ran 
  along 
  a 
  branch 
  overhead 
  and 
  awakened 
  pandemonium 
  in 
  the 
  shape 
  of 
  a 
  pair 
  of 
  

  

  Koklass 
  Pheasants, 
  which 
  blundered 
  off 
  through 
  the 
  trees, 
  squawking 
  at 
  the 
  top 
  of 
  

  

  their 
  lungs. 
  Reaching 
  the 
  end 
  of 
  the 
  branch, 
  the 
  great 
  flying 
  squirrel, 
  for 
  such 
  it 
  was, 
  

  

  sprang 
  into 
  the 
  air. 
  In 
  the 
  dim 
  night 
  light 
  its 
  widespread 
  parachute 
  looked 
  as 
  large 
  as 
  

  

  a 
  blanket, 
  and 
  I 
  involuntarily 
  dodged 
  as, 
  with 
  a 
  resounding 
  thump, 
  it 
  struck 
  the 
  tree 
  

  

  nearest 
  flying 
  squirrel 
  number 
  one. 
  Then 
  it 
  called 
  — 
  a 
  sudden, 
  sharp, 
  loud 
  squawl, 
  

  

  ending 
  with 
  a 
  clear 
  metallic 
  note, 
  repeated 
  again 
  and 
  again. 
  The 
  other 
  squirrel 
  answered 
  

  

  with 
  an 
  infantile 
  whine, 
  and 
  I 
  read 
  the 
  whole 
  story 
  — 
  the 
  almost 
  tragedy 
  which 
  had 
  been 
  

   vol. 
  in 
  c 
  

  

  