
Dec. 28, 1907.] 

FOREST AND STREAM. 






ON 


—_—— 
My Friend the Partridge 
Memories of New 
By “S:acL; 
England Shooting 
Hammond 
(Continued from page 974.) 
HE natural history books tell us that the 
partridge is of a rufous color, and many of 
the birds show this, but there are others. 
In fact, there are so many different and varying 
shades of color in different specimens that Hi 
feel incompetent to give a description that will 
do justice to each form. 
This difference in color is to be found in all 
sections where this bird abounds, and no one 
distinctive variety of color or marking pre- 
dominates in any section that has come under 
my observation. I have often read that in cer- 
tain localities partridges were of darker or 
lighter color than the standard, giving one the 
impression that the writers intended to convey 
the idea that this was a hard and fast rule for 
that particular section of country. 
I have hunted quite extensively in every State 
east of the Mississippi River, where the par- 
tridge abounds, except Maine and Michigan, 
and as yet have failed to find even a limited 
section where these conditions obtain. In fact, 
I have invariably found that there is only one 
safe rule that governs this question, and that 1s 
not to judge of the color and markings of the 
bird in the bush by those of the bird in hand, 
for the chances are that before you have a score 
of birds in hand you will discover several very 
potent reasons that will cause you to change — 
your mind. 
Many years ago I was shooting in Pennsyl- 
vania on the slopes of the Allegheny Mountains 
with Mr. Baker, the inventor of the Baker gun. 
While eating our lunch the dog flushed a par- 
tridge which alighted on a tree nearly over us, 
and my companion brought it down. When he 
picked it up he uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise and said that he had never seen a bird like 
that and did not believe there was another in 
the world. The bird was of a decided reddish 
color, and I told him that it was by no means 
rare and was well known to partridge hunters as 
an “old red-tail.” But I placidly saw that he 
did not take much stock in the statement. Two 
days later I bagged one very much like it, and 
in the evening I carried it to him, when he 
allowed that the best of us are liable to make 
mistakes. 
In the early days I had a mania for exploring 
new territory and occasionally found a section 
where the first few birds would show a uni- 
formity of color and markings, which would 
lead me to decide that I had found the country 
and the bird where one phase of color pre- 
vailed, but invariably the next few birds would 
disprove the whole thing, and so often has this 
occurred, that I am forced to believe that I am 
occurred, that I am convinced the conclusions 
of these writers are based on insufficient data. 
As a rule, the partridge is not quarrelsome. 
although I have seen two, or perhaps three, 
scraps among them, one of which was very in- 
teresting. Early one spring, I went to a birch 
knoll to cut some bean poles, I had been at 
work but a short time when a rustling in the 
bushes near me attracted my attention. I care- 
fully went toward the spot to investigate, and 
was greatly surprised to see in an open place 
two partridges fighting with the fury of demons. 
They were at it in true gamecock style, 

ONE WEEK 
RUFFED GROUSE OLD. 
and mixed it up in a manner that would have 
brought joy to the heart of even the most 
hardened lover of the ringside. Nearly all of 
the fracas was on the ground, but occasionally 
they would go into the air several feet, all the 
time whacking each other with their wings and 
pecking with their bills, displaying a vim that 
plainly showed that the latter was no fake affair. 
It was a true fight that would not result in a 
draw. 
One of the birds was a trifle larger than the 
other. Of course, my sympathy was with the 
smaller, and I was deeply grieved when after 
a rattling round he turned tail and ran away 
with the other not more than two feet behind 
him. My sorrow was of very brief duration, 
however, for my favorite suddenly turned and 
went for his antagonist with a spirit and dash 
that would not be denied, rolling him over and 
jumping on him with both feet, all the while 
whacking him in a business sort of way that 
soon took all the fight out of him. He rose 
in the air and took a bee line for the tall timber 

at his very best gait, with the champion close 
after him. of the 
woods some fifty yards away with the big one 
flying better than he could fight, for he clearly 
had the best of the victor in respect to flight. 
I saw them last at the edge 
There was no more fighting among them, so 
far as I know, until some ten years later when 
on a trout stream I again heard the sound of 
battle was at the but I was 
a little too late, as with the exception of a short 
but decidedly brisk scrimmage, I saw nothing 
but a fleeting glimpse of the vanquished as he 
took to flight with the victor in close pursuit. 
A few years ago, as I was walking along some 
woods, I heard sounds just beyond a dense 
growth of brush that led me to believe that a 
fight was on. I at once started for the scene, 
but the cover was so tangled that my progress 
was very slow. I was too late to see the wind 
up, for as I parted the branches at the edge of 
the opening, I caught sight of the two birds, 
one stealthily getting away from there while the 
other was intently searching for his foe in the 
opposite direction. This is positively all that I 
know about the fighting habits of my dearly 
loved bird. 
I have been informed that partridges roost in 
and many times I have been just as 
positively told that they roost on the ground. 
Many years ago I learned, after careful investi- 
and soon front; 
trees, 
gation, that both of these propositions are true, 
but whether the bird that perched in the tree 
last night will sleep on the ground to-night is 
beyond me. Whether the bird that makes up 
its bed on the ground does so habitually or not 
is a mystery that I have been unable to solve. 
Often when the snow is deep and free from 
crust, the partridge will into it and 
cuddle down for a night’s rest oftentimes a foot 
I have seen this 
plunge 
or more below the surface. 
performance but once, and am not competent 
to say that this course is always pursued. I 
was at a runway at the edge of some woods 
waiting for the fox to come, when a partridge 
alighted on a limb some fifteen feet from the 
ground and not more than fifty feet away. 
There he sat few moments, with 
closed wings he dove down and buried himself 
in the snow. This was perhaps an hour before 
sunset, and I have no doubt that he remained 
there all night; for when passing near the place 
two days later, I went to the spot and found 
unmistakable signs that he had remained in 
the hole a long time. I had known for some 
years that they burrowed in the snow. I had 
paid rather dear for the knowledge, for a man 
who should have known better than to play 
upon some of the best feelings of my nature, 
gave me a circumstantial account of famous 
times he had enjoyed in capturing lots of the 
birds by clapping a scoop net over those holes. 
for a when 
This looked very plausible to me, and as there 
was a foot and a half of snow on the ground, 
I arose early the next morning, and taking a 
dip net that belonged to my uncle, I started for 
the woods with high hopes. It was heart- 
breaking traveling through the knee-deep snow, 

