, you would hear his loud drum-call rolling through the May
splendor, calling as many wives as possible to share his rich living.

He had two drumming logs on this range, as I soon discovered; and once,
while he was drumming on one log, I hid near the other and imitated
his call fairly well by beating my hands on a blown bladder that I
had buttoned under my jacket. The roll of a grouse drum is a curiously
muffled sound; it is often hard to determine the spot or even the
direction whence it comes; and it always sounds much farther away than
it really is. This may have deceived the old beech partridge at first
into thinking that he heard some other bird far away, on a ridge across
the valley where he had no concern; for presently he drummed again on
his own log. I answered it promptly, rolling back a defiance, and also
telling any hen grouse on the range that here was another candidate
willing to strut and spread his tail and lift the resplendent ruff about
his neck to win his way into her good graces, if she would but come to
his drumming log and see him.

Some suspicion that a rival had come to his range must have entered
the old beech partridge's head, for there was a long silence in which
I could fancy him standing up straight and stiff on his drumming log,
listening intently to locate the daring intruder, and holding down his
bubbling wrath with difficulty.

Without waiting for him to drum again, I beat out a challenge. The roll
had barely ceased when he came darting up the ridge, glancing like a
bolt among the thick branches, and plunged down by his own log, where
he drew himself up with marvelous suddenness to listen and watch for the
intruder.

He seemed relieved that the log was not occupied, but he was still
full of wrath and suspicion. He glided and dodged all about the place,
looking and listening; then he sprang to his log and, without waiting to
strut and spread his gorgeous feathers as usual, he rolled out the long
call, drawing himself up straight the instant it was done, turning
his head from side to side to catch the first beat of his rival's
answer--"Come out, if you dare; drum, if you dare. Oh, you coward!"
And he hopped, five or six high, excited hops, like a rooster before
a storm, to the other end of the log, and again his quick throbbing
drumcall rolled through the woods.

Though I was near enough to see him clearly without, my field glasses,
I could not even then, nor at any other time when I