As many of our members may be unfamiliar with the appearance of this bird, a brief description may not be out of place here. Their markings are as follows: top of the head, dark yellowish brown; throat, light reddish buff, with a broad band of the same shade running back above the eyes to the hind head; above, in general a brownish or yellowish ash, lightening toward the rump, the feathers here, as also on the tail coverts, crossed by a broad subterminal band of chestnut, and everywhere the feathers are finely barred with broken, irregular dark lines; the scapulars with more or less reddish or chestnut, and central lines of pale buff; the tail short, carried low like a Quail's, bright reddish brown; the flight feathers brownish, the primaries still darker, and all cross-barred with irregular bands of ochraceous, black-margined; the upper breast bluish ash, growing lighter below, and brownish on the flanks, where the feathers show a broad band of chestnut near the tips, and are crossed by fine vermiculations of darker color, sometimes unbroken lines, but oftener their mere suggestions made up of small dots; a chestnut "shield," or "horse-shoe," of considerable size in the middle of the lower breast; under tail coverts, light yellowish brown, very faintly and finely barred; feet and legs, brownish flesh color; bill, gray-blue; eyelids, gray-blue or pale flesh color; iris, brown or red-brown; naked patch just behind the eye of light orange.
"The dark chestnut 'horse-shoe' on the gray breast is nearly obsolete in most adult females; female invariably distinguished by widest buff bands on black scapulars and adjoining wing coverts, which in cock are light brown with black vermiculations and chestnut blotches. The latter sex, moreover, has gray instead of brown sides to the neck." (Ogilvie Grant.)
There are great variations in coloring. Specimens from dry soil are said to exhibit the richest hues, while some are occasionally taken showing white "horse shoe." A particularly dark variety has been denominated montana. There are even records of hybrids between this species and the red-legged Partridge, and also with the Scotch Grouse.
East of the Altai and Tian Shan this species is replaced by the allied Perdix daurica (barbata), which has lanceolate feathers on the side of the throat and a black "horse-shoe" on a golden-buff breast. Other species in South Tibet, North India, Northwest China, and North Tibet. These last are more hardy, ascending the mountains to the snow line.
The Gray Partridge pairs in February and nests in April, and success in raising the brood depends much on excess of wet or drought. The nest is made upon the ground, a circular cavity, lined with grass, in the herbage and often in exposed situations. Eggs are from nine to twenty, drab or bluish. It is wellnigh impossible to see the bird upon her nest, where her blending colors of gray and brown so closely match the surroundings of dry grass and herbage. Both parents tend the young and employ the same wiles and tricks to mislead the intruder as does the Ruffed Grouse or the Bobwhite in a similar situation. Large numbers of eggs are never hatched, and many a chick falls victim to his enemies in fur or feather, owing to the exposed position of the nest or the feeding ground.
These Partridges roost upon the ground at night. Late in the fall they "pack up" into large coveys, much as do our Prairie Chickens, and these are said to be equally as wild at this time as are the Chickens in the same circumstances. Rarely does the Gray Partridge desert the open for the woods, even in hot weather, only seeking shelter under low brush, or the broad leaves of the crops, the corn, the cabbage, the turnip, the clover clump. The larger the cultivation in a district the better their chance of prospering.
Often pursued, they trust to their legs for escape, or may crouch low in the grass, motionless, trusting to their plumage's matching tones to render them invisible. When flushed they rise with a loud whirr—the flight rather labored until under way, when they glide on bowed wing rapidly and easily. As to their qualities as game birds it is somewhat too early for us to speak with full decision. They are highly esteemed in Europe, but are more often driven than hunted over dogs, mainly, it is said, because the cultivated ground has so little of waste spaces in hedgerows or brush to lead them to lie close, so they are apt to run unseen to the end of the furrows and so flush wild. They are swift of foot and very quick in all their movements. If I were to express any opinion at present, I should say that I should expect them to do a great deal of running before the dog, especially when the young have become well grown, and from the little I have seen I should judge them to be far inferior in wing power to Grouse or Quail.
I was fortunate enough to have a colony of these birds left in my care for setting out, and I took them home with me. During the evening I brought a male bird in to make the acquaintance of the family. I spent the half-hour in which he lay snuggled under my chin in scratching his head. At first his heart jumped in lively fashion but he soon quieted down and merely blinked his eyes in deep content. It seems as though they would tame very easily.
In their coop they used a great variety of language; they clucked like a Grouse; they chattered like a Blackbird; they snapped their bills like an Owl; they "jawed" like a Parrot; they made a guttural note of alarm like the "br-r-r-r" of a startled Pigeon; they hissed like a Black Duck guarding her nest, or like a Thomas cat whose dignity is ruffled not quite enough for anger; and, in addition, they are said to "crow" at evening. Their Latin name, Perdix, is said to be a fairly close imitation of their call. English? Continental? Or ancient Roman pronunciation?
Next evening, May 6, 1909, about sundown, I carried them into a clearing in the woods where was a couple of acres of newly turned soil sloping down to a brook, the north side well wooded, on the south open to the sun, and a good bit of cultivated land near by. I placed the box upon the ground with a corner of the burlap cover loosened so that they might easily get out. They got out; they stood not upon the order of their going but went at once. The box was scarcely set down when they began to stream out into the dusk. They made only a short flight—twenty yards or so, the longest not over forty—and dropped into the plowed ground. A few scurried into the woods at the right. In a moment the gloom was filled with curious noises as the scattered birds began calling each other. It was as though every wheelbarrow in the neighborhood had lifted up a voice of protest against the high price of oil. Presently they gathered together, the last straggler came out from the woods, and all collected on a little hummock in the midst of the plowed ground, and viewed their surroundings, as it seemed to me, with no great approval. They squeaked and called for a few minutes until finally the whole covey made off on foot, entering the edge of the brush and apparently settled down for the night. Here we left them and another experiment in game propagation is under way.