The Legend of Thunderfoot (5 page)

Then he blinked again. No! It wasn't Sprite, either. It was a girl bird, all right. She was small and quick, like his sister. Only it wasn't his sister.

The bird let the two coyotes get almost to the middle of the thicket before she shot out the other side. She ducked behind the little ridge where Thunder had gone, only in the opposite direction. When he saw her again, she popped over the ridge on the far side of the first thicket, where he'd almost gotten stuck. Without even slowing down, she scampered right for the center of the thick, tangled brush.

To Thunder's surprise, she didn't stay there and wait. Instead she ran right through the middle of the thicket, came out, and ran back to the plum patch where the coyotes had first seen her.

What she did next surprised him even more. At the center of the plum patch, she fluttered and hopped to the very top of the tallest bush. The coyotes were behind the ridge, so they couldn't see her. She paused for only a second to catch her breath, then flew.

Roadrunners don't fly very well or very far. She barely cleared the near side of the thicket when her underside started scraping branches. She fluttered to the ground and sprinted over the ridge.

For a moment or two, he lost sight of her. The coyotes appeared beside the first plum patch. One circled around to the far side of the brush. There it sat and waited. The other crashed straight for the middle, following the girl roadrunner's trail. Another movement caught Thunder's eye. Crouched low behind his ridge, he saw the girl roadrunner race straight toward him. Quickly he squatted and ruffled his feathers to hide his hideous feet. She darted past, less than a foot from where he sat. She didn't even look at him when she snipped, “Thanks a lot, dork!”

Thunder's mouth fell open.

“Huh?”

She was moving so fast it took her a few yards to stop. She turned to glare at him. “I was sitting
there, minding my own business, when you come crashing through that other plum patch. Made so much noise, every coyote in the country probably heard you. Then you run right past where I'm resting and bring those two right to me. Thanks a lot!”

She turned and took off again. When she glanced back over her shoulder and saw he was still sitting there, she stopped again. “What are you waiting for?”

“Huh?”

Her mouth arched on one side behind her beak. Sneering at him, she wobbled her head back and forth. “You hard of hearing? Or is ‘Huh' the only word you know?” She pointed her beak toward the thicket on the other side of the ridge. “Coyotes are slow and dumb—but they're not totally stupid. Sooner or later, they're going to find one of our trails. Figure out where we went. Now quit sitting there waiting for them. Get up. We need to get out of here before they come.”

Thunder started to stand, then hesitated. The girl was already on the move. “We'll run a crisscross for about a mile,” she instructed. “They usually don't follow more than that. And the crisscross always confuses them, anyway. Then we'll track single file for a ways, just to be on the safe side.”

He knew the crisscross. It was a running pattern Mama and Daddy had taught Sprite and him when they were just out of the nest. A way to confuse coyotes and get them off your tail feathers. Since the girl was ahead of him and not looking back, he hopped to his feet.

When she'd raced toward him behind the ridge, she'd come straight as a yucca leaf. Now there were two of them. She ran to the left. Thunder ran in the same direction, then swung to the right. After a ways, just before she reached the top of the little ridge where the coyotes might see her, she turned right. At the same time, Thunder turned left. Their trails crossed. When he reached the crest of the little ridge, he turned toward her—crossing their trails again and again.

After a mile or so, she made a cooing sound in her throat. This time when she crossed in front of him, Thunder followed her. He even ran, placing his feet in her exact tracks.

Well . . . he tried to step in her tracks. As he glanced back, the footprints he left were so big he couldn't see her tracks at all.

Running in the hot desert sun is downright dumb. All animals know that—especially roadrunners. Problem was, they had to travel farther than they
planned because they couldn't find shade or a place where they could watch for the coyotes.

They finally climbed a high knoll. There were some big boulders at the crest that offered shade. Thunder dropped his feathers over his feet the second he reached the knoll. The girl turned, found a spot where she could watch the other way, then she sat, too.

Tongues dangling and beaks open wide, gasping for air, both were so tired and exhausted they sat for a long time without a word. Finally, when their body temperatures had cooled and they could breathe, she said, “I am Agile'eka of the Swift Clan. We come from the east, near the rising sun.”

She sat, patiently waiting. When Thunder didn't introduce himself, she gave a little snort. “My name is Agile'eka. What's your name?”

Trying to ignore her, Thunder scanned the west for any movement. The sun was straight overhead. The wind didn't blow. Everything was still. “What's your name?” she clattered, louder this time.

“Thunder of the Foote Clan.”

“That name fits you,” she scoffed.

Thunder tilted his head to the side. “Just exactly what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, as much racket as you made in that
plum patch, it's little wonder they named you Thunder.”

“It wasn't my fault.”

“What do you mean, it wasn't your fault? Those two coyotes didn't make as much noise as you did. Didn't your parents ever teach you how to be quiet when you're running through brush?”

Thunder felt his head crest bristle. “My parents taught me very well. Fact is, up until about three or four days ago, I bet I could have gone through that thicket quieter and quicker than you did.”

“So what happened three days ago?”

“Nothing.”

He stuck his beak in the air and gazed back at the desert.

“Nothing? Then why did you say up until about three days ago you could have run through the plums quieter and quicker than me? What happened?”

“Nothing!”

“You're just making it up, aren't you? You're just noisy. You're just making up excuses for being such a klutz.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah, right.”

Thunder was ashamed and embarrassed. At the same time, he was getting mad! She didn't even know him, yet she was calling him a liar.
I'll show her
, he thought.
I'll teach her to call me a liar!
With that, he eased up. Agile'eka's eyes popped wide.

“Oh! My! Gosh!”

When Agile'eka's eyes flashed wide, Thunder didn't sink down and nestle his feathers over his feet. He dropped like a rock.

Any second, he expected her to say something smart, like, “I thought I heard thunder when we were running. Guess it was just those big, fat feet of yours.” Or even worse, she might start laughing like the collared lizards had. Instead she dropped her watchful gaze from the horizon and looked him straight in the eye.

“How did it happen?”

“Rattlesnake,” Thunder answered.

Her feathers rippled as if grabbed by a chill. Then she turned her attention back to the coyotes. Braced and ready, Thunder waited. Any second now, she was going to say something. Any second
she'd burst out giggling. He waited, and waited, and waited. He felt his head crest bristle. “Aren't you gonna laugh at my feet?”

She glanced at the ground, not looking at him. “There's nothing funny about a rattlesnake,” she said with a sigh. “When we were fledged, there were three of us. My two brothers and myself. Near The Naming time our father took us to the cliffs beyond the big tree forest. He found a diamondback rattlesnake and—”

She broke off and quietly flattened closer to the ground. “There they are!”

Since Thunder was watching the opposite direction, he had to turn his head slightly. The two coyotes topped the little ridge, far in the distance. About ten yards apart, they followed the trails of the two roadrunners with their noses. Not watching where they were going, and trotting fast when the two paths merged together, they bumped into each other. There was considerable snarling and snapping. When they put their noses to the ground again, they couldn't decide which way to go. Moving side by side, they circled one way, then the other. Then, still growling and fussing at each other, they trotted back the way they had come.

“What happened with the rattlesnake?” Thunder asked. “Did it get your father?”

Agile'eka shuddered. “No. We all watched and Daddy showed us how it was done. He warned us to wait until we were grown before we tried to catch a snake. He told us to be sure the snake was not too big or too strong. And . . . and . . .”

“And?” Thunder urged.

“And . . . well,” she stammered. “I was named Agile'eka because I was nimble and agile. My younger brother was Zipp. My older brother was Dash, because he was always the fastest. The strongest. He ran like the wind. Not just to hunt for food or to escape, he ran just to run. He loved to run.” There was a strange, sad clicking sound from her throat when she swallowed. “The very next day, after The Naming, we left our home to strike out on our own. The three of us stayed close in the morning. During the high sun, we rested in the shade together. When it cooled we each went our own way.

“I stopped on a high hill where I could spot grasshoppers or mice. Instead I saw Dash. He was hopping and dodging, lifting one wing at a time. From watching Daddy I knew he was trying to get a snake to strike. But when it finally did, I couldn't believe my eyes.

“The thing was enormous. Even as far away as I was, I could see the sharp, devil horns above his eyes. When it opened its mouth to strike, the fangs were as long as my toes. The thing was longer than Dash. Thick and big around as a cactus.

“I raced down the hill to tell Dash to stop—to warn him that the snake was too big. From the corner of my eye, I could see Zipp racing toward him, too. We were too late. Dash grabbed the thing by the tail and yanked. The snake was too big. Too strong. Instead of straightening so Dash could throw him against the rocks, he was still half coiled. And he . . . he . . .”

“The coyotes are back!” Thunder had seen the coyotes at the top of the ridge some thirty seconds earlier. He knew Agile'eka had probably seen them, too. But she was having so much trouble telling about her brother—the sadness of her voice was so painful—that he told her about the coyotes so she wouldn't have to finish her story.

“You think we should move?” she asked.

Confused, the coyotes sniffed around a moment. Then, having lost the scent, they headed to the northeast. The wrong direction. Even so, Thunder eased to his feet.

“We probably need to move on,” he answered.

They found shade beneath an old prickly pear. The plant was so ancient, and the pod branches so high, it gave as much shade as a mesquite. Careful not to say anything about her brother or rattlesnakes, Thunder asked her about the big tree forest that she'd mentioned when they first met.

He had always wanted to see where the sun rose in the east. But when she described all the trees and branches and brush, he remembered the trouble he'd had running through the plum patch. She told about plenty of water. It was held in ponds and streams—even rivers with high trees along the banks. It sounded interesting, but Thunder realized east was not the way for him to go.

She also told of farms and strange enormous animals called cows. When he told her he had seen cows and knew what they were, she told him they were not nearly as strange as people animals. Those he had not heard of. She told him how they moved on two legs, slow and clumsy, but how they also had machines that roared and streaked across the plains faster than the fastest roadrunner. Her description of the strange creatures was downright frightening.

She asked him about the west, where he had come from. She told him it was a place
she
had
always wanted to see. He described the cholla and the creosote bushes and the saltbush.

She never mentioned his feet, but she did want to know how he could have survived a rattlesnake bite. He told her what Berland had heard from Molly Mouse about how the young rattler had bitten two of her children and had only a tiny bit of venom left in its fangs when it bit him.

When she asked who Berland was, Thunder—careful not to mention the snake again—described the gopher tortoise and explained how they met. He also told her how he'd thought Berland was his friend until he started calling him names. And how when he caught up with him, he was going to flip him over on his back and threaten to leave him for the buzzards.

When it cooled, they followed the sun. They found scorpions and a couple of lizards for supper. When dark came, they nestled down at the crest of a high ridge. They weren't girlfriend and boyfriend, or anything like that. But it was easier to watch when there were two instead of just one. Besides, being alone . . . well . . . being alone is kind of . . . lonely.

Thunder had never seen rain. Mama and Daddy had told them about it, but all he could do was imagine. It was hard to do. He simply couldn't understand how water could come from the sky. It belonged on the ground, like the pool in the deep part of the arroyo, about a mile or so from where he was born.

The farther southwest he and Agile'eka moved, the harder it was to find any water. With no rain and the hot desert sun, even the barrel cactus were beginning to shrivel. Instead of seeking the safety of the high ground, the two roadrunners stayed to the arroyos and dry washes. For three days they went without a drink. The grasshoppers provided enough moisture—but just barely.