Once clear of the cattails, Thunder raced for the open valley. His tail hurt, but he dared not stop to see how badly he was injured. Any second the coyote would be hot on his heels again.
Right after he felt the pain in his rear end, he heard a loud, shrill yelp. There were other noises, too, sloshing and flopping and more whimpering. He didn’t have time to look. Even the split second it took to glance back might mean the difference between life and death.
So he ran. Ran even faster and harder than when he was mad and racing Rocket. About a quarter of a mile from the lake, he found a dry wash that led to the top of the cliff. It was a gentle slope. At some time water had washed the sand so it was clear of rocks and sticks. He charged up and didn’t slow down until he reached the top. Once there, he stopped long enough to look around and make sure there were no coyotes or bobcats. Then he turned right and ran a ways farther. An old creosote bush grew at the rim of the canyon. Tongue dangling out and mouth gaping, he gasped for air.
The shade of the creosote would be cool. A good place to watch for the coyote. A good place to rest and catch his breath.
There was still no sign of the coyote. Before Thunder sat, he took the time to inspect his rump to see how badly he was injured. Two tail feathers were missing. That was all. Of course, it still hurt. Tail feathers are big and strong, well rooted in a roadrunner’s rump. The place where the coyote yanked his out was still sore. The pain really didn’t matter. He was lucky just to be alive. No one knew that better than Thunder. He sat in the shade to watch.
Still no coyote.
A little ways up the valley, he could see Rocket. Watchful and nervous, he had stopped running. He perched on the very tip of a tall, sharp boulder, preening his feathers. Thunder shook his head.
It took him a minute or two to see another movement. It was far up the valley on the opposite side. Two roadrunners were walking slowly, hopping from time to time to snatch up tarantulas or grasshoppers. They were too far away for Thunder to tell who they were. Deep in his heart, he hoped one of them was Agile’eka. She had always been nice to him. She was pretty and fun to talk with. He didn’t know what he would do if the coyote had gotten her. Where is that darned coyote? Thunder looked near the pond. Then his eyes darted to the dry wash where he’d climbed to the top of the canyon. Where can it be?
“For a minute there, I thought you were smarter than I gave you credit for.”
The sudden voice startled Thunder. Maybe the coyote had come straight up the canyon wall and sneaked up on him. His head whipped one way, then the other. There was nothing but the creosote bush and the desert.
“What? Who . . . who said that?”
“Move.”
“Huh?”
“I said, MOVE!” Something shoved against his bottom—right on the sore spot where two of his tail feathers used to be. Thunder jumped.
Between the unexpected voice and the pain on his rump, he jumped a little higher than he intended. A big, thick branch of the creosote shook when he clunked his head. From a hole, right where he’d been sitting, two stubby, short, clawed feet appeared. Then the edge of a shell.
“Berland!” Thunder yelped. “What are you doing here?”
Half in and half out of his burrow, the old tortoise stopped and looked up. “First off, I was watching you. Might near served yourself up to Scruffy as supper.”
Thunder glanced back to the canyon. There was still no sign of the coyote. “Did he get any of my friends?” Thunder asked.
“No. They were watching. You, on the other hand, were so busy trying to beat that other roadrunner, you didn’t see him until . . . well . . . if Scruffy had leaned out a little farther from behind that rock, he could have given you a kiss on the beak before you saw him. You got to watch where you’re going, kid.”
“Where is the coyote, anyway?”
“There,” Berland snipped. “See where the cattails are moving?”
“They’re all moving,” Thunder snipped back. “The wind’s got every single one of them waving to and fro.”
“No. Look closer. There on the far side.”
All the cattails leaned to the north, swaying with the gentle breeze. But one clump, near the far bank, snapped violently to the south. It sprang up and another clump beside it whacked over and threw drops of water into the air when it sprang back.
“What’s he doing? Did he find something to eat in there?”
“He’s stuck,” Berland said with a sigh. “Stuck in the mud. Like I said, I thought you were smarter than I gave you credit for. I thought you led him in there because you knew your feet were wide enough and big enough to keep you from sinking. Scruffy, on the other hand, is the biggest coyote in these parts. Between his weight and his relatively small paws—I figured you knew he’d sink. But now I know it was just pure, dumb luck!”
Thunder tilted his head to the side and glared down at the tortoise. “What do you mean, dumb? You calling me dumb?”
Berland tilted his head to the side and glared right back at him. “I know your parents told you to look before you leap. They should have told you to look before you squat. Who else would plop their rump over an open burrow? Don’t you know snakes love burrows and prairie dog tunnels? If I’d been a rattlesnake, well . . .”
Berland sighed and started to back into the shade of his burrow. “You’re dumb, all right. But you have to be the luckiest roadrunner I ever met in all my seventy-five seasons. If that had been Tess, even dumb luck wouldn’t have saved you. She’d be picking her teeth with your tail feathers.”
“Berland. Wait. Who’s Tess? Don’t leave me. Please.”