The Legend of Thunderfoot

by Bill Wallace

  Suddenly a movement caught his eye. A roadrunner. At the far side of the lake, she ran, stopped, then ran a ways farther. “Thunder?” she cooed. “Thunder? Where are you?”

  He stood, ruffled his feathers, and cooed back, “Over here, Agile’eka. Way up here by this rock.”

  Then he saw the others who ran behind her. There were three more roadrunners. They were young—about his age. Two boy roadrunners and another girl.

  “I met some new friends,” Agile’eka clattered. “Come let me introduce you.”

  He sprang to his feet and sprinted around the lake toward them. He was so excited about meeting new friends he didn’t give one thought to his feet. Until . . .

  One of the boy roadrunners stopped. He tilted his head one way, then the other. “What’s that weird noise?” He looked up at the sky. “There must be a storm coming.”

  When Thunder was almost to them, the girl roadrunner’s eyes popped wide. She spread her wings and stumbled backward. The other boy veered off to the side and almost fell in the lake.

  Then all three—their voices startled and astonished—gasped at the exact same instant, “OH! MY! GOSH!!!”

  Chapter 12

  “Don’t do this,” Agile’eka scolded. “You’re acting like a baby.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not!”

  “Look at yourself,” she snorted. “You’re sitting out here, all alone. In the open. In the noonday sun. At least come and join us in the shade. They’re really nice.”

  “They made fun of my feet.”

  Agile’eka sat down, facing him. “They didn’t mean to make fun of your feet. They were just . . . just a little . . . ah . . . startled. Yeah, that’s it. Startled.”

  Beak high, he turned away and closed his eyes. “Sounds like a storm coming,” he mocked. “No wonder they named him Thunder. Thunderfoot. That’s a perfect name for a bird with feet like those.”

  He looked back at her and didn’t blink. “And they laughed at me, too.”

  Agile’eka leaned closer. “Not all of them. Just one. Rocket. He’s kind of a smart aleck. He thinks he’s really cool. But Brisk and Speedette are sweet.”

  She nudged him with her beak. “Look. When I first saw your feet, it startled me a bit, too. Remember? But when you told me what happened—when I got to know you . . . well, you’re a pretty neat guy. I like you. They will, too. If you’re nice to them, they’ll be nice to you. Just give them a chance.”

  “No!”

  “Fine!” she huffed, getting to her feet. “Just sit here on your tail feathers. I don’t care. I’m going back to the shade.”

  It was getting hot out in the sun. Besides, for the past hour he’d listened to their cooing and clattering. They seemed to be having a lot of fun visiting and getting to know one another. So . . . Agile’eka had gone only a few steps when Thunder trotted after her. “Oh, all right. But if they make fun of me . . .”

  The other girl roadrunner was nice—just as Agile’eka had said. But she wasn’t the brightest star in the sky. He figured that out when Agile’eka introduced them. “This is Speedette of the Sprint Clan,” she said in her most formal clatter. “Speedette, this is Thunder of the Foote Clan.”

  The bird looked up at the sky. “Thunder? I didn’t hear any thunder.”

  “No,” Agile’eka explained. “That’s his name. Thunder.”

  “Where? Is there lightning, too? Is it going to storm?”

  “No, you don’t understand. His name is Thunder. Thunder of the Foote Clan. This bird, here.”

  Speedette stopped looking at the sky and smiled at him. “Oh,” she said with a giggle. “I’m sorry. Nice to meet you. My name is Speedette.”

  Then she looked back at the clear, blue sky. “You think it’s going to rain?”

  Agile’eka and Thunder looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Then Agile’eka introduced him to the other two. They sat in the shade and visited, Speedette still watching for clouds in the sky.

  Brisk was of the Keen Clan. A month or two older than the rest of them, he had been born far to the west of this place. When Thunder asked if he’d seen the Great Water where the sun sleeps at night, he said he hadn’t. But his father had told him of it, just as Thunder’s father had told him. He had seen the saguaro cactus and the Joshua trees, though.

  The others were fascinated by his description. Speedette came from the east—even farther east than Agile’eka. Thunder asked her if she had ever seen the strange grass with the fuzzy tree limb-looking flowers. She said that they were called cattails. She added that there were a lot of them in the streams and ponds where she came from. Then she looked up at the sky. “It doesn’t smell like rain. But if there’s thunder . . .”

  The one named Rocket yawned and preened his feathers. That’s about all he’d done since they first sat to visit, always fluffing and trying to look bigger and stronger than he really was. When Thunder walked up with Agile’eka, he’d made a high-pitched clattering. It sounded like a giggle to Thunder, but he pretended not to hear.

  After spending some time listening to him and watching him preen his feathers, Thunder decided that the only thing Rocket was interested in was Rocket. They went their separate ways when the sun dropped behind the western crest of the valley. They filled up on tarantulas, and Thunder chased down a banded gecko. Just before dark, two crows swooped into the valley. They came from below the dam where the gorge was narrow. Cawing and squawking, each swooped down, snatched up a tarantula and, still making a racket, flew off again.

  First thing the next morning, the crows were back. Their cawing and jabbering woke the roadrunners from a peaceful sleep. But this time there were five crows, instead of just two. Others must have heard all the racket they made, because before they knew it there were ten. Fourteen. Nineteen. So many that even Brisk, who was older and wiser, couldn’t keep count. Their caws and calls were almost deafening.

  Fearing that there wouldn’t be any tarantulas left for breakfast if they waited any longer, the five roadrunners left their high ridge to feed. Rocket raced ahead of everyone else, gobbling up the hairy-legged, fuzzy spiders as fast as he could. Thunder ate just what he needed, then returned to the shade of the rocks on the high knoll. Speedette joined him, then Agile’eka and Brisk. Rocket came waddling in, stuffed clear to his head crest. He was so full he could barely walk.

  The crows left during the heat of the day. All five roadrunners rested in the shade. As it started to cool, Thunder and Brisk walked to the cattails for a drink. The water was warm, but it tasted good.

  Rocket came trotting down about the time they started up the hill. “I ate too much,” he groaned. He took a sip of water, then another. “Let’s run or something. My tummy doesn’t feel too good.”

  “Maybe you need to rest instead,” Brisk suggested.

  Rocket preened his wing feathers with his beak. “Nah. I need some exercise. Tell you what. I’ll race you around the lake. Bet I can win.”

  With that he flapped his wings and ran in place. His feet moved so fast it sounded like a buzz on the sand instead of thumping footsteps. “Sure,” Brisk said, shrugging his wings. “How about around that big cottonwood tree at the end of the cattails, across the dam, and back to the girls?”

  “How about you, Thunderfoot?” Rocket called as Thunder strolled back toward the rocks.

  Thunderfoot felt his head crest rise. His feet clinched the sand. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “No, thanks,” he answered calmly. “Think I’ll rest a few more minutes instead.”

  “Ah, come on,” Rocket chided. “You’re not scared of losing, are you?”

  Thunder ignored him and kept walking. “Maybe later,” he said.

  From the rocks, Thunder and the girls watched the race. Rocket led most of the way. But just after they crossed the dam, he had to stop and throw up. Thunder knew it was because he’d drunk too much water after overeating. Brisk was sitting comfortably in the shade
when Rocket finally got back.

  Feathers bristling and walking stiff-legged, he stomped up the hill toward them. “I want a rematch,” he demanded.

  Brisk shook his head. “Not now. I’m tired.”

  Still bristled up, Rocket turned to Thunder. “How about you . . .” He hesitated, looking down at Thunder’s feet. “ . . . Fatfoot?” Then, pretending it was just a slip of the tongue, he added, “Sorry, I meant Thunder . . . foot.”

  Thunder glared up at him. He could see the smirk on Rocket’s yellow lips behind the sharp beak. If you’re nice to them, they’ll be nice to you. Agile’eka’s words seemed to echo in his ears. Just give them a chance. As far as Thunder was concerned, Rocket had had his chance. He couldn’t decide whether to hop up and kick the snot out of him with his big feet or . . .

  He eased up. Smiled. “Any time you’re ready.”

  Chapter 13

  Rocket got a head start. He ran first, then yelled, “Go!”

  It caught Thunder off guard. It made him mad. But as he chased after Rocket, the anger turned toward himself. He should have expected it from a bird like Rocket. He should have been ready.

  They raced up the bank of the dry streambed. There were fallen branches and thick brush near the water. Thunder tripped a couple of times, but he didn’t fall. Still, by the time they crossed the stream and started up the far side, he was way behind.

  Once on the soft sand, with nothing to stumble over, he started gaining. He’d never run so hard in his life. Never wanted anything more badly than he wanted to beat this loudmouthed, obnoxious bird.

  Thunder’s nose was almost touching Rocket’s tail when they reached the rocks and boulders that formed the dam. There he fell behind once more. His stupid feet slipped and stumbled on the uneven surface. He hated his feet!

  Once on the sand he gained quickly. The sound of his heart pounded inside his head. It was almost as loud as the sound of his huge feet thundering on the dirt. There was no time to glance up and see if Agile’eka, Speedette, and Brisk were watching. He knew they were. He ran harder.

  Rocket’s tail feathers brushed against Thunder’s wing when he caught up with him. They were side by side. Neck and neck. Beak to beak.

  Watching from the corner of his eye, he felt a sudden burst of energy when he passed the other bird. He’d never felt so strong. So fast. He was winning! He was going to make it back to the rocks—first!

  He was so intent on winning, Thunder thought about nothing else—saw nothing else—but the finish line. It was a second or two before he realized Rocket was no longer chasing him. There wasn’t the slightest sound of his quick little feet. Rocket was gone.

  Just like him, Thunder said to himself. He knew he was losing, so he probably stopped to preen his feathers. Either that, or he’s pretending to be sick so he’ll have an excuse.

  Thunder glanced back. To his surprise, Rocket was still running, only he was running in the wrong direction. He was racing back toward the dam. Thunder was almost to the rocks. But there was no one to cheer him on. No Agile’eka. No Speedette. No Brisk.

  A movement caught his eye. It came from behind one of the rocks. A black nose wiggled when it sniffed the air. Then Thunder saw brown fur on a long snout. Two sharp ears. Brown eyes. And the biggest, broadest head he’d ever seen.

  Coyote!

  Thunder was too close to stop. Just as the coyote leaped from its hiding place, he dodged to his right. There was only about ten yards of open ground, then the canyon walls rose straight up. He could never make it ahead of the coyote. So he turned right again.

  The thing was huge! Close! Heavy paws almost shook the ground as the coyote closed in on the roadrunner. To Thunder’s left were the trees and thick brush that lined the creek bed. His fat feet could never make it through that. He remembered the first part of the race. He’d stumbled and tripped over the twigs and limbs. Just one mistake now and the coyote would have him. He started to make another right, but from the corner of his eye, he could see the coyote almost beside him. He could see the sharp teeth. Slobber dripped from the longest ones.

  There were two choices. Run for the tall thick waterweeds that Speedette called cattails, or the sandy bank around the lake. He raced straight ahead. Down the hill. Toward the lake. Coyotes are slow when they run down hill. Trouble was, roadrunners are even slower.

  Thunder spread his wings. No matter how hard he flapped, he got only about eight inches off the ground. Still within easy reach of the coyote. He hit the sand, running, and tried again. This time he only got six inches of air beneath his wings.

  At least it carried him to the flat near the lake. The sandy bank stretched out to his right. There were no sticks or rocks to trip over. If only . . .

  The coyote must have sensed that he wanted to run that way. He stayed to Thunder’s right, steadily inching his way closer as they neared the water. Now there was only one choice!

  Beak forward and wings tight against his sides, Thunder charged into the cattails. He knifed between the tall blades. He could hear the coyote right behind him. It didn’t knife between the blades, it crashed through them. Closer by the second. There was a strange sound beneath Thunder’s big feet. A sound he’d never heard. The bottoms of his feet were hot—first from the long race around the lake, then from the sprint to escape the coyote. Now, for some reason, they felt cooler. Stronger. Faster.

  Maybe. Just maybe . . .

  Then he tripped. He heard the huge jaws snap behind him. Felt the pain.

  Chapter 14

  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 s
traight 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!”