The Road-runner 



their appreciation of his 

 uncouthness and worth 

 — a diamond in the 

 rough. More pro- 

 saically, we call him the 

 Road-runner, the bird 

 who tries conclusions, or 

 else seeks escape, by run- 

 ning instead of flying. 

 In the western portion 

 of his habitat, where the 

 running is not so good, 

 we call the bird Chap- 

 arral Cock, and recog- 

 nize his right to rule 

 over that interminable 

 half-forest which fills the 

 landscape, and fills the 

 eye, but never the pock- 

 etbook, of the Califor- 

 nian. Paisano makes his 

 home here, but his heart 

 is in the desert. For 

 even where trees have 

 become an accepted part 

 of the Chaparral Cock's 

 setting, he treats them 

 rather as just so many 

 rougher bits of desert to 

 be gotten over, a-foot; 

 and so he climbs, scram- 

 bles, runs, or leaps into 

 and about a tree, instead 

 of flying; and when he comes to quit it, he either leaps again, or volplanes 

 to the ground. The bird is incapable of upward, or "earning" flight, but 

 a clever sail from a tree-top, assisted by some flapping, will carry him a 

 hundred yards or so, if need be. 



Since these are sadly civilized days, the chances are you will see your 

 first Road-runner in a little hillside pasture dotted with trees. The bird 

 stands at attention, eyeing you with mingled coquetry, mockery, defiance, 

 and friendly curiosity. It is your next move, — or would be if the bird 

 had not just then caught sight of a spider and darted nimbly after it. 



Taken near Sa 



A WAYSIDE GLIMI 



Photo by the Author 



1139 



