The Road-runner 
their appreciation of his 
nncouthness 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 Hying. 
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 Santa Barbara 
A WAYSIDE GLIMPSE 
Photo by the Author 
H39 
