9 Frightful Finds Sam

isn't going to do much good." "Three," said the pole climber. "We've been told to change three. Which ones do you want changed?" "That one on our hill," Jon said, pointing to the pole that had killed his falcon. "And the one by the Roxbury Elementary School," Susan said. "In fact, it would make a lot of children happy if you fixed all the utility poles." "Three," said the large man. "Our orders are to fix three." IN WHICH Frightful Finds Sam In early March the first of the migrating falcons and hawks returned to the Catskill Mountains. Frightful was in her nuptial plumage. She had molted completely. The scarred and broken feathers were gone. The white on her tail and

under her chin was as bright as new snow. Her back was thunderhead blue, her rose-tinted breast had the brightness of cloud tops. Her head was almost black. She was healthy, and educated in rats and pigeons. She knew the pigeons and their flight patterns especially well. Her mews faced the cote, and she watched the birds long hours. She saw how they dodged Jon's young falcons with twists and turns. She saw them return home to the cote on smooth, slow glides. Jon noted Frightful's interest in the pigeons and rats, and on a bright but chilly morning he carried her to the top of his mountain. Susan hurried behind him, jumping patches of soggy snow. Frightful cocked her head as Jon took off her jesses. She stood free but did not fly. Drawing herself up tall, she mapped the direction to the one mountain among thousands, the one tree among millions. No spring force pulled her north with the returning falcons. She was home, and not far from Sam. Jon touched her beak with his finger. Susan hugged her arms to her body and watched

wistfully. She loved and hated the moment when they set birds free. "Good-bye," Jon said, and cast her from his hand with a strong thrust of his arm. Frightful bulleted into the sky and opened her wings. Susan called, "I'll miss you, Destiny." She moved closer to Jon. "Oh, why do I get so involved with these birds?" she asked. "It's so hard to tell them good-bye." Jon nodded and concentrated on the disappearing speck. "I wonder why she's going toward Delhi?" he finally said. "That's the last place in the world for

a peregrine falcon to nest. No cliffs over there." Frightful knew exactly where she was going. She sped into the wind and covered the thirty miles to the one mountain among thousands in less than ten minutes. She dropped down onto the one hemlock among millions and came to rest. "Creee, creee, creee, car-reet," she called. There was silence, then, "Frightful!" Sam put down the plumping-mill crossbar he was repairing and jumped to the rock by Baron Weasel's home. Frightful peered at him through lacy hemlock limbs. "Frightful!" She dropped down three limbs. "Frightful." Sam's voice lowered to a whisper. "You came back." She hopped down to the next limb and looked for her perch. It was not there. But the plumping-mill crossbar was. Frightful alighted on it. "Creee, creee, creee, car-reet." She was home. Sam leaped from the rock and walked slowly toward her. His blue eyes looked into hers. His

suntanned face creased with his big smile of wonder. "Now, what do I do with you, beautiful bird?" he asked. "I can't keep you. The Feds say I'm not old enough to have a falconer's license." Frightful tipped her head and focused an eye on Sam. "If I keep you, the Fish and Wildlife Service will just take you away from me. Maybe even jail me. You're an endangered species. I can't harbor an endangered species. I've learned that much! "But," he said, leaning closer to her, "if I don't jess and leash you, you're not a captive bird. "Will you stay anyway?" Frightful made soft noises and flew to the Baron Weasel rock. The plumping-mill stick slipped and fell to the ground. It hit with a force that scared Frightful. She flew to the lowest limb of the hemlock. Sam sat still. "I missed you," he said. She lifted her feathers and softened her eyes. His words held the sounds she recognized as human love and affection. He chatted on.

"I'm pretty good at getting squirrels now, Frightful," he said. "I had to learn to hunt them after they took you from me. I use the same kind of sling David used to kill Goliath. It's accurate and packs a wallop. But it's not like hunting with you. We were a team, and we shared such good food. Tasty rabbit for you, rabbit stew for me; good pheasant liver for you, pheasant pot pie for me. Squirrels just don't quite make it." Frightful bobbed her head and listened. Sam talked on. "Alice and Mrs. Strawberry eat pork. Alice bred Crystal, her pet pig, and she and Mrs. Strawberry raised the piglets. They sold several of them for lots of money. They butchered one. It's pretty good. They saved three for breeders. "I go down to the farm several times a week to help Mrs. Strawberry with her crops and garden. She can't do the heavy work anymore, and Alice is busy with the pigs and livestock. I like the work. I learn from the land and the sun and rain." Frightful bent her knees to fly, but Sam spoke on, softly and rhythmically. She straightened up and listened.