19 Destiny is on wing

Navigating now by the sight of familiar forests and rivers, she arrived home in three and a half hours and dropped into the one tree among millions. "Creee, creee, creee, car-reet," Frightful called. IN WHICH Destiny Is on Wing Frightful looked down on a snowy mountain. "Cree," she called softly to her nest box on the raccoon-proof pole. She recognized it under mounds of snow and ice and lifted her feathers in pleasure. Other familiar objects caught her attention. There were the stone table and log seats. They had been cleared of snow. Baron Weasel's den was still under the rock. The snow around it was stamped with his footprints. The water-wheel was there, but not turning. The millpond was ice. A feeling of

contentment settled over Frightful, and she rested from her long journey. "Creee." Frightful looked up. Drum was overhead. He circled and called for her to follow him. Frightful sat still. She was where she wanted to be— home with Sam. Drum dove toward her, called again, gave up, and went on. He was eager to get to his aerie in the Adirondack Mountains. On a steep cliff his mate of last year had laid eggs that had broken under her weight. Pesticide chemicals had accumulated in her body and weakened the eggshells. A week later she died from poisons she had accumulated in South America from eating birds that had eaten DDT-sprayed insects. Drum must find another mate this year. Frightful swooped down onto the nest box. Snow splashed out in all directions. She jumped from the roof to the hacking porch, scattering that pile of snow. Leaning down, she peered into her old nest and walked far back into the cozy box. She picked up a windblown leaf in her beak. After a long stay there, she flew to the stone table to look for Sam.

The deerskin door of the hemlock tree bumped open. Mole came out. He bounced through the snow, tunneled through deep drifts, surfaced, and ran down the trail. Frightful flew after him, leaving her wing prints on the snowy table. She was hungry, and Mole, she sensed, was going hunting in the meadow where the rabbits and pheasants lived. She flew ahead of him and waited in the oak tree for him to arrive. He did not appear. Mole was tearing downhill to Mrs. Strawberry's farm for his daily treat from Alice. A whistle from the mountaintop never reached Frightful's ears, nor did the words, "Frightful! You're back. You left your wing prints on my table! Where are you?" Sam whistled the three notes that would bring Frightful to him, but she was out of earshot. When Mole didn't show, she took to the air. Her hunger reminded her of the courthouse cupola and the pigeons. She skimmed down the mountain and followed the river valley to Main Street. Throwing out her yellow feet, she came to a gentle landing on the courthouse cupola.

The pigeon prospects were wonderful. Mrs. Dorst and her daughter, Ms. Sarah Denny, had fed the pigeons so well during the winter that they were already nesting and laying eggs. Without the peregrine falcons to keep them in check, they were so numerous that the courthouse windows and ledges were white with birdlime. Frightful had an endless feast before her. Her biological clock was ticking rapidly toward nest-scraping time. This put her in a mood to check nest sites. Late in the afternoon she flew to the Delhi Bridge and walked to her old scrape on the girder. She did not remember the noise of last spring, but her visual memory was clear. She recalled trucks shaking the webbing, men on scaffolds and cherry pickers. She flew back to the courthouse. A visual image of the cliffs along the Schoharie was the next site to check. She watched the sky for Chup. Molly came skipping down Main Street, spotted Frightful sitting erect and dignified on the courthouse cupola, and broke into a run. She dashed into the county courthouse building and found Leon Longbridge working at his desk.

"She's back," Molly cried excitedly. "The peregrine falcon of Delhi is back!" "Are you sure?" Leon Longbridge was grinning. "Definitely," Molly said. "Her head is almost pure black. Her breast is rosy white, and she's just beautiful. She's our falcon." They stood side by side on the sidewalk across the street from the courthouse. Leon focused his binoculars. "By golly," he said. "You're right. Not only is her head exceptionally black, but she's right in her favorite perching spot." "Will she nest there?" Molly asked. "Maybe. Falcons and most other birds come back to their old territories year after year," he said. "Some even return to the same nest sites."

"The bridge?" said Molly. "Will she nest on the bridge?" "I don't know. Peregrine females are unpredictable." "She has to. She just has to," said Molly. "That would be so cool." Frightful cocked her eye and focused on a speck in the sky. She bobbed her head. Chup was speeding like a crossbow along the edge of a cloud. He was a mile away. She waited. He went right over Delhi and the mountain, heading for his cliff in the Schoharie Valley. Frightful was in the air before Leon Longbridge could say another word about female peregrine falcons. "Chup, chup, chup, chup," the tiercel called. Frightful heard the peregrine love song. She caught up with him and flew at his side. They chased in and out of the misty edge of an ice cloud. But Frightful felt she was going the wrong way. Her mountain was behind her. She tipped her wings, banked, and started back. The west branch of the Delaware, the town of Delhi, and the one