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something about not being able to see what’s happening that calms a bird. A bird don’t fight as much that way.”
    “Plus he won’t be able to stab us with his beak.”
    “You just keep back while I’m doing this, only be ready to head him off if he starts running.”
    “I will.”
    His grandfather stepped forward. His foot rustled some dry leaves, and the crane’s head snapped to attention. The crane stepped back against the bushes, pressing into the leaves in a quick startled movement. His head jerked around. His right eye, turned toward them, was a frosty yellow.
    “He’s making it easy for us so far,” the grandfather said. “He’s getting farther and farther back in the bushes. When I first seen him he was out there at the edge of the cornfield and he ran right in here like he didn’t know where he was going. He trapped himself.”
    “He could still stab us though. His beak’s longer than my knife.”
    “He can use it too. I’ve seen a crane stab that beak five inches into the ground and come up with a root.”
    His grandfather stepped closer. The crane moved with quick stiff steps against the brush without going anywhere.
    “He’s been in more trouble than we thought. Look, boy. His wingbones are rubbed raw, like he’s been throwing himself up against something.”
    The crane did not move, but he was poised as if ready for the sound of a starting gun, ready for the race. He snapped his head up, listening.
    The air in the forest was now charged with excitement. It was like the moment before a storm. Sammy forgot that he was hungry and tired, and he pressed closer to his grandfather. There was something about the bearing of the crane, the proud carriage despite his pitiful condition, that made Sammy want his grandfather to succeed.
    “I’ll take it from here,” the grandfather said.
    Sammy stepped back. He knew that the capture of the crane had begun, the stalk. Slowly his grandfather lifted his jacket, holding it against his side. Then he stepped forward in a slow careful way. The heavy miner’s boots were soundless in the weeds.
    Sammy waited. He swallowed and his throat was dust-dry. He blinked and his eyes seemed dry too, burned with the heat of the day and his excitement. Every muscle in his body was tight as a knot.
    He kept his eyes on his grandfather as he moved toward the crane. His grandfather took three more steps without making a sound. The wind had died and silence hung over them like a tent.
    “Be careful,” Sammy said silently through his dry lips.
    His grandfather took another step. Again Sammy heard nothing, but the crane jerked his head around uneasily. He took a step forward with his long straight legs, moving around the bushes now, away from them. The crane took another step and paused.
    Sammy and his grandfather waited. Sammy could see the air going out of his grandfather in a long silent sigh of relief when the crane did not run. If the crane stayed right where he was, Sammy thought, then the thick bushes would serve as a net, but if he moved …
    His grandfather took a deep breath and stepped forward. The jacket was held loosely by his right side. With his left hand he pointed, directing Sammy, and slowly, carefully Sammy began to walk in the direction his grandfather had indicated, ready to head off the crane if he started to run.
    Sammy picked his way noiselessly through the weeds. He looked down to see where he was stepping because the underbrush was thick here. Then he glanced up quickly to see if the crane had moved. He had not. The crane was still standing against the bushes, head high, turned away from them. Sammy’s grandfather had not moved either. He was waiting, his body bent forward, the jacket half-raised.
    Sammy took another step. He was watching the crane and this time his bare foot stepped directly on a long thorny vine. The thorns scraped his skin and he said “Ow” beneath his breath. As he raised his foot the vine wrapped around his ankle and the