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briers raked his skin. “Ow,” he said, still talking only to himself. “Where are all these briers coming from?”
    He took another step, avoiding the briers by stepping wide to the right. It was awkward and he paused to regain his balance before he proceeded.
    He could see from the set of his grandfather’s back that he was waiting impatiently for Sammy to get into position. Sammy took two quick steps forward. “I’m ready to head him off now,” he said quietly. As he said this his foot landed on another thorn, and he jerked it up. In that instant he lost his balance. He took a heavy step to the right, landed on another brier, and pitched forward to the ground.
    What happened next was so fast Sammy would have missed it if he had not snapped his head up as he fell. Startled by Sammy’s fall, the crane wheeled around, headed directly into the bushes, then finding himself trapped, bounded out and threw himself forward. The crane started to run, moving in a frenzy, but Sammy’s grandfather had come forward in one light fluid movement. It was such a quick reaction that he seemed for the moment to be a young man in an old disguise. He ran up and drew the jacket over the crane’s head. It was as easy as covering a sleeping child. Then he pulled the jacket together at the crane’s neck with his left hand and circled the crane around with his right.
    He cried, “Got him!” holding the quivering crane and glancing at Sammy.
    There was a flurry of movement from the crane, a series of hair-trigger reactions. The crane’s good wing, which was pinned to his side, came free and beat at the air. Sammy’s grandfather repinned the wing. The head and long neck twisted beneath the jacket. The grandfather loosened the cloth.
    Then gently he lifted the bird against his side. The tips of his white elbows were as sharp as knives, and the crane’s stick legs ran, scissors-like, in the air for a moment. It was a picture of sharp and impossible angles.
    “Easy,” his grandfather said. “Easy.” There was another short struggle and then the crane was quiet. Sammy’s grandfather looked at the crane and then at Sammy. “He’s giving up now.”
    Sammy had risen to his feet during the struggle and now began mindlessly dusting off his pants. “Well, we got him,” he said.
    His grandfather’s face was bright with success. His eyes were burning in his face. He held the crane against him like an enormous trophy. When he spoke his voice was still trembling with his excitement. “Yeah, we got him, boy,” he said, generously including Sammy in the capture. “We got him.”

RAGGED WINGS
    S TILL DUSTING OFF THE back of his pants, Sammy came forward quickly and joined his grandfather. He looked at the crane’s long stiff legs, now motionless. “Is he all right?”
    His grandfather nodded.
    “He looks dead.”
    “You feel his heart and you’ll know he’s not dead,” he said. His hand was curled around the crane’s chest and lay over the crane’s heart. “A bird’s got a big heart for his size. That’s why he has to eat so much. Feel that.” His grandfather was holding the crane awkwardly on his hip and he shifted a little.
    Sammy reached out one dusty hand and touched the crane. The feathers of his breast were stained with blood. Sammy let his fingers rest there for only a second. He had not felt the heart at all but he said, “Yeah, he sure has got a big heart all right.”
    His grandfather said, “Now pull the bandanna out of my pocket and get it over his eyes instead of this jacket.”
    “Me?”
    “Come on, boy.”
    Sammy hesitated. “Have any of these cranes ever attacked a person—anything like that?”
    “I reckon so. One time my brother teased one of them cranes I was telling you about. He held out a piece of bread to the crane and then when the crane tried to take it my brother jerked it back. I tell you I never saw such a mad crane. His feathers rose and he spread his wings and he jumped on my brother and