The Summer of the Falcon Read Online Free

the landing and backed up to take on all three giants.
    June grabbed him and held him again. He fought harder. Finally he burst loose and flew over the landing toward the creek. But Don caught him under the breast just as the tips of wings and breast touched water. He held the dripping, screaming, angry bird, while Charles deftly jessed the other foot. He put the short end of the jesse around the leg and through the second hole, pulling until the first hole came out. Then he took the long end of the jesse and put it through the first hole. As he pulled, the strap tightened but did not bind, for the knot was perfect for its job.
    Now holding the straps in his left fingers, Don placed his right hand under Zander’s breast and pushed him up on his forefinger. The bird had one impulse when he felt the pressure of the jesses—to fly! With a plunge he was on his wings...and then he hung, head down, tripped by the jesses.
    June gasped. Zander looked as if he were hurting himself. He “killied,” the sparrow hawk distress cry. Then Don slipped his hand under his wet breast and righted the bird.
    Zander flopped his head down again but this time twisted around and bit the boy.
    “Man, he’s got spunk!” Charles said with pleasure.
    As he gathered Zander up for a third time, Don ran a swivel into the lower slits to hold the jesses to the leash. The swivel, which looked like a safety pin, had been bought at a fishing store. At the end of the leash the brothers tied a ring and put it over a pole. They put a round block of wood on the pole. And this ended the ritual of tethering the falcon.
    “Now watch him!” Don said.
    Zander stepped onto the soft leather-covered perch; he stood high, tail lifted. He drew himself up, pressed down his feathers and...flew. At the end of the leash he crashed to earth, then pulled and pulled and pulled. He screamed, “killie-killie.” He fought.
    The robins in the tree heard the devil cry of the bird of prey. They were nesting and they cried “cheet, cheet,” their alarm cry of fear. The male robin boldly dove at Zander and struck him with a wing. But Zander, furious at his jesses, did not even notice. He flapped and pulled. The robins cried, the sparrow hawk fluttered and screamed.
    June clenched her fists as the robin struck Zander, knocking him on his side. She started toward him.
    “I must set him free so he can fight back,” she cried.
    Don and Charles laughed. “Oh, when the robins learn he’s tied they’ll stop hitting him. Just leave them alone to work out their problems.” And the twins packed up their falconer’s bag and ran to the house.
    June waited until the screen door banged behind them.
    Then she crouched low and, hands cupped, crept toward the terrified bird. She knew how to unsnap the swivel.
    “I’m coming,” she said. The robin screamed, raised its feathers in fright, then dove again at Zander. He struck June instead, a windy slap, and she fell toward her falcon. Zander, angry, terrified, turned on his back and slashed her hand with his talons. The pain was piercing. She drew into a ball and waited. Presently the robin stopped screaming and the falcon lay panting on his breast, wings spread. She picked him up and gently placed him on his perch. He shook, pecked his jesse, and fluffed in contentment.
    June sat down on the sycamore roots and stared at her bird. He was sitting quietly, as if he could no longer feel the jesses.
    A quiet hour later June wandered to the house to find her brothers. They were on the front porch talking to Uncle Paul and Will Bunker, a friend whose family had lived in the Cumberland valley for almost as long as the Pritchards. Will Bunker was a robust man. He laughed hard, and moved swiftly; he was full of energy and ideas. His face was round and impish, for Will Bunker was still part boy. The Pritchards all loved him dearly.
    Obviously a complicated kind of male-play was afoot. Last year it had been a rattlesnake hunt in the mountains, with