“You’re not old,” she replied, with a finality that admitted of no question. “But if you were--and still like you are--what difference would it make?” “Like I am! Well, Genie, how’s that?” he queried, curiously. “Oh, so big and strong! You can do so much with those hands. And your voice sort of--of quiets something inside me. When I lie down to sleep, knowing you’re there under the cottonwood, I’m not afraid of the dark.... And your eyes are just like an eagle’s. Oh, you needn’t laugh! I’ve seen eagles. An Indian here once had two. I used to love to watch them look. But then their eyes were never kind like yours.... I think when I get big I’ll go falling in love with you.” “Well, little girl, that’s a long way off,” said Adam, divided between humor and pathos. “But let’s get back to natural history. A while ago you mentioned a bird called a road runner. That’s not as well-known a name among desert men as chaparral cock. You know out in the desert there are no roads. This name road runner comes from a habit--and it’s a friendly habit--of the bird running along the road ahead of a man or wagon. Now the road runner is the most wonderful bird of the desert. That is saying a great deal. Genie, tell me all you know about him.” “Oh, I know all about him,” declared Genie, brightly. “There’s one lives in the mesquite there. I see him every day, lots of times. Before you came he was very tame. I guess now he’s afraid. But not so afraid as he was.... Well, he’s a long bird, with several very long feathers for a tail. It’s a funny tail, for when he walks he bobs it up and down. His color is speckled--gray and brown and white. I’ve seen dots of purple on him, too. He has a topknot that he can put up and lay down, as he has a mind to. When it’s up it shows some gold color, almost red underneath. And when it’s up he’s mad. He snaps his big bill like--like--oh, I don’t know what like, but it makes you shiver. I’ve never seen him in the water, but I know he goes in, because he shakes out his feathers, picks himself, and sits in the sun. He can fly, only he doesn’t fly much. But, oh, how he can run! Like a streak! I see him chase lizards across the sand. You know how a lizard can run! Well, no lizard ever gets away from a road runner. There’s a race--a fierce little tussle in the sand--a snap! snap!--and then old killer road runner walks proudly back, carrying the lizard in his bill. If it wasn’t for the way he kills and struts I could love him. For he was very tame. He used to come right up to me. But I never cared for him as I do for other birds.” “Genie, you’ve watched a road runner, all right. I didn’t imagine you knew so much. Yes, he’s a killer, a murderer. But no worse than other desert birds. They all kill. They’re all fierce. And if they weren’t they’d die.... Now I want to tell you the most wonderful thing a road runner does. He’ll fight and kill and eat a rattlesnake!” “No! Honest Injun?” cried Genie.