“May be his people are too poor to buy a gun,” suggested Bill. “Settlers in a new country don’t have much money and they need all kinds of things for a new farm.”
The boy walked from one end of the field to the other. When he arrived at the east end, the cranes flew to the west end, but the boy could not make them leave the field.
The longer the boy tried to drive them away, the bolder they became.
“I’ll bet they know the boy hasn’t a gun,” Tim exclaimed.
Now a very big crane defied the boy altogether. He walked boldly toward the boy, spreading his wings and uttering a loud croak.
“Look, look,” exclaimed Tim, “he’s going to bite the boy. Let’s run and help him.”
“No, we mustn’t,” argued Bill. “Mr. Barker said we shouldn’t scare the cranes. If that kid runs away from a crane, he deserves to be bitten.”
“I would run,” Tim acknowledged, “if I had no gun.”
The boy was now actually running away with the crane after him, but falling over a furrow and seeing that he could not run away from the fighting crane, he picked up his stick and went hard at his pursuer. At this unexpected attack, the crane ran away, napped his wings and arose to join the flock at the other end of the field.
The boy started for home, looking back from time to time as if afraid that the big bird might be after him again.