“Wa-a-a-a! Ma-a-a-a!” comes from over by Magpie.
“Yah-a-a-a-a! Ma-a-a-a-a!” comes from my arms.
Neither one of us has anything to say. In fact there ain’t nothing to be said. The insides of me are wondering whether I’m going to cuss or cry. I feel like somebody had pushed me out of a balloon.
Pretty soon Magpie says soft-like:
“Twins! Wasn’t one enough, Ike?”
“Too many,” I agrees weak-like. “One was too many, Magpie. If Sherman had twins, he’d never knowed there was a war.”
Where we’d only had a solo, we’ve now got a duet. If anything, the last one had a higher voice than the first one and used several more notes. It also seemed to get its second wind long after the first one had stopped to pump air.
We sets there in the dark and listens. A couple of coyotes off on a little butte tries to sing their opening song, but their voices are drowned by the voices of children, and they sneaks away in disgust.
“We’ve got to take it back,” states Magpie sad-like. “It’s got to be done, Ike.”
“With due caution,” I agrees. “That female is a wing-shot, if you asks me, Magpie. Also, that posse might be there. Sabe?”