Billy Duva hurled a bottle into our pasture. The spike made a break for the mountain and the white truck crept along the fence line. A blue Plymouth heading the opposite way tooted at the truck. The spike froze and Billy shook his fist at the Plymouth. The spike jumped the makai fence line.
“Come on!” Ben said.
We ran along the dirt road. Ben took the lead and chased the spike into a hala grove. I followed Ben down a narrow path and the spike scampered to a hala tree. Ben cornered him against the tree but he dodged Ben, avoided my outstretched hand, and headed for the ocean. We followed the spike to the beach, where he ran west toward the point of the bay.
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