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or was scornfully indifferent； and at times the old longing to get away；
came back with twofold power； so that he darted up and down the wire
front or dashed with all his force against it。
When the storied feathers of his wings began their annual moult； his
jailer saved them as precious things； and as each new feather came he
reproduced on it the record of its owner's fame。
Two years went slowly by； and the jailer had put Arnaux in a new loft
and brought in another lady Pigeon。 By chance she closely resembled the
faithless one at home。 Arnaux actually heeded the newcomer。 Once the
jailer thought he saw his famous prisoner paying some slight attention to
the charmer； and； yes； he surely saw her preparing a nest。 Then assuming
that they had reached a full understanding； the jailer； for the first time；
opened the outlet； and Arnaux was free。 Did he hang around in doubt？ Did
he hesitate？ No； not for one moment。 As soon as the drop of the door left
open the way； he shot through； he spread those wonderful blazoned wings；
and； with no second thought for the latest Circe； sprang from the hated
prison loftaway and away。
V
We have no means of looking into the Pigeon's mind； we may go
wrong in conjuring up for it deep thoughts of love and welcome home； but
we are safe in this； we cannot too strongly paint； we cannot too highly
praise and glorify that wonderful God…implanted； mankind…fostered home…
love that glows unquenchably in this noble bird。 Call it what you like； a
mere instinct deliberately constructed by man for his selfish ends； explain
it away if you will； dissect it； misname it； and it still is there； in
overwhelming； imperishable master…power； as long as the brave little heart
and wings can beat。
Home； home； sweet home！ Never had mankind a stronger love of
home than Arnaux。 The trials and sorrows of the old pigeon…loft were
forgotten in that all…dominating force of his nature。 Not years of prison
bars； not later loves； nor fear of death； could down its power； and Arnaux；
had the gift of song been his； must surely have sung as sings a hero in his
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Animal Heroes
highest joy； when sprang he from the 'lighting board； up…circling free；
soaring； drawn by the only impulse that those glorious wings would
honor；up； up； in widening； heightening circles of ashy blue in the blue；
flashing those many…lettered wings of white； till they seemed like jets of
fireup and on； driven by that home…love； faithful to his only home and to
his faithless mate； closing his eyes； they say； closing his ears； they tell；
shutting his mind；we all believe；to nearer things； to two years of his
life； to one half of his prime； but soaring in the blue； retiring； as a saint
might do； into his inner self； giving himself up to that inmost guide。 He
was the captain of the ship； but the pilot； the chart and compass； all； were
that deep…implanted instinct。 One thousand feet above the trees the
inscrutable whisper came； and Arnaux in arrowy swiftness now was
pointing for the south…southeast。 The little flashes of white fire on each
side were lost in the low sky； and the reverent robber of Syracuse saw
Arnaux nevermore。
The fast express was steaming down the valley。 It was far ahead； but
Arnaux overtook and passed it； as the flying wild Duck passes the
swimming Muskrat。 High in the valleys he went； low over the hills of
Chenango； where the pines were combing the breezes。
Out from his oak…tree eyrie a Hawk came wheeling and sailing； silent；
for he had marked the Flyer； and meant him for his prey。 Arnaux turned
neither right nor left； nor raised nor lowered his flight； nor lost a wing…beat。
The Hawk was in waiting in the gap ahead； and Arnaux passed him； even
as a Deer in his prime may pass by a Bear in his pathway。 Home！ home！
was the only burning thought； the blinding impulse。
Beat； beat； beat； those flashing pinions went with speed unslacked on
the now familiar road。 In an hour the Catskills were at hand。 In two hours
he was passing over them。 Old friendly places； swiftly coming now； lent
more force to his wings。 Home！ home！ was the silent song that his heart
was singing。 Like the traveller dying of thirst； that sees the palm…trees far
ahead； his brilliant eyes took in the distant smoke of Manhattan。
Out from the crest of the Catskills there launched a Falcon。 Swiftest of
the race of rapine； proud of his strength； proud of his wings； he rejoiced in
a worthy prey。 Many and many a Pigeon had been borne to his nest； and
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Animal Heroes
riding the wind he came； swooping； reserving his strength； awaiting the
proper time。 Oh； how well he knew the very moment！ Down； down like a
flashing javelin； no wild Duck； no Hawk could elude him； for this was a
Falcon。 Turn back now； O Homer； and save yourself； go round the
dangerous hills。 Did he turn？ Not a whit！ for this was Arnaux。 Home！
home！ home！ was his only thought。 To meet the danger； he merely added
to his speed； and the Peregrine stooped； stooped at what？a flashing of
color； a twinkling of whitenessand went back empty。 While Arnaux cleft
the air of the valley as a stone from a sling； to be losta white…winged
birda spot with flashing haloand； quickly； a speck in the offing。 On
down the dear valley of Hudson； the well…known highway； for two years
he had not seen it！ Now he dropped low as the noon breeze came north
and ruffled the river below him。 Home！ home！ home！ and the towers of a
city are coming in view！ Home！ home！ past the great spider…bridge of
Poughkeepsie； skimming； skirting the river…banks。 Low now by the bank
as the wind arose。 Low； alas！ too low！
What fiend was it tempted a gunner in June to lurk on that hill by the
margin？ what devil directed his gaze to the twinkling of white that came
from the blue to the northward？ Oh； Arnaux； Arnaux； skimming low；
forget not the gunner of old！ Too low； too low you are clearing that hill。
Too lowtoo late！ Flashbang！