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 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 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！
and the death…hail has reached him； reached； maimed； but not
downed him。 Out of the flashing pinions broken feathers printed
with records went fluttering earthward。 The 〃naught〃 of his sea
record was gone。 Not two hundred and ten； but twenty…one miles it
now read。 Oh； shameful pillage！ A dark stain appeared on his
bosom； but Arnaux kept on。 Home； home； homeward bound。 The danger
was past in an instant。 Home； homeward he steered straight as
before； but the wonderful speed was diminished； not a mile a
minute now； and the wind made undue sounds in his tattered
pinions。 The stain in his breast told of broken force； but on；
straight on； he flew。 Home； home was in sight； and the pain in
his breast was forgotten。 The tall towers of the city were in
clear view of his far…seeing eye as he skimmed by the high cliffs
of Jersey。 On； onthe pinion might flag； the eye might darken；
but the home…love was stronger and stronger。
Under the tall Palisades； to be screened from the wind； he
passed； over the sparkling water； over the trees； under the
Peregrines' eyrie； under the pirates' castle where the great grim
Peregrines sat； peering like black…masked highwaymen they marked
the on…coming Pigeon。 Arnaux knew them of old。 Many a message was
lying undelivered in that nest； many a record…bearing plume had
fluttered away from its fastness。 But Arnaux had faced them
before； and now he came as beforeon； onward； swift； but not as
he had been； the deadly gun had sapped his force； had lowered his
speed。 On； on； and the Peregrines； biding their time； went forth
like two bow…bolts； strong and lightning…swift they went against
one weak and wearied。
Why tell of the race that followed？ Why paint the despair of a
brave little heart in sight of the home he had craved in vain？ in
a minute all was over。 The Peregrines screeched in their triumph。
Screeching and sailing； they swung to their eyrie； and the prey
in their claws was the body； the last of the bright little
Arnaux。 There on the rocks the beaks and claws of the bandits
were red with the life of the hero。 Torn asunder were those
matchless wings； and their records were scattered unnoticed。 In
sun and in storm they lay till the killers themselves were killed
and their stronghold rifled。 And none knew the fate of the
peerless Bird till deep in the dust and rubbish of that
pirate…nest the avenger found； among others of its kind； a silver
ring； the sacred badge of the High Homer； and read upon it the
pregnant inscription： 〃ARNAUX； 2590 C。〃
BADLANDS BILLY
The Wolf that Won
I
THE HOWL BY NIGHT
Do you know the three calls of the hunting Wolf：the long…drawn
deep howl； the muster； that tells of game discovered but too
strong for the finder to manage alone； and the higher ululation
that ringing and swelling is the cry of the pack on a hot scent；
and the sharp bark coupled with a short howl that； seeming least
of all； is yet a gong of doom； for this is the cry 〃Close
in〃this is the finish？
We were riding the Badland Buttes； King and I； with a pack of
various hunting Dogs stringing behind or trotting alongside。 The
sun had gone from the sky； and a blood…streak marked the spot
where he died； away over Sentinel Butte。 The hills were dim； the
valleys dark； when from the nearest gloom there rolled a
long…drawn cry that all men recognize instinctivelymelodious；
yet with a tone in it that sends a shudder up the spine； though
now it has lost all menace for mankind。 We listened for a moment。
It was the Wolf…hunter who broke silence： 〃That's Badlands Billy；
ain't it a voice？ He's out for his beef to…night。〃
II
ANCIENT DAYS
In pristine days the Buffalo herds were followed by bands of
Wolves that preyed on the sick； the weak； and the wounded。 When
the Buffalo were exterminated the Wolves were hard put for
support； but the Cattle came and solved the question for them by
taking the Buffaloes' place。 This caused the wolf…war。 The
ranchmen offered a bounty for each Wolf killed； and every cowboy
out of work； was supplied with traps and poison for wolf…killing。
The very expert made this their sole business and became known as
wolvers。 King Ryder was one of these。 He was a quiet；
gentlespoken fellow； with a keen eye and an insight into animal
life that gave him especial power over Broncos and Dogs； as well
as Wolves and Bears； though in the last two cases it was power
merely to su