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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
42
ARNAUX
THE
CHRONICLE
OF
A
HOMING
PIGEON
We
passed
through
the
side
door
of
a
big
stable
on
West
Nineteenth
Street.
The
mild
smell
of
the
well-kept
stalls
was
lost
in
the
sweet
odor
of
hay,
as
we
mounted
a
ladder
and
entered
the
long
garret.
The
south
end
was
walled
off,
and
the
familiar
"Coo-oo,
cooooo-oo,
ruk-at-a-coo,"
varied
with
the
"whirr,
whirr,
whirr"
of
wings,
informed
us
that
we
were
at
the
pigeon-loft.
This
was
the
home
of
a
famous
lot
of
birds,
and
to-day
there
was
to
be
a
race
among
fifty
of
the
youngsters.
The
owner
of
the
loft
had
asked
me,
as
an
unprejudiced
outsider,
to
be
judge
in
the
contest.
It
was
a
training
race
of
the
young
birds.
They
had
been
taken
out
for
short
distances
with
their
parents
once
or
twice,
then
set
free
to
return
to
the
loft.
Now
for
the
first
time
they
were
to
be
flown
without
the
old
ones.
The
point
of
start,
Elizabeth,
N.
J.,
was
a
long
journey
for
their
first
unaided
attempt.
"But
then,"
the
trainer
remarked,
"that's
how
we
weed
out
the
fools;
only
the
best
birds
make
it,
and
that's
all
we
want
back."
There
was
another
side
to
the
flight.
It
was
to
be
a
race
among
those
that
did
return.
Each
of
the
men
about
the
loft
as
well
as
several
neighboring
fanciers
were
interested
in
one
or
other
of
the
Homers.
They
made
up
a
purse
for
the
winner,
and
on
me
was
to
devolve
the
important
duty
of
deciding
which
should
take
the
stakes.
Not
the
first
bird
back,
but
the
first
bird
into
the
loft,
was
to
win,
for
one
that
returns
to
his
neighborhood
merely,
without
immediately
reporting
at
home,
is
of
little
use
as
a
letter-carrier.
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