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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
44
We
were
ranged
along
the
inside
of
the
loft,
each
with
an
eye
to
a
crack
or
a
partly
closed
pigeon-door,
anxiously
scanning
the
southwestern
horizon,
when
one
shouted:
"Look
out--here
they
come!"
Like
a
white
cloud
they
burst
into
view,
low
skimming
over
the
city
roofs,
around
a
great
chimney
pile,
and
in
two
seconds
after
first
being
seen
they
were
back.
The
flash
of
white,
the
rush
of
pinions,
were
all
so
sudden,
so
short,
that,
though
preparing,
I
was
unprepared.
I
was
at
the
only
open
door.
A
whistling
arrow
of
blue
shot
in,
lashed
my
face
with
its
pinions,
and
passed.
I
had
hardly
time
to
drop
the
little
door,
as
a
yell
burst
from
the
men,
"Arnaux!
Arnaux!
I
told
you
he
would.
Oh,
he's
a
darling;
only
three
months
old
and
a
winner--he's
a
little
darling!"
and
Arnaux's
owner
danced,
more
for
joy
in
his
bird
than
in
the
purse
he
had
won.
The
men
sat
or
kneeled
and
watched
him
in
positive
reverence
as
he
gulped
a
quantity
of
water,
then
turned
to
the
food-trough.
"Look
at
that
eye,
those
wings,
and
did
you
ever
see
such
a
breast?
Oh,
but
he's
the
real
grit!"
so
his
owner
prattled
to
the
silent
ones
whose
birds
had
been
defeated.
That
was
the
first
of
Arnaux's
exploits.
Best
of
fifty
birds
from
a
good
loft,
his
future
was
bright
with
promise.
He
was
invested
with
the
silver
anklet
of
the
Sacred
Order
of
the
High
Homer.
It
bore
his
number,
2590
C,
a
number
which
to-day
means
much
to
all
men
in
the
world
of
the
Homing
Pigeon.
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