Arnaux 
the chart and compass, all, were that deep-im- 
planted 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 
JA the pines were combing the breezes. 
fe a Out from his oak-tree eyrie a Hawk came 
3 wheeling and sailing, silent, for he had marked 
zy the Flyer, and meant him for his prey. Arnaux 
eg turned neither right nor left, nor raised nor 
ar 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 
100 
