desire overtowering all others; and that was freedom,
unqualified, absolute.

Long as it was they stood there so, the bird was true to its instinct of
passive inaction. It was the human that made the first move. Gently,
slowly, one hand freed itself, stroked the silky soft plumage; stroked
it intimately, almost lovingly--as an animal mother caresses its young.
The man did not speak, made no sound, merely repeated the motion again
and again. Under the touch the restless head became still, the watchful
black eyes more watchful. That was all. Slowly as it had moved before,
the man's hand shifted anew, passed down, down, the glossy throat to the
breast--paused over the heart of the wild thing. There it remained, and
for the first time a definite expression came into the mask-like face; a
look of pity, of genuine contrition. A moment the hand lay there; then,
childish as it may seem, absurd, if you please, the man spoke aloud.

"You're afraid of me, deathly afraid, aren't you, birdie?" he queried
softly. "You think because I'm bigger than you and a cannibal, I'm going
to kill you." Kneeling, he looked fair into the black eyes--deep,
mysterious as the wild itself. "You think this, and still you don't
grovel, don't make a sound. You're brave, birdie, braver than most men."
He paused, and one by one his hands loosened their grip. "I'm proud of
you; so proud that I'm going to say good-bye." He straightened to his
full height. Unconsciously his arms folded across his chest. "Go,
birdie; you're free."

A moment longer there was inaction. Unbelieving, still a captive, the
great bird stood there motionless as before; then of a sudden it
understood; it was free. By some chance, some Providence, this great
animal, its captor, had lost the mastery, and it was free.
Simultaneously with the knowledge the pent-up energy of the last minutes
went active, fairly explosive. With a mighty rush it was away; feet and
wings beating the earth, the air. Swifter and swifter it went, gaining
momentum with each second. It barely touched the frost-brown prairie; it
cleared it entirely, it rose, rose, with mighty sweeps of mighty wings.
Oh, it was free! free! free! "Honk! honk!" Free! free! "Honk! honk!
honk!"

Like a statue, silent again as death, the man watched as the dark spot
on the horizon grew dimmer and dimmer until it faded at last into the
all-surrounding brown.

CHAPTER X

THE CURSE OF THE CONQUERED

It was late, very late on