Could this eagle remember for a whole year that the man who lay dead somewhere in the dusky wilderness of Les Errues had once been kind to him and had fed him? And was that why the great bird still haunted the air-heights above the forest? Possibly.
Or was it not more logical to believe that here, suddenly cast upon its own resources, and compelled to employ instincts hitherto uncultivated or forgotten, to satisfy its hunger, this solitary American eagle had found the hunting good? Probably. And, knowing no other region, had remained there, and for the first time, or at least after a long interval of captivity and dependence on man, it had discovered what liberty was and with liberty the necessity to struggle for existence.
An airman, watching Dresslin's thoughtful features, said:
"You never found out who that Englishman was, did you?
"No."
"Did our agents search Les Errues?"
"I suppose so. But I have never heard anything further about that affair," he shrugged; "and I don't believe we ever will until after the war, and until—"
"Until Switzerland belongs to us," said an airman with a light laugh.
Others, listening, looked at one another significantly, smiling the patient, confident and brooding smile of the Hun.
Knaus unwittingly wrote his character and his epitaph: