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I Into the Primitive
II The Law of Club and Fang
III The Dominant Primordial Beast
IV Who Has Won to Mastership
V The Toil of Trace and Tail
VI For the Love of a Man
VII The Sounding of the Call
"Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain."
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that
trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-
water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget
Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness,
had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation
companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing
into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they
wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and
furry coats to protect them from the frost.
Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley.
Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road,
half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be
caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides.
The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about
through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of
tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious
scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen
grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages,
an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors,
green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the
pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where
Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the
hot afternoon.
And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and
here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there
were other dogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a
place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the
populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house
after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the
Mexican hairless,--strange creatures that rarely put nose out of
doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox
terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at
Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected
by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.
But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm
was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with
the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's
daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry
nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire;
he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in
the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures
down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where
the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he
stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for
he was king,--king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of
Judge Miller's place, humans included.
His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's
inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of
his father. He was not so large,--he weighed only one hundred and
forty pounds,--for his mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd
dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was
added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect,
enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the
four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated
aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle
egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of
their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming
a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights
had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to
the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a
health preserver.
And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when
the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen
North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know
that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable
acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play
Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting
weakness--faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain.
For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a
gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous
progeny.
The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers' Association, and
the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable
night of Manuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off
through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll.
And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive
at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked
with Manuel, and money chinked between them.
"You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm," the stranger
said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around
Buck's neck under the collar.
"Twist it, an' you'll choke 'm plentee," said Manuel, and the
stranger grunted a ready affirmative.
Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was
an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he
knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his
own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's
hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his
displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to
command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck,
shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man, who
met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft
twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened
mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling
out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in
all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his
life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes
glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two
men threw him into the baggage car.
The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting
and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance.
The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him
where he was. He had travelled too often with the Judge not to
know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his
eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king.
The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him.
His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses
were choked out of him once more.
"Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the
baggageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle.
"I'm takin' 'm up for the boss to 'Frisco. A crack dog-doctor
there thinks that he can cure 'm."
Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for
himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco
water front.
"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it
over for a thousand, cold cash."
His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right
trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.
"How much did the other mug get?" the saloon-keeper demanded.
"A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less, so help
me."
"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated;
"and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead."
The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his
lacerated hand. "If I don't get the hydrophoby--"
"It'll be because you was born to hang," laughed the saloon-
keeper. "Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight," he
added.
Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the
life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his
tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till
they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck.
Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cagelike crate.
There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his
wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all
meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were
they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know
why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending
calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet
when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or
the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the
saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a
tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in
Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl.
But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men
entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided,
for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he
stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and
poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth
till he realized that that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay
down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon.
Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage
through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of
him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him,
with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he
was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and
finally he was deposited in an express car.
For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the
tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck
neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances
of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by
teasing him. When he flung himself against the bars, quivering
and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled
and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and
crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more
outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not
mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe
suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter,
high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him
into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and
swollen throat and tongue.
He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had
given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would
show them. They would never get another rope around his neck.
Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate
nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he
accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell
foul of him. His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed
into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself
would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed
with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.
Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small,
high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that
sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for
the driver. That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor,
and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled
grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club.
"You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked.
"Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a
pry.
There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had
carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared
to watch the performance.
Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it,
surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the
outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as
furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was
calmly intent on getting him out.
"Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening
sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he
dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.
And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together
for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in
his blood-shot eyes. Straight at the man he launched his one
hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion
of two days and nights. In mid air, just as his jaws were about
to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and
brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled
over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been
struck by a club in his life, and did not understand. With a
snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet
and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was
brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was aware that it
was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times he
charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him
down.
After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too
dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from
nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked
with bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt
him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he had endured was
as nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar
that was almost lionlike in its ferocity, he again hurled himself
at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left,
coolly caught him by the under jaw, at the same time wrenching
downward and backward. Buck described a complete circle in the
air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on his head
and chest.
For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he
had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went
down, knocked utterly senseless.
"He's no slouch at dog-breakin', that's wot I say," one of the men
on the wall cried enthusiastically.
"Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays," was the
reply of the driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the
horses.
Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay
where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red
sweater.
" 'Answers to the name of Buck,' " the man soliloquized, quoting
from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the
consignment of the crate and contents. "Well, Buck, my boy," he
went on in a genial voice, "we've had our little ruction, and the
best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your
place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all 'll go well and the
goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin' outa
you. Understand?"
As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly
pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of
the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him
water he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw
meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.
He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken. He saw, once
for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He
had learned the lesson, and in all his after life he never forgot
it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the
reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction halfway. The
facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that
aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his
nature aroused. As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates
and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and
roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass
under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and
again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was
driven home to Buck: a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to
be obeyed, though not necessarily conciliated. Of this last Buck
was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon
the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand. Also he saw
one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in
the struggle for mastery.
Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly,
wheedlingly, and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red
sweater. And at such times that money passed between them the
strangers took one or more of the dogs away with them. Buck
wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear
of the future was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when
he was not selected.
Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened
man who spat broken English and many strange and uncouth
exclamations which Buck could not understand.
"Sacredam!" he cried, when his eyes lit upon Buck. "Dat one dam
bully dog! Eh? How moch?"
"Three hundred, and a present at that," was the prompt reply of
the man in the red sweater. "And seem' it's government money, you
ain't got no kick coming, eh, Perrault?"
Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been
boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum
for so fine an animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser,
nor would its despatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs,
and when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand--
"One in ten t'ousand," he commented mentally.
Buck saw money pass between them, and was not surprised when
Curly, a good-natured Newfoundland, and he were led away by the
little weazened man. That was the last he saw of the man in the
red sweater, and as Curly and he looked at receding Seattle from
the deck of the Narwhal, it was the last he saw of the warm
Southland. Curly and he were taken below by Perrault and turned
over to a black-faced giant called Francois. Perrault was a
French-Canadian, and swarthy; but Francois was a French-Canadian
half-breed, and twice as swarthy. They were a new kind of men to
Buck (of which he was destined to see many more), and while he
developed no affection for them, he none the less grew honestly to
respect them. He speedily learned that Perrault and Francois were
fair men, calm and impartial in administering justice, and too
wise in the way of dogs to be fooled by dogs.
In the 'tween-decks of the Narwhal, Buck and Curly joined two
other dogs. One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from
Spitzbergen who had been brought away by a whaling captain, and
who had later accompanied a Geological Survey into the Barrens.
He was friendly, in a treacherous sort of way, smiling into one's
face the while he meditated some underhand trick, as, for
instance, when he stole from Buck's food at the first meal. As
Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of Francois's whip sang
through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained
to Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of Francois, he
decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's estimation.
The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not
attempt to steal from the newcomers. He was a gloomy, morose
fellow, and he showed Curly plainly that all he desired was to be
left alone, and further, that there would be trouble if he were
not left alone. "Dave" he was called, and he ate and slept, or
yawned between times, and took interest in nothing, not even when
the Narwhal crossed Queen Charlotte Sound and rolled and pitched
and bucked like a thing possessed. When Buck and Curly grew
excited, half wild with fear, he raised his head as though
annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned, and went
to sleep again.
Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the
propeller, and though one day was very like another, it was
apparent to Buck that the weather was steadily growing colder. At
last, one morning, the propeller was quiet, and the Narwhal was
pervaded with an atmosphere of excitement. He felt it, as did the
other dogs, and knew that a change was at hand. Francois leashed
them and brought them on deck. At the first step upon the cold
surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushy something very like
mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was
falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell
upon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his
tongue. It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This
puzzled him. He tried it again, with the same result. The
onlookers laughed uproariously, and he felt ashamed, he knew not
why, for it was his first snow.
Buck's first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare. Every
hour was filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly
jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of
things primordial. No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with
nothing to do but loaf and be bored. Here was neither peace, nor
rest, nor a moment's safety. All was confusion and action, and
every moment life and limb were in peril. There was imperative
need to be constantly alert; for these dogs and men were not town
dogs and men. They were savages, all of them, who knew no law but
the law of club and fang.
He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought,
and his first experience taught him an unforgetable lesson. It is
true, it was a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived
to profit by it. Curly was the victim. They were camped near the
log store, where she, in her friendly way, made advances to a
husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large
as she. There was no warning, only a leap in like a flash, a
metallic clip of teeth, a leap out equally swift, and Curly's face
was ripped open from eye to jaw.
It was the wolf manner of fighting, to strike and leap away; but
there was more to it than this. Thirty or forty huskies ran to
the spot and surrounded the combatants in an intent and silent
circle. Buck did not comprehend that silent intentness, nor the
eager way with which they were licking their chops. Curly rushed
her antagonist, who struck again and leaped aside. He met her
next rush with his chest, in a peculiar fashion that tumbled her
off her feet. She never regained them, This was what the
onlooking huskies had waited for. They closed in upon her,
snarling and yelping, and she was buried, screaming with agony,
beneath the bristling mass of bodies.
So sudden was it, and so unexpected, that Buck was taken aback.
He saw Spitz run out his scarlet tongue in a way he had of
laughing; and he saw Francois, swinging an axe, spring into the
mess of dogs. Three men with clubs were helping him to scatter
them. It did not take long. Two minutes from the time Curly went
down, the last of her assailants were clubbed off. But she lay
there limp and lifeless in the bloody, trampled snow, almost
literally torn to pieces, the swart half-breed standing over her
and cursing horribly. The scene often came back to Buck to
trouble him in his sleep. So that was the way. No fair play.
Once down, that was the end of you. Well, he would see to it that
he never went down. Spitz ran out his tongue and laughed again,
and from that moment Buck hated him with a bitter and deathless
hatred.
Before he had recovered from the shock caused by the tragic
passing of Curly, he received another shock. Francois fastened
upon him an arrangement of straps and buckles. It was a harness,
such as he had seen the grooms put on the horses at home. And as
he had seen horses work, so he was set to work, hauling Francois
on a sled to the forest that fringed the valley, and returning
with a load of firewood. Though his dignity was sorely hurt by
thus being made a draught animal, he was too wise to rebel. He
buckled down with a will and did his best, though it was all new
and strange. Francois was stem, demanding instant obedience, and
by virtue of his whip receiving instant obedience; while Dave, who
was an experienced wheeler, nipped Buck's hind quarters whenever
he was in error. Spitz was the leader, likewise experienced, and
while he could not always get at Buck, he growled sharp reproof
now and again, or cunningly threw his weight in the traces to jerk
Buck into the way he should go. Buck learned easily, and under
the combined tuition of his two mates and Francois made remarkable
progress. Ere they returned to camp he knew enough to stop at
"ho," to go ahead at "mush," to swing wide on the bends, and to
keep clear of the wheeler when the loaded sled shot downhill at
their heels.
"T'ree vair' good dogs," Francois told Perrault. "Dat Buck, heem
pool lak hell. I tich heem queek as anyt'ing."
By afternoon, Perrault, who was in a hurry to be on the trail with
his despatches, returned with two more dogs. "Billee" and "Joe"
he called them, two brothers, and true huskies both. Sons of the
one mother though they were, they were as different as day and
night. Billee's one fault was his excessive good nature, while
Joe was the very opposite, sour and introspective, with a
perpetual snarl and a malignant eye. Buck received them in
comradely fashion, Dave ignored them, while Spitz proceeded to
thrash first one and then the other. Billee wagged his tail
appeasingly, turned to run when he saw that appeasement was of no
avail, and cried (still appeasingly) when Spitz's sharp teeth
scored his flank. But no matter how Spitz circled, Joe whirled
around on his heels to face him, mane bristling, ears laid back,
lips writhing and snarling, jaws clipping together as fast as he
could snap, and eyes diabolically gleaming--the incarnation of
belligerent fear. So terrible was his appearance that Spitz was
forced to forego disciplining him; but to cover his own
discomfiture he turned upon the inoffensive and wailing Billee and
drove him to the confines of the camp.
By evening Perrault secured another dog, an old husky, long and
lean and gaunt, with a battle-scarred face and a single eye which
flashed a warning of prowess that commanded respect. He was
called Sol-leks, which means the Angry One. Like Dave, he asked
nothing, gave nothing, expected nothing; and when he marched
slowly and deliberately into their midst, even Spitz left him
alone. He had one peculiarity which Buck was unlucky enough to
discover. He did not like to be approached on his blind side. Of
this offence Buck was unwittingly guilty, and the first knowledge
he had of his indiscretion was when Sol-leks whirled upon him and
slashed his shoulder to the bone for three inches up and down.
Forever after Buck avoided his blind side, and to the last of
their comradeship had no more trouble. His only apparent
ambition, like Dave's, was to be left alone; though, as Buck was
afterward to learn, each of them possessed one other and even more
vital ambition.
That night Buck faced the great problem of sleeping. The tent,
illumined by a candle, glowed warmly in the midst of the white
plain; and when he, as a matter of course, entered it, both
Perrault and Francois bombarded him with curses and cooking
utensils, till he recovered from his consternation and fled
ignominiously into the outer cold. A chill wind was blowing that
nipped him sharply and bit with especial venom into his wounded
shoulder. He lay down on the snow and attempted to sleep, but the
frost soon drove him shivering to his feet. Miserable and
disconsolate, he wandered about among the many tents, only to find
that one place was as cold as another. Here and there savage dogs
rushed upon him, but he bristled his neck-hair and snarled (for he
was learning fast), and they let him go his way unmolested.
Finally an idea came to him. He would return and see how his own
team-mates were making out. To his astonishment, they had
disappeared. Again he wandered about through the great camp,
looking for them, and again he returned. Were they in the tent?
No, that could not be, else he would not have been driven out.
Then where could they possibly be? With drooping tail and
shivering body, very forlorn indeed, he aimlessly circled the
tent. Suddenly the snow gave way beneath his fore legs and he
sank down. Something wriggled under his feet. He sprang back,
bristling and snarling, fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a
friendly little yelp reassured him, and he went back to
investigate. A whiff of warm air ascended to his nostrils, and
there, curled up under the snow in a snug ball, lay Billee. He
whined placatingly, squirmed and wriggled to show his good will
and intentions, and even ventured, as a bribe for peace, to lick
Buck's face with his warm wet tongue.
Another lesson. So that was the way they did it, eh? Buck
confidently selected a spot, and with much fuss and waste effort
proceeded to dig a hole for himself. In a trice the heat from his
body filled the confined space and he was asleep. The day had
been long and arduous, and he slept soundly and comfortably,
though he growled and barked and wrestled with bad dreams.
Nor did he open his eyes till roused by the noises of the waking
camp. At first he did not know where he was. It had snowed
during the night and he was completely buried. The snow walls
pressed him on every side, and a great surge of fear swept through
him--the fear of the wild thing for the trap. It was a token that
he was harking back through his own life to the lives of his
forebears; for he was a civilized dog, an unduly civilized dog,
and of his own experience knew no trap and so could not of himself
fear it. The muscles of his whole body contracted spasmodically
and instinctively, the hair on his neck and shoulders stood on
end, and with a ferocious snarl he bounded straight up into the
blinding day, the snow flying about him in a flashing cloud. Ere
he landed on his feet, he saw the white camp spread out before him
and knew where he was and remembered all that had passed from the
time he went for a stroll with Manuel to the hole he had dug for
himself the night before.
A shout from Francois hailed his appearance. "Wot I say?" the
dog-driver cried to Perrault. "Dat Buck for sure learn queek as
anyt'ing."
Perrault nodded gravely. As courier for the Canadian Government,
bearing important despatches, he was anxious to secure the best
dogs, and he was particularly gladdened by the possession of Buck.
Three more huskies were added to the team inside an hour, making a
total of nine, and before another quarter of an hour had passed
they were in harness and swinging up the trail toward the Dyea
Canon. Buck was glad to be gone, and though the work was hard he
found he did not particularly despise it. He was surprised at the
eagerness which animated the whole team and which was communicated
to him; but still more surprising was the change wrought in Dave
and Sol-leks. They were new dogs, utterly transformed by the
harness. All passiveness and unconcern had dropped from them.
They were alert and active, anxious that the work should go well,
and fiercely irritable with whatever, by delay or confusion,
retarded that work. The toil of the traces seemed the supreme
expression of their being, and all that they lived for and the
only thing in which they took delight.
Dave was wheeler or sled dog, pulling in front of him was Buck,
then came Sol-leks; the rest of the team was strung out ahead,
single file, to the leader, which position was filled by Spitz.
Buck had been purposely placed between Dave and Sol-leks so that
he might receive instruction. Apt scholar that he was, they were
equally apt teachers, never allowing him to linger long in error,
and enforcing their teaching with their sharp teeth. Dave was
fair and very wise. He never nipped Buck without cause, and he
never failed to nip him when he stood in need of it. As
Francois's whip backed him up, Buck found it to be cheaper to mend
his ways than to retaliate, Once, during a brief halt, when he got
tangled in the traces and delayed the start, both Dave and Sol-
leks flew at him and administered a sound trouncing. The
resulting tangle was even worse, but Buck took good care to keep
the traces clear thereafter; and ere the day was done, so well had
he mastered his work, his mates about ceased nagging him.
Francois's whip snapped less frequently, and Perrault even honored
Buck by lifting up his feet and carefully examining them.
It was a hard day's run, up the Canon, through Sheep Camp, past
the Scales and the timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts
hundreds of feet deep, and over the great Chilcoot Divide, which
stands between the salt water and the fresh and guards
forbiddingly the sad and lonely North. They made good time down
the chain of lakes which fills the craters of extinct volcanoes,
and late that night pulled into the huge camp at the head of Lake
Bennett, where thousands of goldseekers were building boats
against the break-up of the ice in the spring. Buck made his hole
in the snow and slept the sleep of the exhausted just, but all too
early was routed out in the cold darkness and harnessed with his
mates to the sled.
That day they made forty miles, the trail being packed; but the
next day, and for many days to follow, they broke their own trail,
worked harder, and made poorer time. As a rule, Perrault
travelled ahead of the team, packing the snow with webbed shoes to
make it easier for them. Francois, guiding the sled at the gee-
pole, sometimes exchanged places with him, but not often.
Perrault was in a hurry, and he prided himself on his knowledge of
ice, which knowledge was indispensable, for the fall ice was very
thin, and where there was swift water, there was no ice at all.
Day after day, for days unending, Buck toiled in the traces.
Always, they broke camp in the dark, and the first gray of dawn
found them hitting the trail with fresh miles reeled off behind
them. And always they pitched camp after dark, eating their bit
of fish, and crawling to sleep into the snow. Buck was ravenous.
The pound and a half of sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for
each day, seemed to go nowhere. He never had enough, and suffered
from perpetual hunger pangs. Yet the other dogs, because they
weighed less and were born to the life, received a pound only of
the fish and managed to keep in good condition.
He swiftly lost the fastidiousness which had characterized his old
life. A dainty eater, he found that his mates, finishing first,
robbed him of his unfinished ration. There was no defending it.
While he was fighting off two or three, it was disappearing down
the throats of the others. To remedy this, he ate as fast as
they; and, so greatly did hunger compel him, he was not above
taking what did not belong to him. He watched and learned. When
he saw Pike, one of the new dogs, a clever malingerer and thief,
slyly steal a slice of bacon when Perrault's back was turned, he
duplicated the performance the following day, getting away with
the whole chunk. A great uproar was raised, but he was
unsuspected; while Dub, an awkward blunderer who was always
getting caught, was punished for Buck's misdeed.
This first theft marked Buck as fit to survive in the hostile
Northland environment. It marked his adaptability, his capacity
to adjust himself to changing conditions, the lack of which would
have meant swift and terrible death. It marked, further, the
decay or going to pieces of his moral nature, a vain thing and a
handicap in the ruthless struggle for existence. It was all well
enough in the Southland, under the law of love and fellowship, to
respect private property and personal feelings; but in the
Northland, under the law of club and fang, whoso took such things
into account was a fool, and in so far as he observed them he
would fail to prosper.
Not that Buck reasoned it out. He was fit, that was all, and
unconsciously he accommodated himself to the new mode of life.
All his days, no matter what the odds, he had never run from a
fight. But the club of the man in the red sweater had beaten into
him a more fundamental and primitive code. Civilized, he could
have died for a moral consideration, say the defence of Judge
Miller's riding-whip; but the completeness of his decivilization
was now evidenced by his ability to flee from the defence of a
moral consideration and so save his hide. He did not steal for
joy of it, but because of the clamor of his stomach. He did not
rob openly, but stole secretly and cunningly, out of respect for
club and fang. In short, the things he did were done because it
was easier to do them than not to do them.
His development (or retrogression) was rapid. His muscles became
hard as iron, and he grew callous to all ordinary pain. He
achieved an internal as well as external economy. He could eat
anything, no matter how loathsome or indigestible; and, once
eaten, the juices of his stomach extracted the last least particle
of nutriment; and his blood carried it to the farthest reaches of
his body, building it into the toughest and stoutest of tissues.
Sight and scent became remarkably keen, while his hearing
developed such acuteness that in his sleep he heard the faintest
sound and knew whether it heralded peace or peril. He learned to
bite the ice out with his teeth when it collected between his
toes; and when he was thirsty and there was a thick scum of ice
over the water hole, he would break it by rearing and striking it
with stiff fore legs. His most conspicuous trait was an ability to
scent the wind and forecast it a night in advance. No matter how
breathless the air when he dug his nest by tree or bank, the wind
that later blew inevitably found him to leeward, sheltered and
snug.
And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead
became alive again. The domesticated generations fell from him.
In vague ways he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the
time the wild dogs ranged in packs through the primeval forest and
killed their meat as they ran it down. It was no task for him to
learn to fight with cut and slash and the quick wolf snap. In
this manner had fought forgotten ancestors. They quickened the
old life within him, and the old tricks which they had stamped
into the heredity of the breed were his tricks. They came to him
without effort or discovery, as though they had been his always.
And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star
and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust,
pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and
through him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences
which voiced their woe and what to them was the meaning of the
stiffness, and the cold, and dark.
Thus, as token of what a puppet thing life is, the ancient song
surged through him and he came into his own again; and he came
because men had found a yellow metal in the North, and because
Manuel was a gardener's helper whose wages did not lap over the
needs of his wife and divers small copies of himself.
The dominant primordial beast was strong in Buck, and under the
fierce conditions of trail life it grew and grew. Yet it was a
secret growth. His newborn cunning gave him poise and control.
He was too busy adjusting himself to the new life to feel at ease,
and not only did he not pick fights, but he avoided them whenever
possible. A certain deliberateness characterized his attitude.
He was not prone to rashness and precipitate action; and in the
bitter hatred between him and Spitz he betrayed no impatience,
shunned all offensive acts.
On the other hand, possibly because he divined in Buck a dangerous
rival, Spitz never lost an opportunity of showing his teeth. He
even went out of his way to bully Buck, striving constantly to
start the fight which could end only in the death of one or the
other. Early in the trip this might have taken place had it not
been for an unwonted accident. At the end of this day they made a
bleak and miserable camp on the shore of Lake Le Barge. Driving
snow, a wind that cut like a white-hot knife, and darkness had
forced them to grope for a camping place. They could hardly have
fared worse. At their backs rose a perpendicular wall of rock,
and Perrault and Francois were compelled to make their fire and
spread their sleeping robes on the ice of the lake itself. The
tent they had discarded at Dyea in order to travel light. A few
sticks of driftwood furnished them with a fire that thawed down
through the ice and left them to eat supper in the dark.
Close in under the sheltering rock Buck made his nest. So snug
and warm was it, that he was loath to leave it when Francois
distributed the fish which he had first thawed over the fire. But
when Buck finished his ration and returned, he found his nest
occupied. A warning snarl told him that the trespasser was Spitz.
Till now Buck had avoided trouble with his enemy, but this was too
much. The beast in him roared. He sprang upon Spitz with a fury
which surprised them both, and Spitz particularly, for his whole
experience with Buck had gone to teach him that his rival was an
unusually timid dog, who managed to hold his own only because of
his great weight and size.
Francois was surprised, too, when they shot out in a tangle from
the disrupted nest and he divined the cause of the trouble. "A-a-
ah!" he cried to Buck. "Gif it to heem, by Gar! Gif it to heem,
the dirty t'eef!"
Spitz was equally willing. He was crying with sheer rage and
eagerness as he circled back and forth for a chance to spring in.
Buck was no less eager, and no less cautious, as he likewise
circled back and forth for the advantage. But it was then that
the unexpected happened, the thing which projected their struggle
for supremacy far into the future, past many a weary mile of trail
and toil.
An oath from Perrault, the resounding impact of a club upon a bony
frame, and a shrill yelp of pain, heralded the breaking forth of
pandemonium. The camp was suddenly discovered to be alive with
skulking furry forms, - starving huskies, four or five score of
them, who had scented the camp from some Indian village. They had
crept in while Buck and Spitz were fighting, and when the two men
sprang among them with stout clubs they showed their teeth and
fought back. They were crazed by the smell of the food. Perrault
found one with head buried in the grub-box. His club landed
heavily on the gaunt ribs, and the grub-box was capsized on the
ground. On the instant a score of the famished brutes were
scrambling for the bread and bacon. The clubs fell upon them
unheeded. They yelped and howled under the rain of blows, but
struggled none the less madly till the last crumb had been
devoured.
In the meantime the astonished team-dogs had burst out of their
nests only to be set upon by the fierce invaders. Never had Buck
seen such dogs. it seemed as though their bones would burst
through their skins. They were mere skeletons, draped loosely in
draggled hides, with blazing eyes and slavered fangs. But the
hunger-madness made them terrifying, irresistible. There was no
opposing them. The team-dogs were swept back against the cliff at
the first onset. Buck was beset by three huskies, and in a trice
his head and shoulders were ripped and slashed. The din was
frightful. Billee was crying as usual. Dave and Sol-leks,
dripping blood from a score of wounds, were fighting bravely side
by side. Joe was snapping like a demon. Once, his teeth closed
on the fore leg of a husky, and he crunched down through the bone.
Pike, the malingerer, leaped upon the crippled animal, breaking
its neck with a quick flash of teeth and a jerk, Buck got a
frothing adversary by the throat, and was sprayed with blood when
his teeth sank through the jugular. The warm taste of it in his
mouth goaded him to greater fierceness. He flung himself upon
another, and at the same time felt teeth sink into his own throat.
It was Spitz, treacherously attacking from the side.
Perrault and Francois, having cleaned out their part of the camp,
hurried to save their sled-dogs. The wild wave of famished beasts
rolled back before them, and Buck shook himself free. But it was
only for a moment. The two men were compelled to run back to save
the grub, upon which the huskies returned to the attack on the
team. Billee, terrified into bravery, sprang through the savage
circle and fled away over the ice. Pike and Dub followed on his
heels, with the rest of the team behind. As Buck drew himself
together to spring after them, out of the tail of his eye he saw
Spitz rush upon him with the evident intention of overthrowing
him. Once off his feet and under that mass of huskies, there was
no hope for him. But he braced himself to the shock of Spitz's
charge, then joined the flight out on the lake.
Later, the nine team-dogs gathered together and sought shelter in
the forest. Though unpursued, they were in a sorry plight. There
was not one who was not wounded in four or five places, while some
were wounded grievously. Dub was badly injured in a hind leg;
Dolly, the last husky added to the team at Dyea, had a badly torn
throat; Joe had lost an eye; while Billee, the good-natured, with
an ear chewed and rent to ribbons, cried and whimpered throughout
the night. At daybreak they limped warily back to camp, to find
the marauders gone and the two men in bad tempers. Fully half
their grub supply was gone. The huskies had chewed through the