[Novel] 《野性的呼唤》---《The Call of the Wild》（中英对照）完

CHAPTER 2

THE LAW OF CLUB AND FANG


Buck's first day on the Yea 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 unforgettable 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 stern, demanding instant obedience, and by virtue of his whip receiving instant obedience; while Dave, who was an experienced wheeler, nipped Buck's hindquarters 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.
"Three very good dogs," Francois told Perrault. "Dat Buck, him pull like hell. I teach him quick as anything."
By afternoon, Perrault, who was in a hurry to be on the trail with his dispatches, 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 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 offense 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.a 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 teammates 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 wasted 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. "What I say?" the dog-driver cried to Perrault. "Dat Buck for sure learn quick as anything."
Perrault nodded gravely. As courier for the Canadian Government, bearing important dispatches, 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 Yea Canyon. 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;i 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' 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' 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 Canyon, 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 gold-seekers were building boats against the breakup 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 traveled 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 sundried 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 feeling; 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 defense of Judge Miller's riding whip; but the completeness of his decivilization was now evidenced by his ability to flee from the defense 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 wolf-like, 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 stillness, 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.

第二章 大棒和狗牙的法律

  
　    巴克在戴伊海滨的第一天就像一场恶梦，每个小时都充满着震惊和激动，它从文明的心脏地区一下子跳到了原始荒漠的旋涡之中。这里没有懒惰、这里阳光灿烂，但这里除了闲荡和被讨厌外再也没有什么正经事可做。这里没有和平、没有休息、没有片刻的安全，一切都混乱不堪，都需要行动。在这里，每分钟生命和肢体都处在危险之中，都有一种强烈的需要，要时刻不断地保持机敏。因为这里的狗们和人们不是城里的狗们和人们，他们都是些野蛮的狗和野蛮的人，都是些不知法律为何物，只认大棒和狗牙的人们和狗们。
它从没见过狗和狗之间的战斗会像那些只有具备狼性的东西们之间的战斗那样地惨烈。它的第一次这样的经历就教给了它永不会忘记的一课。现在看起来这都是真的，但当时的认识却并非如此，别的什么经历都将不会像这次经历可以从中得到教诲。这次经历的牺牲者是柯利。
　    它们在木材场附近宿营，在那里柯利用友好的方式和一只身材丰满如狼的壮狗接近。那狗的身材不及柯利的一半。没有任何预兆，只是像闪电一样地一跳，一付似金属夹子一般的狗牙只那么一闪，柯利的脸上就从眼部到下鄂被撕开了一个大口子。这是只有狼才会有的作战方式。
　    还有比这更凶的，三四十只壮狗奔跑过来围住了正在作战的这两只狗，深怀敌意地、默默地把它们围成了一个圈。巴克一点都不了解它们这种热切的击败对手的方式。柯利冲向了它的敌手，那狗跳了起来躲向一边。柯里第二次又向它的胸脯冲去，那狗一个漂亮的翻滚，又使柯利扑了空。但柯利却再也没有把脚落在地上。这正是等在旁边的那些壮狗们所期待的，它们一下子围了过来，嚎着、吼着…柯利被埋葬了，它愤怒而凄惨地尖叫着、在那些毛发竖起、有着强键体魄的狗们的下面……
　    就是那么快、就是那么出人意料，以至于巴克都退后了一步。它看到斯佩茨用它那特有的方式伸出深红色的舌头笑着，它看到费兰柯斯挥着一把斧头跳进了乱轰轰的狗群中，三个拿大棒的男子也过来帮助他，他们驱散了那些狗。这没用多少时间，最多两分钟，柯利就倒下了。它的最后的一批凶手被大棒轰走了，柯利却躺在了那里，它的腿断了，无声无息的生命之驱浸泡在血泊之中，殷红的鲜血渗透了皑皑大地，它的驱体用不着想象已被撕成了碎片。黑皮肤的混血儿站在柯利的尸体旁边愤怒地咒骂着。这个场景经常在巴克的睡梦中显现。这就是生活，没有什么公平可说。一旦倒下了，那就是你的末日。对，巴克可以去看这个场景，但巴克决不能倒下。
　    斯佩茨吐出舌头又笑了，从这一刻起巴克就恨上了它，带着痛苦，带着不死的仇恨。
柯利的残死对它的打击还没有过去，巴克又糟受了另一次打击：费兰柯斯用皮带和扣子把它牢牢地捆绑了起来。这是一套枷锁，这种枷锁它见过。在南方的家里，那些鹅们就是这样被绑在马背上的。
　    就像它曾见到过的马是怎样干活儿的一样，巴克也被派上了这种活儿：用小雪撬拉着费兰柯斯去远在山谷边的森林里，回来时拉着一雪橇木头。它的骄傲的自尊虽说被当做了一般的“动物特遣队”所驱使了而受到了伤害，但它还是很聪明的没有反抗，它用一种意志力弯下腰去尽力奔跑。这种工作对它来说完全是崭新的、陌生的，而费兰柯斯又是严厉的、苛刻的，他随时都要求忠顺和听话。鞭子的优越性就是能不间断地收到这种忠顺和听话。戴夫是一个富有经验的雪橇掌舵者，无论巴克何时有了过失，它都只是轻轻咬一下它的后背。斯佩茨是狗队的队长，也很有经验。它总是不能理解巴克，它尖声咆哮着、时不时地责备着，或者狡猾地、自以为是地把巴克拉回到它想让它在的路上。巴克很容易就学会了这一点，在付了一定的代价后，它联络了另两名伙伴，使得费兰柯斯取得了辉煌的成就。节日前夜返回营地时，巴克已经很明白了：“号 、号”就是停，“马时 、马时”就是向前冲，拐弯时要绕个大圈子，而当负重的小雪撬滑下山坡紧跟在它们的后爪子时，一定要使掌舵的狗视野很清楚。
　    “真是三条好狗哇！”费兰柯斯告诉波罗特：“该死的巴克，真行！像座山一样，想让它多快就多快。”
　    到中午时分，波罗特沿着派他去的地方急急忙忙地回来了，还带来了两条狗。他叫它们比利和乔。这兄弟俩都很强壮，虽是一母所生，但性格却黑白分明。比利的缺点就是它有一付过分的好性子。而乔正好相反，脾气很坏，经常都在想着什么，不断地乱吼乱叫，还有一双恶毒的眼睛。巴克同志式地接待了它们，戴夫对它们不理不睬。而斯佩茨，则先是打败了一个，接着又想战胜另一个。比利息事宁人地摇着尾巴，发现自己的忍让无济于事干脆就跑开了。可斯佩茨的利牙还是咬住了它的侧身，比利也只是叫着、忍让着。但是乔却不行，不管斯佩茨如何地转圈，乔都蹬着后腿正面对着它，跟着它一起转圈。乔毛发竖起、耳朵后扬、嘴唇翻卷着、吼叫着、上下牙交错着随时要进行嘶咬、双眼恶魔一般残忍地闪着凶光……整个身体冲满了交战前的恐怖和紧张。面对乔如此可怕的形象，斯佩茨被迫放弃了对它的惩戒。但为了掩盖自己的失败，它就又转向那个并没招惹它、一直都在旁边悲叹的比利，将它一直欺侮到营地的边缘。
　    到了晚上，波罗特又弄来了一只狗。这狗看上去有点老，叫起来声音嘶哑，长长的身子贫弱而又憔悴，脸上有一快战斗留下来的伤疤，一只独眼闪着凶猛勇敢的光，一看就能引起尊敬。它叫索尔莱克斯，意思就是愤怒者。像戴夫一样，它什么也不要求、什么也不付出、什么也不期望。它慢慢行走的时候，心里老在盘算着什么，甚至连斯佩茨也不敢招惹它。它有一个怪癖，巴克不幸还没有发觉，就是它不愿别的狗走近它瞎眼的那一边。就为这个缘故，巴克无意中惹恼了它。当索尔莱克斯旋风般地扑向它，一口咬住了它肩膀上三寸深的骨头上下摆动时，巴克才为自己的轻率获得了第一次认识。从此以后，巴克就回避它瞎了眼的那一面，并一直到它们友谊的结束，再也没有发生过麻烦。索尔莱克斯唯一表面上的野心、抱负，像戴夫一样，就是单独走开。虽然，像巴克以后所学到的，它们每只狗都相对具有（也许是更加生气勃勃的）野心，但索尔莱克斯却不是这样的。
那天晚上，巴克面临着巨大的睡觉问题。帐篷被蜡烛所照亮，在可怕的旷野中闪着红光。当它很自然地像通常那样走进帐蓬时，波罗特和费兰柯斯的咒骂夹杂着一些炊食用具向它铺天盖地地仍了过来。它从惊恐中恢复后，可鄙地逃到了外面的寒冷之中。冷风刺骨地吹到了它的身上，尤其是恶毒地钻进了它受伤的肩膀里。它躺在雪堆旁试图睡觉，可是不久它就被冻得浑身发抖。怀着凄惨而郁闷的心情，它在众多的帐篷之间徘徊，只发现那些地方一个比一个更冷。到处都有野狗向它冲来，它就一直仰起脖子嗥叫，（这它学得很快）它们就不再折磨它，让它走开了。
　    最后它有了主意，它要返回去看看它的队友们的情形怎么样。使它吃惊的是，它们都不见了。它又一次在这个硕大的营地里徘徊，寻找着它们。它又一次想回到帐篷，它们在帐篷里吗？不，不可能，要不它就不会被赶出来的。那么它们都在哪里呢？带着一条颓丧底垂的尾巴和一个浑身发抖的身子，巴克极度地绝望。它毫无目标地在帐蓬之间兜着圈子。突然它的前腿踩到了一个雪堆陷了下去，有什么东西在它的脚下蠕动着。巴克一跃而起，竖起毛发吼叫了起来，对脚下这个不知道是什么东西的东西十分害怕。可是对方一声友好而小声的吠叫使它又平静了下来，于是它就走过去观察，一股暖气升到了它的鼻孔。那里，圈缩在雪下舒适的厅子里的是比利。比利悲哀而和解地叫着，慢慢蠕动着，百般扭动着身子表示着它良好的愿望和意图，甚至它还想冒险贿赂和平，用它那温暖潮湿的舌头来舔巴克的脸。
　    这又是一课，原来它们就是这么睡觉的。巴克十分自信地也选了一个点，故意大惊小怪地、磨磨蹭蹭地、极端费事地为自己挖了一个洞。身体的热量马上填满了那仅有的空间，它躺了下去睡着了。晚上的时间是漫长的、艰难的，它舒适地躺在那里、呼吸均匀、虽然在恶梦中它又吼又叫又乱动。
　    营地里噪杂的吵闹声把它惊醒，起先它不知在什么地方。下了一夜雪，它完全被埋了起来。四周的雪墙向它挤来，汹涌澎湃的恐怖之浪很快打遍了它的全身-------这是一种对荒野之中充满了陷井和圈套的恐怖。这是一个征兆。于是，它命令它的整个生命全部贯穿到它的忍耐、坚韧之中去。因为它是一条有文明意识的狗，一条非常文明化了的狗，它的生活经历里根本没有什么陷井、圈套之类的东西。因而它自己也从不害怕什么。现在，它全身的肌肉都痉孪而本能地绷紧了起来，脖子上、肩膀上的毛发从根部立起。它冲着灰朦朦的天空凶狠而残暴地嚎叫了一声，大雪像闪光的云飞落到它的身上。在四肢踏上土地之前，它已看到眼前就是那白色的营地，意识到现在它又在这个地方了。它回忆起了和曼纽尔一起去散步，一直想到昨天晚上挖这个洞过夜为止。
　    费兰柯斯的一声大喊使它回到了眼前：“我说什么来着？”这个赶狗人向波罗特喊着：“该死的巴克肯定学什么都非常快的！你看看它挖的这个洞！”
　    波罗特严肃地点点头。做为加拿大政府的信使，他负担着重要的公事，他十分焦急地想要找到最可靠的狗，他尤其满意巴克的表现。
　    一个钟头里狗队里又增加了几条强健的狗，使总数增加到了九只。没过多久它们就都被套上了绳索，摇摇摆摆地行进在通往戴伊卡农的路上了。巴克现在很高兴做这件活儿，虽然发现干这活很累，但它认识到实在不能小看了这活儿。它还非常吃惊地发现，它有一股使整个狗队生气勃勃的热情，这使它和其它的狗紧密地联系到了一起。更使它吃惊的是，戴夫和索尔莱克斯的工作态度也改变了。它们都是新狗，完全被绳索改造着。它们干什么都是被动的，没有关心给它们。它们很机敏，很有活力，焦急地想把活儿干好。不管什么被耽搁了、被弄乱了，它们都要凶狠地发火。它们存在的最高价值、它们生活的全部目地、以及它们所有的欢喜就是这一路上的苦役和幸劳。
　    戴夫是拉雪橇并掌舵的狗，巴克在它的前面，再前面是索尔莱克斯，其余的狗都在更前面。纵队的最前是队长，斯佩茨占着这个位置。
　    巴克一直希望站在戴夫和索尔莱克斯之间，以便可以接到指令，它是一只善于学习的狗。别的狗也同样，也是很善于教的教师。它们从不容许巴克走错路，总是用它们锐利的牙来教训它。戴夫很聪明、很公平，它从不无缘无辜地咬巴克。当巴克站在那里需要被咬一口时，戴夫就从不失败地来咬上它一口。而当费兰克斯的鞭子把巴克打回来，它就会发现改正自己的动作方式比报复戴夫更合算。
　    有一次，在一个什么建筑物都没有的停车点里，巴克缠缠绕绕地在道路上转来转去，因而耽误了出发。使它大为吃惊的是，戴夫和索尔莱克斯双双向它猛冲了过来，恶意地要咬它。结果它们把一切弄的更糟。从此，巴克就非常小心地保持着路线，那天它再也没有犯过错。它把它的那份活儿把握的那么好，以至于队友们再也不对它吹毛求疵地找错了。费兰克斯的鞭子也不那么经常地抽了，更有甚者，他还很赞赏地抬起巴克的四只脚仔仔细细地检查了一番。
　    那天到卡农的路非常难走。先是穿过了牧羊场，接着绕过了标距站和木材场，又跨过了多条冰河、几个数百英尺高的雪堆，在翻过了矗立在咸水、淡水之间、严俊地保卫着凄残孤独的北方、那个巨大的叫切利的分水岭后。他们就一路愉快地下到了连绵不断的、曾是火山喷火口的湖泊区。那天晚上很晚了才好不容易到达贝涅特湖边。那里成千上万的寻金人正在建造小木船，好用来对付春天里就要断开的冰。巴克在雪堆里精疲力尽地挖了个洞，好像刚刚躺了进去，却马上又在冰天雪地的黑暗中被早早地唤醒，和狗友们又被套上了拉雪橇的绳索。
　    那天他们跑了四十英里，道路都被雪填满了。第二天，以及接下来的许多天，他们一次又一次地划开路上的积雪卖力地向前奔跑。跑完规定路程的时间一次比一次少。按照常规，波罗特一直跑在队伍的前面，用他那双人工编织的靴子在前面踩着雪，以使狗队能较容易地跟着走。费兰克斯掌握驾驶杆，保持着雪橇的平衡。有时，他们两个交换着干活，可这种时候不多。波罗特干活性子急，但他对冰的知识却使他很是自豪。这种知识是不可缺少的，因为有些冰非常薄，而那些水在流动的地方根本就没有冰。
　    一天又一天，没完没了地，巴克套在挽绳里苦干着。它们总是刺破黑暗，走在营地第一末灰色的晨光下。能看到它们隐没在曲曲折折的路上，留下了一串串新踩出的脚印。它们也总是天黑以后才回到营地，吃完它们的那份鱼，萎缩在雪里睡觉。巴克吃起东西来狼吞虎咽，一磅半重、被太阳晒干了的鲑鱼干是它每天的定量。可这点定量对它来说就和没吃一样，它从来都吃不饱，一直都遭受着饥饿的痛苦。可是其他的狗，一来体重轻，二来一直都是生活在这种环境里，所以即便是只吃一磅鱼也能过个好光景了。
　    巴克很快改掉了挑三检四的毛病，这毛病是它在过去的生活里养成的。它发现它的队友们个个都有好胃口，个个都是美味的品尝者。它们先吃完了自己的那份，就过来抢夺它还没吃完的份额。这里没有东西可以捍卫这份份额，等它击退了这边的，那份剩鱼早被那边的队友咽到肚子里去了。为了补救，它从此就和它们吃得一样快，于是就有一种那么巨大的饥饿感压迫着它。但它却没有去吃那不属于它的东西，它观察着，研究着。
　    它看见新狗派克，一个聪明的装病者和窃贼，在波罗特转身时狡猾地偷走了一片熏肉。于是第二天起，巴克也这么干，还加倍地干，它偷走了整快的肉。这可引起了轩然大波，可它并没有被怀疑。到是塔布，一条笨拙的、盲目的狗老是被抓住，为巴克的错误举动而受惩罚。
　    第一次的偷窃表明：巴克在这北方的、有敌意的环境中仍然活着，这证明了它的适应性，这种适应性最大限度地调正着它的能力，以适应这种变化着的环境。缺少这种适应性将意昧着快速和可怕的死亡。这也进一步表明了：它那生来就有的、自然的、本质上的道义，那种徒有虚名但却妨碍事情的东西，在残酷的生存斗争中正一点一点地消失。这东西在南方，在爱和友谊的法律下，要赢得别人的好感和尊敬是足够了。但是在这里，在北方，在大绑和狗牙的法律下，不管是谁，要是把这些东西也当回事，那它就是个傻瓜。就它目前所观察到的，再那样去做，它就不能生存，更谈不上成功。
巴克没有理由把这些说出来。它只是要适应，这就够了。在无意识中，它适当地调整着自己，来适应这种新的生活方式。在它过去所有的日子里，不管情况是多么的紧急和不利，它从不在战斗中逃跑。但是穿红毛线衣男子的大棒给了它一个更基本、更原始的信号。
　    说起文明和教化，就要说到法官磨房主马鞭的保护。那时，它能为了道德的因素去献身。可是现在，它已经不文明了，这能从它逃离道德因素的能力上得到证明。但这却挽救了它的生命，在这严寒的北方，从文明那里它得不到丝毫快乐，它的一切作为都只是为了它那吵闹和叫唤的胃。它没有公开去抢什么，而是秘密地、狡猾地去偷，这都是出于对大棒和狗牙的尊敬。一句话，它能做的它都做了，因为这样做要比不这样做容易生存得多。
它发展得（或者说堕落得）很快。它的肌肉变得像铁一样地坚硬。对一般的痛苦，它都能表现出无情。这样，它不仅获得了内部的、同时也获得了外部的经济利益。它能吃下任何能吃的东西，不管这东西有多么讨厌和恶心，也不管有多么难消化。只要它吃下这东西，它的胃液就能从这种东西中抽出最后的营养物来，哪怕是一分子、一粒子；而它的血液也就能把这些营养物输送到它身体最边远的地方，去建造一套最顽固、最凶恶、最强壮、最勇敢得体魄。它的目光、嗅觉变得异常地灵敏，它的听力发展得如此敏感，以至于在睡梦中都能听到最轻微、最模糊的声音，都能预报出这声音是和平的还是危险的。它学会了用嘴叼走聚集在它脚下的冰快；当它干渴但冰快上有一层厚厚的冰渣子时，它会用坚硬的前腿把冰渣子扒开。
它最显著的特点就是在晚上行进时，有能力嗅到风并提前预报；而当风不可避免地刮来时，不管风如何使人要憋住气，它都会在树下或岸边背风处给自己挖一个洞，舒舒服服地隐藏在那里。
它不仅只从经验里去学习，而且还从它的身体里去寻找潜能，那种过去曾经长期死去了的本能如今也活了过来。它是被一代代地驯养所传下来的狗，它模模糊糊地记得它年轻受驯养的时候。当时那些野狗们挤成了一堆、穿过原始森林、在奔跑途中杀死猎物，而它却没有任务要去学习撕呀、扯呀、像快速奔跑的狼那样猛咬呀等战斗技能，这些技能都是它的那些被它遗忘了的祖先们所采用的。这样的回忆使它加快了恢复到旧时生话的速度。那些已经深深地印在它遗传基因里的、旧式的诡计现在都成了它的诡计了，它们不费吹灰之力就又回到了它的身上，就仿佛这些东西一开始就都是它的似的。
　    在这寒冷的夜晚，它抬头仰望星空，长时间狼一样地嗥叫。这种嗥叫和它那些早已经死了、变成灰烬了的祖先们的一样。祖先们也仰望星空、也嗥叫，这种嗥叫就世世代代传了下来，传到了它的身上。它嗥叫的韵律就是祖先们的韵律。这种表达悲哀和灾难的韵律，这种它们遗传下来的东西就意昧着沉默、寒冷和黑暗。
　    就这样，作为一种傀儡生活的象征，古老的祖先们的歌曲像大浪一样汹涌而来，涌到了它的身上，于是它也有了自己的歌。它来到了这里，因为人们在这北方发现了一种黄色的金属，还因为作为看护法官磨房主花园的助手，曼纽尔的工资满足不了他以及妻儿老小各方面的开支。于是它就来到了这里。

CHAPTER 3

THE DOMINANT PRIMORDIAL BEAST


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 Yea 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. "Give it to him by Gar! Give it to him, the dirty thief!"
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 is 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 Yea, 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 sled lashings and canvas coverings. In fact, nothing, no matter how remotely eatable, had escaped them. They had eaten a pair of Perrault's moose-hide moccasins, chunks out of the leather traces, and even two feet of lash from the end of Francois's whip. He broke from a mournful contemplation of it to look over his wounded dogs.
"Ah, my friends," he said softly, "mebbe it make you mad dog, those many bites. Mebbe all mad dog, sacredam! What you think, eh, Perrault?"
The courier shook his head dubiously. With four hundred miles of trail still between him and Dawson, he could ill afford to have madness break out among his dogs. Two hours of cursing and exertion got the harnesses into shape, and the wound-stiffened team was under way, struggling painfully over the hardest part of the trail they had yet encountered, and for that matter, the hardest between them and Dawson.
The Thirty Mile River was wide open. Its wild water defied the frost, and it was in the eddies only and in the quiet places that the ice held at all. Six days of exhausting toil were required to cover those thirty terrible miles. And terrible they were, for every foot of them was accomplished at the risk of life to dog and man. A dozen times, Perrault, nosing the way, broke through the ice bridges, being saved by the long pole he carried, which he so held that it fell each time across the hole made by his body. But a cold snap was on, the thermometer registering fifty below zero, and each time he broke through he was compelled for very life to build a fire and dry his garments.
Nothing daunted him. It was because nothing daunted him that he had been chosen for government courier. He took all manner of risks, resolutely thrusting his little weazened face into the frost and struggling on from dim dawn to dark. He skirted the frowning shores on rim ice that bent and crackled under foot and upon which they dared not halt. Once, the sled broke through, with Dave and Buck, and they were half-frozen and all but drowned by the time they were dragged out. The usual fire was necessary to save them. They were coated solidly with ice, and the two men kept them on the run around the fire, sweating and thawing, so close that they were singed by the flames.
At another time Spitz went through, dragging the whole team after him up to Buck, who strained backward with all his strength, his fore paws on the slippery edge and the ice quivering and snapping all around. But behind him was Dave, likewise straining backward, and behind the sled was Francois, pulling till his tendons cracked.
Again, the rim ice broke away before and behind, and there was no escape except up the cliff. Perrault scaled it by a miracle, while Francois prayed for just that miracle; and with every thong and sled lashing and the last bit of harness rove into a long rope, the dogs were hoisted, one by one, to the cliff crest. Francois came up last, after the sled and load. Then came the search for a place to descend, which descent was ultimately made by the aid of the rope, and night found them back on the river with a quarter of a mile to the day's credit.
By the time they made the Hootalinqua and good ice, Buck was played out. The rest of the dogs were in like condition; but Perrault, to make up lost time, pushed them late and early. The first day they covered thirty-five miles to the Big Salmon; the next day thirty-five more to the Little Salmon; the third day forty miles, which brought them well up toward the Five Fingers.
Buck's feet were not so compact and hard as the feet of the huskies. His had softened during the many generations since the day his last wild ancestor was tamed by a cave dweller or river man. All day long he limped in agony, and camp once made, lay down like a dead dog. Hungry as he was, he would not move to receive his ration of fish, which Francois had to bring to him. Also, the dog-driver rubbed Buck's feet for half an hour each night after supper, and sacrificed the tops of his own moccasins to make four moccasins for Buck. This was a great relief, and Buck caused even the weazened face of Perrault to twist itself into a grin one morning, when Francois forgot the moccasins and Buck lay on his back, his four feet waving appealingly in the air, and refused to budge without them. later his feet grew hard to the trail, and the worn-out footgear was thrown away.
At the Pelly one morning, as they were harnessing up, dolly, who had never been conspicuous for anything, went suddenly mad. She announced her condition by a long, heart-breaking wolf howl that sent every dog bristling with fear, then sprang straight for Buck. He had never seen a dog go mad, nor did he have any reason to fear madness; yet he knew that here was horror, and fled away from it in a panic. Straight away he raced, with Dolly, panting and frothing, one leap behind; nor could she gain on him, so great was his terror, nor could he leave her, so great was her madness. He plunged through the wooded breast of the island, flew down to the lower end, crossed a back channel filled with rough ice to another island, gained a third island, curved back to the main river, and in desperation started to cross it. And all the time, though he did not look, he could hear her snarling just one leap behind. Francois called to him a quarter of a mile away and he doubled back, still one leap ahead, gasping painfully for air and putting all his faith in that Francois would save him. the dog-driver held the axe poised in his hand, and as Buck shot past him the axe crashed down upon mad Dolly's head.
Buck staggered over against the sled, exhausted, sobbing for breath, helpless. This was Spitz's opportunity. He sprang upon Buck, and twice his teeth sank into his unresisting foe and ripped and tore the flesh to the bone. Then Francois' lash descended, and Buck had the satisfaction of watching Spitz receive the worst whipping as yet administered to any of the team.
"One devil, dat Spitz," remarked Perrault. "Some dam day him kill dat Buck."
"Dat Buck two devils," was Francois's rejoinder. "All de time I watch dat Buck I know for sure. Lissen: some dam fine day him get mad like hell and den him chew dat Spitz all up and spit him out on de snow. Sure, I know."
From then on it was war between them. Spitz, as lead-dog and acknowledged master of the team, felt his supremacy threatened by this strange Southland dog.F And strange Buck was to him, for of the many Southland dogs he had known, not one had shown up worthily in camp and on trail. They were all too soft, dying under the toil, the frost, and starvation. Buck was the exception. He alone endured and prospered, matching the husky in strength, savagery, and cunning.E Then he was a masterful dog, and what made him dangerous was the fact that the club of the man in the red sweater had knocked all blind pluck and rashness out of his desire for mastery. He was preeminently cunning, and could bide his time with a patience that was nothing less than primitive.
It was inevitable that the clash for leadership should come. Buck wanted it. He wanted it because it was his nature, because he had been gripped tight by that nameless, incomprehensible pride of the trail and trace--that pride which holds dogs in the toil to the last gasp, which lures them to die joyfully in the harness, and breaks their hearts if they are cut out of the harness. This was the pride of Dave as wheel-dog, of Sol-leks as he pulled with all his strength; the pride that laid hold of them at break of camp, transforming them from sour and sullen brutes into straining, eager, ambitious creatures; the pride that spurred them on all day and dropped them at pitch of camp at night, letting them fall back into gloomy unrest and discontent. This was the pride that bore up Spitz and made him thrash the sled-dogs who blundered and shirked in the traces or hid away at harness-up time in the morning. Likewise it was this pride that made him fear Buck as a possible lead-dog. And this was Buck's pride, too.
He openly threatened the other's leadership. He came between him and the shirks he should have punished. And he did it deliberately. One night there was a heavy snowfall, and in the morning Pike, the malingerer, did not appear. He was securely hidden in his nest under a foot of snow. Francois called him and sought him in vain. Spitz was wild with wrath. He raged through the camp, smelling and digging in every likely place, snarling so frightfully that Pike heard and shivered in his hiding-place.
But when he was at last unearthed, and Spitz flew at him to punish him, Buck flew with equal rage, in between. So unexpected was it, and so shrewdly managed, that Spitz was hurled backward and off his feet. Pike, who had been trembling abjectly, took heart at this open mutiny, and sprang upon his overthrown leader. Buck, to whom fair play was a forgotten code, likewise sprang upon Spitz. But Francois, chuckling at the incident while unswerving in the administration of justice, brought his lash down upon Buck with all his might. This failed to drive Buck from his prostrate rival, and the butt of the whip was brought into play. Half-stunned by the blow, Buck was knocked backward and the lash laid upon him again and again, while Spitz soundly punished the many times offending Pike.
In the days that followed, as Dawson grew closer and closer, Buck still continued to interfere between Spitz and the culprits; but he did it craftily, when Francois was not around. With the covert mutiny of Buck, a general insubordination sprang up and increased. Dave and Sol-leks were unaffected, but the rest of the team went from bad to worse. Things no longer went right. There was continual bickering and jangling. Trouble was always afoot, and at the bottom of it was Buck. He kept Francois busy, for the dog-driver was in constant apprehension of the life-and-death struggle between the two which he knew must take place sooner or later; and on more than one night the sounds of quarreling and strife among the other dogs turned him out of his sleeping robe, fearful that Buck and Spitz were at it.
But the opportunity did not present itself, and they pulled into Dawson one dreary afternoon with the great fight still to come. Here were many men, and countless dogs, and Buck found them all at work. It seemed the ordained order of things that dogs should work. All day they swung up and down the main street in long teams, and in the night their jingling bells still went by. They hauled cabin logs and firewood, freighted up to the mines, and did all manner of work that horses did in the Santa Clara Valley. Here and there Buck met Southland dogs, but in the main they were the wild wolf husky breed. Every night, regularly, at nine, at twelve, and three, they lifted a nocturnal song, a weird and eerie chant, in which it was Buck's delight to join.
With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself--one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad. It was invested with the woe of unnumbered generations, this plaint by which Buck was so strangely stirred. When he moaned and sobbed, it was with the pain of living that was of old the pain of his wild fathers, and the fear and mystery of the cold and dark that was to them fear and mystery. And that he should be stirred by it marked the completeness with which he harked back through the ages of fire and roof to the raw beginnings of life in the howling ages.
Seven days from the time they pulled into Dawson, they dropped down the steep bank by the Barracks to the Yukon Trail, and pulled for Yea and Salt Water. Perrault was carrying dispatches if anything more urgent than those he had brought in; also, the travel pride had gripped him, and he purposed to make the record trip of the year. Several things favored him in this. The week's rest had recuperated the dogs and put them in thorough trim. The trail they had broken into the country was packed hard by later journeyers. And further, the police had arranged in two or three places deposits of grub for dog and man, and he was traveling light.
They made Sixty Mile, which is a fifty-mile run, on the first day; and the second day saw them booming up the Yukon well on their way to Pelly. But such splendid running was achieved not without great trouble and vexation on the part of Francois. The insidious revolt led by Buck had destroyed the solidarity of the team. It no longer was as one dog leaping in the traces. The encouragement Buck gave the rebels led them into all kinds of petty misdemeanors. No more was Spitz a leader greatly to be feared. The old awe departed, and they grew equal to challenging his authority. Pike robbed him of half a fish one night, and gulped it down under the protection of Buck. Another night Dub and Joe fought Spitz and made him forego the punishment they deserved. And even Billee, the good-natured, was less good-natured, and whined not half so placatingly as in former days. Buck never came near Spitz without snarling and bristling menacingly. In fact, his conduct approached that of a bully, and he was given to swaggering up and down before Spitz's very nose.
The breaking down of discipline likewise affected the dogs in their relations with one another. They quarreled and bickered more than ever among themselves, till at times the camp was a howling bedlam. Dave and Sol-leks alone were unaltered, though they were made irritable by the unending squabbling. Francois swore strange barbarous oaths, and stamped the snow in futile rage, and tore his hair. His lash was always singing among the dogs, but it was of small avail. Directly his back was turned they were at it again. He backed up Spitz with his whip, while Buck backed up the remainder of the team. Francois knew he was behind all the trouble, and Buck knew he knew; but Buck was too clever ever again to be caught red-handed. He worked faithfully in the harness, for the toil had become a delight to him; yet it was a greater delight slyly to precipitate a fight amongst his mates and tangle the traces.
At the mouth of the Tahkeena, one night after supper, Dub turned up a snowshoe rabbit, blundered it, and missed. In a second the whole team was in full cry. A hundred yards away was a camp of the Northwest Police, with fifty dogs, huskies all, who joined the chase. The rabbit sped down the river, turned off into a small creek, up the frozen bed of which it held steadily. It ran lightly on the surface of the snow, while the dogs plowed through by main strength. Buck led the pack, sixty strong, around bend after bend, but he could not gain. He lay down low to the race, whining eagerly, his splendid body flashing forward, leap by leap, in the wan white moonlight. And leap by leap, like some pale frost wraith, the snowshoe rabbit flashed on ahead.
All that stirring of old instincts which at stated periods drives men out from the sounding cities to forest and plain to kill things by chemically propelled leaden pellets, the bloodlust, the joy to kill--all this was Buck's, only it was infinitely more intimate. He was ranging at the head of the pack, running the wild thing down, the living meat, to kill with his own teeth and wash his muzzle to the eyes in warm blood.
There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad on a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight. He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time. He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars and over the face of dead matter that did not move.
But Spitz, cold and calculating even in his supreme moods, left the pack and cut across a narrow neck of land where the creek made a long bend around. Buck did not know of this, and as he rounded the bend, the frost wraith of a rabbit still flitting before him, he saw another and larger frost wraith leap from the overhanging bank into the immediate path of the rabbit. It was Spitz. The rabbit could not turn, and as the white teeth broke its back in mid air it shrieked as loudly as a stricken man may shriek. At sound of this, the cry of Life plunging down from Life's apex in the grip of Death, the full pack at Buck's heels raised a hell's chorus of delight.
Buck did not cry out. He did not check himself, but drove in upon Spitz, shoulder to shoulder, so hard that he missed the throat. They rolled over and over in the powdery snow. Spitz gained his feet almost as though he had not been overthrown, slashing Buck down the shoulder and leaping clear. Twice his teeth clipped together, like the steel jaws of a trap, as he backed away for better footing, with lean and lifting lips that writhed and snarled.
In a flash Buck knew it. The time had come. It was to the death. As they circled about, snarling, ears laid back, keenly watchful for the advantage, the scene came to Buck with a sense of familiarity. He seemed to remember it all--the white woods, and earth, and moonlight, and the thrill of battle. Over the whiteness and silence brooded a ghostly calm. There was not the faintest whisper of air--nothing moved, not a leaf quivered, the visible breaths of the dogs rising slowly and lingering in the frosty air. They had made short work of the snowshoe rabbit, these dogs that were ill-tamed wolves; and they were now drawn up in an expectant circle. They, too, were silent, their eyes only gleaming and their breaths drifting slowly upward. To Buck it was nothing new or strange, this scene of old time. It was as though it had always been, the wonted way of things.
Spitz was a practiced fighter. From Spitzbergen through the Arctic, and across Canada and the Barrens, he had held his own with all manner of dogs and achieved to mastery over them. Bitter rage was his, but never blind rage. In passion to rend and destroy, he never forgot that his enemy was in like passion to rend and destroy. He never rushed till he was prepared to receive a rush; never attacked till he had first defended that attack.
In vain Buck strove to sink his teeth in the neck of the big white dog. Wherever his fangs struck for the softer flesh, they were countered by the fangs of Spitz. Fang clashed fang, and lips were cut and bleeding, but Buck could not penetrate his enemy's guard. Then he warmed up and enveloped Spitz in a whirlwind of rushes. Time and time again he tried for the snow-white throat, where life bubbled near to the surface, and each time and every time Spitz slashed him and got away. Then Buck took to rushing, as though for the throat, when, suddenly drawing back his head and curving in from the side, he would drive his shoulder at the shoulder of Spitz, as a ram by which to overthrow him. But instead, Buck's shoulder was slashed down each time as Spitz leaped lightly away.
Spitz was untouched, while Buck was streaming with blood and panting hard. The fight was growing desperate. And all the while the silent and wolfish circle waited to finish off whichever dog went down. As Buck grew winded, Spitz took to rushing, and he kept him staggering for footing. Once Buck went over, and the whole circle of sixty dogs started up; but he recovered himself, almost in mid air, and the circle sank down again and waited.
But Buck possessed a quality that made for greatness--imagination. He fought by instinct, but he could fight by head as well he rushed, as though attempting the old shoulder trick, but at the last instant swept low to the snow and in. His teeth closed on Spitz's left fore leg. There was a crunch of breaking bone, and the white dog faced him on three legs. Thrice he tried to knock him over, then repeated the trick and broke the right fore leg. Despite the pain and helplessness, Spitz struggled madly to keep up. He saw the silent circle, with gleaming eyes, lolling tongues, and silvery breaths drifting upward, closing in upon him as he had seen similar circles close in upon beaten antagonists in the past. Only this time he was the one who was beaten.
There was no hope for him. Buck was inexorable. Mercy was a thing reserved for gentler climes. He maneuvered for the final rush. The circle had tightened till he could feel the breaths of the huskies on his flanks. He could see them, beyond Spitz and to either side, half-crouching for the spring, their eyes fixed upon him. A pause seemed to fall. Every animal was motionless as though turned to stone. Only Spitz quivered and bristled as he staggered back and forth, snarling with horrible menace, as though to frighten off impending death. Then Buck sprang in and out; but while he was in, shoulder had at last squarely met shoulder. The dark circle became a dot on the moon flooded snow as Spitz disappeared from view. Buck stood and looked on, the successful champion, the dominant primordial beast who had made his kill and found it good.

CHAPTER 4

WHO HAS WON TO MASTERSHIP

"Eh? What I say? I speak true when I say dat Buck two devils."
This was Francois's speech next morning when he discovered Spitz missing and Buck covered with wounds. He drew him to the fire and by its light pointed them out.
"Dat Spitz fight like hell," said Perrault, as he surveyed the gaping rips and cuts.
"An' dat Buck fight like two hells," was Francois's answer. "And now we make good time. No more Spitz, no more trouble, sure."
While Perrault packed the camp outfit and loaded the sled, the dog-driver proceeded to harness the dogs. Buck trotted up to the place Spitz would have occupied as leader; but Francois, not noticing him, brought Sol-leks to the coveted position. In his judgment, Sol-leks was the best lead-dog left. Buck sprang upon Sol-leks in a fury, driving him back and standing in his place.
"Eh? Eh?" Francois cried, slapping his thighs gleefully. "Look at dat Buck. Him kill dat Spitz, him think to take de job."
"Go 'way, Hook!" he cried, but Buck refused to budge.
He took Buck by the scruff of the neck, and though the dog growled threateningly, dragged him to one side and replaced Sol-leks. The old dog did not like it, and showed plainly that he was afraid of Buck. Francois was obdurate, but when he turned his back, Buck again displaced Sol-leks, who was not at all unwilling to go.
Francois was angry. "Now, by Gar, I fix you!" he cried, coming back with a heavy club in his hand.
Buck remembered the man in the red sweater, and retreated slowly; nor did he attempt to charge in when Sol-leks was once more brought forward. But he circled just beyond the range of the club, snarling with bitterness and rage; and while he circled he watched the club so as to dodge it if thrown by Francois, for he was become wise in the way of clubs.
The driver went about his work, and he called to Buck when he was ready to put him in his old place in front of Dave. Buck retreated two or three steps. Francois followed him up, whereupon he again retreated. After some time of this, Francois threw down the club, thinking that Buck feared a thrashing. But Buck was in open revolt. He wanted, not to escape a clubbing, but to have the leadership. It was his by right. He had earned it, and he would not be content with less.
Perrault took a hand. Between them they ran him about for the better part of an hour. They threw clubs at him. He dodged. They cursed him, and his fathers and mothers before him, and all his seed to come after him down to the remotest generation, and every hair on his body and drop of blood in his veins; and he answered curse with snarl and kept out of their reach. He did not try to run away, but retreated around and around the camp, advertising plainly that when his desire was met, he would come in and be good.
Francois sat down and scratched his head. Perrault looked at his watch and swore. Time was flying, and they should have been on the trail an hour gone. Francois scratched his head again. He shook it and grinned sheepishly at the courier, who shrugged his shoulders in sign that they were beaten. Then Francois went up to where Sol-leks stood and called to Buck. Buck laughed, as dogs laugh, yet kept his distance. Francois unfastened Sol-leks's traces and put him back in his old place. The team stood harnessed to the sled in an unbroken line, ready for the trail. There was no place for Buck save at the front. Once more Francois called, and once more Buck laughed and kept away.
"Throw down de club," Perrault commanded.
Francois complied, whereupon Buck trotted in, laughing triumphantly, and swung around into position at the head of the team. His traces were fastened, the sled broken out, and with both men running they dashed out on to the river trail.
Highly as the dog-driver had forevalued Buck, with his two devils, he found, while the day was yet young, that he had undervalued. At a bound Buck took up the duties of leadership; and where judgment was required, and quick thinking and quick acting, he showed himself the superior even of Spitz, of whom Francois had never seen an equal.
But it was in giving the law and making his mates live up to it, that Buck excelled. Dave and Sol-leks did not mind the change in leadership. It was none of their business. Their business was to toil, and toil mightily, in the traces. So long as that was not interfered with, they did not care what happened. Billee, the good-natured, could lead for all they cared, so long as he kept order. The rest of the team, however, had grown unruly during the last days of Spitz, and their surprise was great now that Buck proceeded to lick them into shape.
Pike, who pulled at Buck's heels, and who never put an ounce more of his weight against the breastband than he was compelled to do, was swiftly and repeatedly shaken for loafing; and ere the first day was done he was pulling more than ever before in his life. The first night in camp, Joe, the sour one, was punished soundly--a thing that Spitz had never succeeded in doing. Buck simply smothered him by virtue of superior weight, and cut him up till he ceased snapping and began to whine for mercy.
The general tone of the team picked up immediately. It recovered its old-time solidarity, and once more the dogs leaped as one dog in the traces. At the Rink Rapids two native huskies, Teek and Koona, were added; and the celerity with which Buck broke them in took away Francois's breath.
"Never such a dog as dat Buck!" he cried. "No, never! Him worth one thousand dollair, by Gar! Eh? What you say, Perrault?"
And Perrault nodded. He was ahead of the record then, and gaining day by day. The trail was in excellent condition, well packed and hard, and there was no new-fallen snow with which to contend. It was not too cold. The temperature dropped to fifty below zero and remained there the whole trip. The men rode and ran by turn, and the dogs were kept on the jump, with but infrequent stop-pages.
The Thirty Mile River was comparatively coated with ice, and they covered in one day going out what had taken them ten days coming in. In one run they made a sixty-mile dash from the foot of Lake LeBarge to the White Horse Rapids. Across Marsh, Tagish, and Bennett (seventy miles of lakes), they flew so fast that the man whose turn it was to run towed behind the sled at the end of a rope. And on the last night of the second week they topped White Pass and dropped down the sea slope with the lights of Skaguay and of the shipping at their feet.
It was a record run. Each day for fourteen days they had averaged forty miles. For three days Perrault and Francois threw chests up and down the main street of Skaguay and were deluged with invitations to drink, while the team was the constant center of a worshipful crowd of dogbusters and mushers. Then three or four western bad men aspired to clean out the town, were riddled like pepperboxes for their pains, and public interest turned to other idols. Next came official orders. Francois called Buck to him, threw his arms around him, wept over him. And that was the last of Francois and Perrault. Like other men, they passed out of Buck's life for good.
A Scotch half-breed took charge of him and his mates, and in company with a dozen other dog-teams he started back over the weary trail to Dawson. It was no light running now, nor record time, but heavy toil each day, with a heavy load behind; for this was the mail train, carrying word from the world to the men who sought gold under the shadow of the Pole.
Buck did not like it, but he bore up well to the work, taking pride in it after the manner of Dave and Sol-leks, and seeing that his mates, whether they prided in it or not, did their fair share. It was a monotonous life, operating with machine-like regularity. One day was very like another. At a certain time each morning the cooks turned out, fires were built, and breakfast was eaten. Then, while some broke camp, others harnessed the dogs, and they were under way an hour or so before the darkness fell which gave warning of dawn. At night, camp was made. Some pitched the tents, others cut firewood and pine boughs for the beds, and still others carried water or ice for the cooks. Also, the dogs were fed. To them, this was the one feature of the day, though it was good to loaf around, after the fish was eaten, for an hour or so with the other dogs, of which there were fivescore and odd. There were fierce fighters among them, but three battles with the fiercest brought Buck to mastery, so that when he bristled and showed his teeth, they got out of his way.
Best of all, perhaps, he loved to lie near the fire, hind legs crouched under him, fore legs stretched out in front, head raised, and eyes blinking drearily at the flames. Sometimes he thought of Judge Miller's big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley, and of the cement swimming tank, and Ysabel, the Mexican hairless, and Toots, the Japanese pug; but oftener he remembered the man in the red sweater, the death of Curly, the great fight with Spitz and the good things he had eaten or would like to eat. He was not homesick. The Sunland was very dim and distant, and such memories had no power over him. Far more potent were the memories of his heredity that gave things he had never seen before a seeming familiarity; the instincts (which were but the memories of his ancestors become habits) which had lapsed in later days, and still later, in him, quickened and became alive again.
Sometimes as he crouched there, blinking dreamily at the flames, it seemed that the flames were of another fire, and that as he crouched by this other fire he saw another and different man from the half-breed cook before him. This other man was shorter of leg and longer of arm, with muscles that were stringy and knotty rather than rounded and swelling. The hair of this man was long and matted, and his head slanted back under it from the eyes. He uttered strange sounds, and seemed very much afraid of the darkness, into which he peered continually, clutching in his hand, which hung midway between knee and foot, a stick with a heavy stone made fast to the end. He was all but naked, a ragged and fire-scorched skin hanging part way down his back, but on his body there was much hair. In some places, across the chest and shoulders and down the outside of the arms and thighs, it was matted into almost a thick fur. He did not stand erect, but with trunk inclined forward from the hips, on legs that bent at the knees. About his body there was a peculiar springiness, or resiliency, almost catlike, and a quick alertness as of one who lived in perpetual fear of things seen and unseen.
At other times this hairy man squatted by the fire with head between his legs and slept. On such occasions his elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped above his head as though to shed rain by the hairy arms. And beyond that fire, in the circling darkness, Buck could see many gleaming coals, two by two, always two by two, which he knew to be the eyes of great beasts of prey. And he could hear the crashing of their bodies through the undergrowth, and the noises they made in the night. And dreaming there by the Yukon bank, with lazy eyes blinking at the fire, these sounds and sights of another world would make the hair to rise along his back and stand on end across his shoulders and up his neck, till he whimpered low and suppressedly, or growled softly, and the half-breed cook shouted at him, "Hey, you Buck, wake up!" Whereupon the other world would vanish and the real world come into his eyes, and he would get up and yawn and stretch as though he had been asleep.
It was a hard trip, with the mail behind them, and the heavy work wore them down. They were short of weight and in poor condition when they made Dawson, and should have had a ten days' or a week's rest at least. But in two days' time they dropped down the Yukon bank from the Barracks, loaded with letters for the outside. The dogs were tired, the drivers grumbling, and to make matters worse, it snowed every day. This meant a soft trail, greater friction on the runners, and heavier pulling for the dogs; yet the drivers were fair through it all, and did their best for the animals.
Each night the dogs were attended to first. They ate before the drivers ate, and no man sought his sleeping-robe till he had seen to the feet of the dogs he drove. Still, their strength went down. Since the beginning of the winter they had traveled eighteen hundred miles, dragging sleds the whole weary distance; and eighteen hundred miles will tell upon life of the toughest. Buck stood it, keeping his mates up to their work and maintaining discipline, though he too was very tired. Billee cried and whimpered regularly in his sleep each night. Joe was sourer than ever, and Sol-leks was unapproachable, blind side or other side.
But it was Dave who suffered most of all. Something had gone wrong with him. He became more morose and irritable, and when camp was pitched at once made his nest, where his driver fed him. Once out of the harness and down, he did not get on his feet again till harness-up time in the morning. Sometimes, in the traces, when jerked by a sudden stoppage of the sled, or by straining to start it, he would cry out with pain. The driver examined him, but could find nothing. All the drivers became interested in his case. They talked it over at meal-time, and over their last pipes before going to bed, and one night they held a consultation. He was brought from his nest to the fire and was pressed and prodded till he cried out many times. Something was wrong inside, but they could locate no broken bones, could not make it out.
By the time Cassiar Bar was reached, he was so weak that he was falling repeatedly in the traces. The Scotch half-breed called a halt and took him out of the team, making the next dog, Sol-leks, fast to the sled. His intention was to rest Dave, letting him run free behind the sled. Sick as he was, Dave resented being taken out, grunting and growling while the traces were unfastened, and whimpering broken-heartedly when he saw Sol-leks in the position he had held and served so long. For the pride of trace and trail was his, and, sick unto death, he could not bear that another dog should do his work.
When the sled started, he floundered in the soft snow alongside the beaten trail, attacking Sol-leks with his teeth, rushing against him and trying to thrust him off into the soft snow on the other side, striving to leap inside his traces and get between him and the sled, and all the while whining and yelping and crying with grief and pain. The half-breed tried to drive him away with the whip; but he paid no heed to the stinging lash, and the man had not the heart to strike harder. Dave refused to run quietly on the trail behind the sled, where the going was easy, but continued to flounder alongside in the soft snow, where the going was most difficult, till exhausted. Then he fell, and lay where he fell, howling lugubriously as the long train of sleds churned by.
With the last remnant of his strength he managed to stagger along behind till the train made another stop, when he floundered past the sleds to his own, where he stood alongside Sol-leks. His driver lingered a moment to get a light for his pipe from the man behind. Then he returned and started his dogs. They swung out on the trail with remarkable lack of exertion, turned their heads uneasily, and stopped in surprise. The driver was surprised, too; the sled had not moved. He called his comrades to witness the sight. Dave had bitten through both of Sol-lek's traces, and was standing directly in front of the sled in his proper place.
He pleaded with his eyes to remain there. The driver was perplexed. His comrades talked of how a dog could break its heart through being denied the work that killed it, and recalled instances they had known, where dogs, too old for the toil, or injured, had died because they were cut out of the traces. Also, they held it a mercy, since Dave was to die anyway, that he should die in the traces, heart-easy and content. So he was harnessed in again, and proudly he pulled as of old, though more than once he cried out involuntarily from the bite of his inward hurt. Several times fell down and was dragged in the traces, and once the sled ran upon him so that he limped thereafter on one of his hind legs.
But he held out till camp was reached, when his driver made a place for him by the fire. Morning found him too weak to travel. At harness-up time he tried to crawl to his driver. By convulsive efforts he got on his feet, staggered, and fell. Then he wormed his way forward slowly toward where the harnesses were being put on his mates. He would advance his fore legs and drag up his body with a sort of hitching movement, when he would advance his fore legs and hitch ahead again for a few more inches. His strength left him, and the last his mates saw of him he lay gasping in the snow and yearning toward them. But they could hear him mournfully howling till they passed out of sight behind a belt of river timber.
Here the train was halted. The Scotch half-breed slowly retraced his steps to the camp they had left. The men ceased talking. A revolver-shot rang out. The man came back hurriedly. The whips snapped, the bells tinkled merrily, the sleds churned along the trail; but Buck knew, and every dog knew, what had taken place behind the belt of river trees.

第四章 谁赢得了支配权

  
　    “厄？我怎么说得了？我说得总对吧！该死的巴克能顶两个魔鬼！”
　    这是第二天早晨费兰柯斯的话。当他发现斯佩茨不见了，而巴克则遍体鳞伤，他就把巴克拉到火堆边，借着亮光把队友请了过来：“该死的斯佩茨，作起战来像魔鬼一样，你看把巴克咬的。”费兰柯斯说着，观察着巴克浑身到处裂开的口子。
　    “挨千刀的巴克要是争起来那就是两个魔鬼。现在可好了，好日子来了。没有了斯佩茨，就没有麻烦了，这是肯定的！”
　    波罗特捆绑着营地的器具，装上了雪橇，赶狗人开始给狗们套挽具了。巴克快步走到斯佩茨的位置，那意思是要当领头狗。但费兰柯斯没有注意到这一点，而是把索迩莱克斯领到了这个令群狗们都向往的位置上。依他的判断，他认为索迩莱克斯是最好的领头狗。　    巴克愤怒地跳到了索尔莱克斯的前面，把它赶到了身后，自己站到了那个位置上。
　    “厄？厄？”费兰柯斯极高心地拍着大腿喊了起来：“看看这个该死的巴克！它杀死了斯佩茨，它还想要干它的工作！”
　    “走开！你这个家伙！”他喊到。但巴克却拒绝动一动。
　    他抓住巴克脖子上的皮，巴克恐吓地咆哮着表示不满。他把巴克拉向一边，又换上了索迩莱克斯。索迩莱克斯不喜欢这个样子，平静地表示了它害怕巴克。费兰克斯仍很冷酷而顽固。但当他转过身时，巴克又一次把并非不想去的索迩莱克斯换掉了。
　    费兰克斯生气了：“听着，你这个坏家伙，我就把你放到这里！”他叫喊着，反转过身来，手里拿着一根大棒子。
　    巴克想起了那个穿红毛线衣的人，就慢慢地退了下来，它再也不企图换下索迩莱克斯了。索迩莱克斯又一次向前走来。巴克转着圈子，苦涩而愤怒地叫着，看着费兰克斯是否把大棒子砸下来。因为它对大棒已经变得聪明了。
　    赶狗人开始干他的活，他叫着巴克，准备把它安置在戴夫前面它原来的位置上。巴克退了两三步，费兰克斯向它跟前走了几步，它又退了几步。这个样子过了一会儿，费兰克斯扔掉大棒，认为巴克是害怕挨打。但巴克却公开地叛变了。它想，不是要逃避大棒，而是要谋求领导地位。这地位是它的权力，它已经赢得了这种权力，并且它还不想让这种权力的分量有缩减少。
　    波罗特走过来帮把手。他们两个追着抓它费了半个多小时。他们向它扔棒子，它躲开这些棒子。他们骂它，骂它的父母，父母的父母，骂它的最远古的祖先传下来的子子孙孙，骂它身体上的每一根毛发，骂它血管里流动着的每一滴鲜血。它不想跑开，但却围着营地转来转去。很明白地表明，它的要求只是要礼遇，它要进来，它要被善待。
　    费兰克斯坐了下来，挠着他的头。波罗特看着表骂着。时间过得飞快，他们应该一个小时前就上路了。费兰克斯又挠挠他的头，他使劲地摇着脑袋，不好意思地对着那个秘密人员露齿笑着。对方耸耸肩，表示他们正在很被动，并被击败了。然后费兰克斯走到索迩莱克斯站着的地方，叫巴克。巴克用狗的方式笑了，可它还是站在那里保持着一段距离。费兰克斯松开了索迩莱克斯的挽绳，把它拉回到原来的位置。狗队套着雪橇的装置原地未动，随时准备着要出发。巴克站在前面，但它觉得还是不安全。费兰克斯又叫了它一次，它又笑着跑开了。
　    “把棒子扔掉！”波罗特命令道。
　    费兰柯斯同意了。巴克快步走了过来，得意洋洋地笑着，在队伍领头的位置上跳来跳去。它的挽绳套紧了，队伍出发了。两个赶狗人领着，冲向河边。
　    赶狗人如此屈尊看中巴克。要知道他们两个本身就都是魔鬼一样的人，在他们看来，就连今天这天气都还早着呢。他们过去还真是把巴克这家伙给低估了。
　    在一个限度内，巴克担当了领导的角色。它知道什么地方需要判断，需要快速思考，需要快速行动。它在各方面都表现出了超过斯佩茨的能力，这些都是费兰克斯过去从来都没有看见过能与之相匹配的。
　    这是一种把自己的意志强加于同伴，并使同伴快活起来的行为。而巴克很成功地做到了这一点。戴夫和索迩莱克斯并不在呼领导的改变，这不是它们的事，它们的工作就是受苦，在旅途中忍受巨大的苦难。只要它们不受到干涉，它们就不关心发生了什么。比利，它一直都是好性子，它能满足对它的所有要求，只让它听从命令就行了。但狗队里的其他成员，在斯佩茨的最后日子里，已经变得很是任性了。但它们现在的吃惊是巨大的，巴克已经把它们都给整顿好了。
　    派克紧跟在巴克后面，它的胸带上从来都不少拉半点强迫给它拉的重量。它快速地、重复地拉着、向前跑着。在这第一天的前半部份时间里，它拉的东西超过了它一辈子任何一个同样的时候。在营地的第一个晚上，乔，那个瘦骨如柴的狗，被狠狠地教训了一下。这在斯佩茨时代是从来没有被成功地做倒过的。巴克只是简单地用它超重的体重压在它的身上，一直压得它停止嚎叫，开始可怜而悲哀的呜咽。
　    整个队伍的基调、主旋律被鼓动起来了，队伍恢复了往日的团结，整个狗队又一次像一只狗那样行进在征途上了。在一个叫快速划冰场的地区，又加进来了两只当地强壮的狗，替克和库那。巴克的名声打破了群狗们对费兰克斯的服从。
　    “从没有一只像巴克这样的狗！”费兰克斯叫道：“是的，从来没有！它值一千元！上帝呀！你说呢？波罗特！”
　    波罗特点头称是。他早就有这样的想法，而且一天比一天强烈。旅行处在绝佳的状态之中：货物装得好、装得结实、老天也没有下新的雪来打搅、天也不是很冷，气温只降到零下五十度。整个征途一直如此。两个赶狗人轮换着，或坐雪橇或在旁边奔跑。而狗们一直都在奋勇向前，很少有停顿。
　    三十里河的冰比较厚。他们一天里奔过的路程在过去要跑上十天。在一个奔跑的全天里，他们从理?巴杰湖边一气跑了六十英里到达了名叫白马快奔的地区。接着又跨过了叫玛石的沼泽地、塔给石地区和七十英里的奔呐特湖。他们飞快地奔跑着，使得轮流在雪橇下面跑着的那个人被雪橇绳子的一端一路都在拖着跑。第二周的最后一个晚上，他们登上了白芒芒的派思山的顶端，又沿着斜坡一路下到海边山脚下被满船灯火照得通亮的斯卡歌瑞城。这是一个创记录的奔跑，十四天里他们平均每天都要奔跑四十英里。
　    在到达斯卡哥瑞城后的三天时间里，费兰柯斯和波罗特在城内的主要大街上颠三倒四、跌　    跌撞撞，到处应邀和人喝酒。而狗队则在那些非凡的狗和长途旅行者之中成了一伙被崇拜、被尊敬的不变的中心。其时，有三四个西部的坏家伙渴望着要向全城的人挑战，他们和那些急性子的受苦人打谜语，于是大家的兴趣就都转到那方面去了。接下来就来了官方批准的命令。费兰柯斯把巴克叫到了跟前，楼着它的脖子，哭了。这是费兰柯斯和波罗特最亲密的表达友情的方式了。和别的人一样，他们为了一些货物而忘掉了巴克们的命，他们把巴克它们换给了别人。
　    一个半血统的苏格兰人负责巴克和它的那些有十几只狗做 同伴的狗队。它们将沿着那疲倦的踪迹再返回到道森地区去。现在往那儿跑已经没有了月光，也用不着记录时间了，有的只是每天繁重的苦役，后面拖着沉重的货物。因为这是辆邮件雪橇车，装着世界各地的人给在这极地附近寻找黄金的人的话。
　    巴克不喜欢这样，但它还能挺得住。仿照戴夫和索迩莱克斯的方式，它是很以为骄傲的。看看它的那些同伴们，它们是否也以此为骄傲，分享着它们公平的那一份呢？这是一种单调的生活，像机器一样地有规律，这一天和那一天一摸一样。每天早晨，在一个固定的时间里，炊事员转了出来，火生了起来，大家把早饭吃了。然后一些被撕裂了的帐篷和别的什么器具装上了狗车，他们就上路了。一两个小时后，黑夜完全降了下去，警示着黎明的到来。到了晚上，选好了营地。一些人支帐篷，另些人砍木柴，用松树枝做床。还有一些人化冰、烧水和做饭。狗们也被喂了，它们加起来有一百多只呢。在给它们喂了鱼后，有一两个小时可以和别的狗闲逛闲逛。当然闲荡也是一件好事，但仅只如此，这就是它们一天的特色。它们中有凶猛的战士。在经过最激烈的三次战斗后，巴克掌握了控制整个狗队的权力。以至于当它竖起狗毛发怒地显示它的牙齿时，狗们就都走开了。
　    最首要的，也许是，巴克喜欢蹲在火堆边。后腿蹲下，前腿伸到前面，头抬起来，眼睛闪着梦幻的光。有时侯它想起了法官磨房主，和那所处于太阳能亲吻到的桑塔?克拉拉山谷的大房子；想起那个水泥做成的游泳池；想起伊斯拜尔，那只墨西哥的无毛狗，和图茨，那只日本哈巴狗。可是更经常地，它还是想起那个穿红毛线衣的人；想起柯利的死；想起和斯佩茨的大战；想起那些它吃过的和想吃的好东西。它是不想家的。它对那种神圣的出生地——阳光之地的感觉是非常朦胧，非常遥远的。对家的记忆没有权利越过这样一种东西，这就是它的遗传。这种遗传给了它从没有见过的相同的东西。这种本能（这只是它祖先传下来的）一直流传到最近的日子。对它来说，这种遗传、这种本能已经加速地变成它现在的活生生的东西了。
　    有时，巴克蹲在那里，双眼梦幻般地闪着光，那光看上去像是另一堆火。蹲在火边的时候，它能看到另一个不同的半血统的人在它面前烧烤着什么。这个人短腿长臂，浑圆浑圆的肌肉包在多节的骨头上，头发很长、很乱，头顶在眼睛上面稍稍一点就向后倾斜过去。这人的声音很怪，看上去很怕黑夜。黑暗中他一直都朦朦胧胧地显现着。他抓牢自己的手，那手在膝盖和脚之间的部位悬着。他能把一根装有重石的棍子快速地扔到尽头。他全身赤裸，一块破烂不堪、烧焦了的皮悬在后背的下半部。他身体上毛很多，布满了胸脯和双肩，延伸到胳膊和大腿的外侧，看上去就像是铺上了一张厚厚的皮毛。他站不起来，躯干从臀部起向前倾斜，双腿从膝盖起向前弯曲。他的身体有着特殊的弹力。他特别能跳，几乎像猫似的机敏。他仿佛生活在一个永久不断的、看得见和看不见的令人害怕的环境中似的。
　    曾有好多次，这个多毛的男人头放在双腿之间蹲在火边睡觉。每当这种时候，他的肘子就支在膝盖上，双手抱着头，仿佛是用那多毛的胳膊挡雨似的。而在火的那一边，在圆圆的黑暗中，巴克能看到很多闪光的碳火，三三两两地。总是三三两两地，它知道，这都是那些牺牲了的野兽们的眼睛。它能听到它们的尸体在地下丛林中的碰撞声，和它们在黑夜里发出的吵闹声。在于肯河边的这些梦想和那些懒懒的眼睛里闪射出来的光，以及那些声音和另一个世界的景象会使巴克的毛发沿着它自己的背长起来，竖立在它的肩膀和脖子上。直到它低声压制地打几个响鼻，或者软软地咆哮几声。那个半血统的厨师就会看着它：“嗨，巴克，醒来！”随之那另一个世界就消失了。它就会打着哈欠，伸展前肢后腿，仿佛刚才是睡着了似的。
　    这是艰苦的旅程。邮件车挂在后面，沉重得很，狗们累极了。它们的体重在下降，身体状况极差。当它们返回到道森时，至少应该需要休息十天或两周。可是两天后，它们又从巴拉克斯下到了于肯河谷，拉着外地送过来的邮件。狗们都累坏了，赶狗人也发着牢骚。这次每天都在下雪，这使得情况更糟，这意味着这是一次阻力重重的旅行。狗们拉起来更吃力了，而赶狗人也对狗们更公平了，更关怀了。每天晚上，狗们总是先被照顾，它们吃在赶狗人的前面。没有人再穿睡袍了，睡袍都被盖在了他所驱赶的狗们的腿上了。可是狗们的力气正在用尽，体重还在下降。
　    由于入冬以来，它们已经旅行了一千八白英里，挂着雪橇跨过了这整个倦倦的路程。一千八百英里将对生活发生最凶险、最难过的影响。但巴克还是挺了下来，它使它的伙伴们一直都胜任它们的工作，遵守着纪律，虽然它也是非常地累。
　    比利每天晚上都在睡梦中定时叫着、呜咽着、打着响鼻。乔比以前更加愁眉不展。索迩莱克斯比以前更加不易接近，不是胡走到这里就是胡走到那里。
　    但戴夫受罪最多，它肯定什么地方有毛病了。它变得更加发愁，更加容易暴躁。一到营地，它马上就倒在窝里，赶狗人就到它的窝里去喂它。一次，没有等到解开绳套它就倒了下来，一直到第二天上绳套时不帮它它都站不起来。有时侯，在路途中，当雪橇突然被什么东西拌住停了下来，或者又要使劲拉动才能启动，戴夫都会痛苦地叫出声来。赶狗人给它做了检查，但什么也没有发现。所有的赶狗人都对它关心了起来，他们在吃饭的时候谈论着它，叼着长长的烟斗，一直谈到上床睡觉。一天晚上，他们开了个会，它被从窝里带了出来，来到了火边。它被多次挤抱，弄的它大喊大叫。它的身体里面肯定出毛病了，它的骨头没有断。但到底是什么，赶狗人也说不出所以然来。
　    在去卡斯尔?巴的时候，戴夫虚弱得一路上到下了好几次。半苏格兰血统的赶狗人停下雪橇，把它从队伍中拉了出来，使挨着它的索迩莱克斯能快速走过来。赶狗人的想法是想让戴夫休息休息，让它跟在雪橇后面闲跑。由于生病，戴夫一直怨恨被带了出来，在没完没了的征途中它一直都在哼哼着，嚎叫着。它看到索迩莱克斯在应该是它呆的位置上拉着跑了那么长的时间，它就从它那破碎的内心深处往外呜咽着打着不满的响鼻子。在这种苦役般的旅途中，骄傲本是应该属于它的。因此，尽管它病得都快要死了，它还是不能忍受别的狗来做它的工作。
　    雪橇就要启动了。戴夫在被踏平了的道路边松软的雪中挣扎着，用牙咬向索迩莱克斯，向它冲过去试图把它逼到一边的软雪中。戴夫拼命地反抗着跳在了自己的位置上，站在了索迩莱克斯和雪撬之间。于是引来了一阵悲伤而痛苦的抱怨、嚎叫和怒吼。半血统的赶狗人试图用鞭子把戴夫赶开，但它不顾鞭打的疼痛，而赶狗人也不忍心使劲去抽。戴夫拒绝跟在雪橇后面平静地奔跑，那样跑起来太过容易了。它挣扎地跑到路边的软雪中，但在软雪中奔跑起来更加困难，这样它就一直跑得精疲力尽。
　    终于，它累得躺了下来，可怜地悲叫着。雪橇磕磕绊绊地、长长地把它拖着向前走。
用尽最后一点残余的力气，戴夫挣扎着半躺半睡地跟在雪橇后面跑着，好不容易来到了下一站。它摇摇晃晃地走到雪橇中它的位置跟前，站在了索迩莱克斯旁边。赶狗人稍稍停了一下，从后面的人那里点着了烟管，走了回来又启动了他的狗队。狗队明显是非常费力地摇摇摆摆地要上路了，可好不容易地打了调头，它们却惊讶地停在了那里。赶狗人也很吃惊，雪橇竟没有动，于是他就和他的同志过去看看究竟是怎么回事。原来是戴夫正死命地冲向索迩莱克斯，稳稳地站在了雪橇前它原来的位置上。
　    戴夫的目光中充满了抗辩和恳求，使赶狗人很是为难。他的同志们谈起了怎么才是一只好狗。一只好狗，宁可你把它杀死、把它的心掏了出来都不愿不工作的。他们回忆了很多狗们的例子：那些狗，老的不能再拉雪撬了，或者受伤了，就因为是被从旅途上裁减了下来才死去的。赶狗人对这样的例子是多么的难过。今天，戴夫就要死了，它也应该死在路上。只有这样，戴夫的心里才能满足。于是它又被套上了绳套，它为自己这么一只老狗还在绳套上很是自豪。它不止一次无意识地从它受伤的身体里痛苦地喊出声音来，好几次它倒了下来被别的狗拖着走。
　    终于有一次，它摔倒了，再也没有起来，雪橇从它身上越了过去。其后，它的一条腿就断了。
　    可戴夫还是终于坚持到了营地。它的主人给它在火边找了个地方。早晨发现它太虚弱了，再也不能往前走了。到了上绳套的时候，它费劲地爬到主人跟前。经过一阵痉挛地努力，它站了起来，摇摇晃晃地站了一会，又倒下了。然后它又像蛇一样地慢慢蠕动着，向前爬到了正在上绳套的同伴们跟前。它冒险地伸出前腿，支撑起身体来，做着套绳套的动作。它努力地套上了绳套，吃力地迈开了前腿，颤颤巍巍地向前走了几步。它用尽了力气支撑着。同伴们看着它倒在雪中喘着气，而它也满怀热望地看着它们。
　    可是，当它们走过一条皮带似的大河拐弯的地方时，就再也听不到它悲伤的呜咽声了。雪橇队迟迟疑疑地向前走着，半血统的苏格兰人慢慢地返回到他们刚刚离开的营地。人们停止了谈话，一声左轮手熗的熗声响彻云空，半苏格兰血统的人急匆匆地走了回来。
鞭子使劲地向着，铃铛清脆地叫着，雪橇磕磕绊绊地上了路。可是巴克知道，每一条狗也都知道，在河边树林带的后面发生了什么。

CHAPTER 5

THE TOIL OF TRACE AND TRAIL


Thirty days from the time it left Dawson, the Salt Water Mail, with Buck and his mates at the fore, arrived at Skaguay. They were in a wretched state, worn out and worn down. Buck's one hundred and forty pounds had dwindled to one hundred and fifteen. The rest of his mates, though lighter dogs, had relatively lost more weight than he. Pike, the malingerer, who, in his lifetime of deceit, had often successfully feigned a hurt leg, was now limping in earnest. Sol-leks was limping, and Dub was suffering from a wrenched shoulder blade.
They were all terribly footsore. No spring or rebound was left in them. Their feet fell heavily on the trail, jarring their bodies and doubling the fatigue of a day's travel. There was nothing the matter with them except that they were dead tired. It was not the dead tiredness that comes through brief and excessive effort, from which recovery is a matter of hours; but it was the dead tiredness that comes through the slow and prolonged strength drainage of months of toil. There was no power of recuperation left, no reserve strength to call upon. It had been all used, the last least bit of it. Every muscle, every fiber, every cell, was tired, dead tired. And there was reason for it. In less than five months they had traveled twenty-five hundred miles, during the last eighteen hundred of which they had but five days' rest. When they arrived at Skaguay, they were apparently on their last legs. They could barely keep the traces taut, and on the down grades just managed to keep out of the way of the sled.
"Mush on, poor sore feets," the driver encouraged them as they tottered down the main street of Skaguay. "Dis is de last. Den we get one long rest. Eh? For sure. One bully long rest."
The drivers confidently expected a long stopover. Themselves, they had covered twelve hundred miles with two days' rest, and in the nature of reason and common justice they deserved an interval of loafing. But so many were the men who had rushed into the Klondike, and so many were the sweethearts, wives, and kin that had not rushed in, that the congested mail was taking on Alpine proportions; also, there were official orders. Fresh batches of Hudson Bay dogs were to take the places of those worthless for the trail. The worthless ones were to be got rid of, and, since dogs count for little against dollars, they were to be sold.
Three days passed, by which time Buck and his mates found how really tired and weak they were. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, two men from the States came along and bought them, harness and all, for a song. The men addressed each other as "Hal" and "Charles". Charles was a middle-aged, lightish colored man, with weak and watery eyes and a mustache that twisted fiercely and vigorously up, giving the lie to the limply drooping lip it concealed. Hal was a youngster of nineteen or twenty, with a big Colt's revolver and a hunting knife strapped about him on a belt that fairly bristled with cartridges. This belt was the most salient thing about him. It advertised his callowness--a callowness sheer and unutterable. Both men were manifestly out of place, and why such as they should adventure the North is part of the mystery of things that passes understanding.
Buck heard the chaffering, saw the money pass between the man and the Government agent, and knew that the Scotch half-breed and the mail-train drivers were passing out of his life on the heels of Perrault and Francois and the others who had gone before. When driven with his mates to the new owners' camp, Buck saw a slipshod and slovenly affair, tent half-stretched, dishes unwashed, everything in disorder; also, he saw a woman. "Mercedes" the men called her. She was Charles's wife and Hal's sister--a nice family party.
Buck watched them apprehensively as they proceeded to take down the tent and load the sled. There was a great deal of effort about their manner, but no businesslike method. The tent was rolled into an awkward bundle three times as large as it should have been. The tin dishes were packed away unwashed. Mercedes continually fluttered in the way of her men and kept up an unbroken chattering of remonstrance and advice. When they put a clothes-sack on the front of the sled, she suggested it should go on the back; and when they had it put on the back, and covered it over with a couple of the bundles, she discovered overlooked articles which could abide nowhere else but in that very sack, and they unloaded again.
Three men from a neighboring tent came out and looked on, grinning and winking at one another.
"You've got a right smart load as it is," said one of them; "and its not me should tell you your business, but I wouldn't tote that tent along if I was you."
"Undreamed of!" cried Mercedes, throwing up her hands in dainty dismay. "However in the world could I manage without a tent?"
"It's springtime, and you won't get any more cold weather," the man replied.
She shook her head decidedly, and Charles and Hal put the last odds and ends on top the mountainous load.
"Think it'll ride?" one of the men asked.
"Why shouldn't it?" Charles demanded rather shortly.
"Oh, that's all right, that's all right," the man hastened meekly to say. "I was just a wondering, that is all. It seemed a mite top-heavy."
Charles turned his back and drew the lashings down as well as he could, which was not in the least well.
"And of course the dogs can hike along all day with that contraption behind them," affirmed a second of the men.
"Certainly," said Hal, with freezing politeness, taking hold of the gee-pole with one hand and swinging his whip from the other. "Mush!" He shouted. "Mush on there!"
The dogs sprang against the breastbands, strained hard for a few moments, then relaxed. They were unable to move the sled.
"The lazy brutes, I'll show them," he cried, preparing to lash out at them with the whip.
But Mercedes interfered, crying, "Oh, Hal, you mustn't," as she caught hold of the whip and wrenched it from him. "The poor dears! Now you must promise you won't be harsh with them for the rest of the trip, or I won't go a step."
"Precious lot you know about dogs," her brother sneered, "and I wish you'd leave me alone. They're lazy, I tell you, and you've got to whip them to get anything out of them. That's their way. You ask anyone. Ask one of those men."
Mercedes looked at them imploringly, untold repugnances at sight of pain written in her pretty face.
"They're weak as water, if you want to know," came the reply from one of the men. "Plum tuckered out, that's what's the matter. They need a rest."
"Rest be blanked," said Hal, with his beardless lips; and Mercedes said, "Oh!" in pain and sorrow at the oath.
But she was a clannish creature, and rushed at once to the defense of her brother. "Never mind that man," she said pointedly. "You're driving our dogs and you do what you think best with them."
Again Hal's whip fell upon the dogs. They threw themselves against the breastbands, dug their feet into the packed snow, got down low to it, and put forth all their strength. The sled held as though it were an anchor. After two efforts, they stood still, panting. The whip was whistling savagely, when once more Mercedes interfered. She dropped on her knees before Buck, with tears in her eyes, and put her arms around his neck.
"You poor, poor dears," she cried sympathetically, "why don't you pull hard? Then you wouldn't be whipped." Buck did not like her, but he was feeling too miserable to resist her, taking it as a part of the day's miserable work.
One of the onlookers, who had been clenching his teeth to suppress hot speech, now spoke up:
"It's not that I care a whoop what becomes of you, but for the dogs' sakes I just want to tell you, you can help them a mighty lot by breaking out that sled. The runners are froze fast. Throw your weight against the gee-pole, right and left, and break it out."
A third time the attempt was made, but this time, following the advice, Hal broke out the runners which had been frozen to the snow. The overloaded and unwieldy sled forged ahead, Buck and his mates struggling frantically under the rain of blows. A hundred yards ahead the path turned and sloped steeply into the main street. It would have required an experienced man to keep the top-heavy sled upright, and Hal was not such a man. As they swung on the turn the sled went over, spilling half its load through the loose lashings. The dogs never stopped. The lightened sled bounded on its side behind them. They were angry because of the ill treatment they had received and the unjust load. Buck was raging. He broke into a run, the team following his lead. Hal cried, "Whoa! Whoa!" But they gave no heed. He tripped and was pulled off his feet. The capsized sled ground over him, and the dogs dashed on up the street, adding to the gaiety of Skaguay as they scattered the remainder of the outfit along its chief thoroughfare.
Kind-hearted citizens caught the dogs and gathered up the scattered belongings. Also, they gave advice. Half the load and twice the dogs, if they ever expected to reach Dawson, was what was said. Hal and his sister and brother-in-law listened unwillingly, pitched tent, and overhauled the outfit. Canned goods were turned out that made men laugh, for canned goods on the Long Trail is a thing to dream about. "Blankets for a hotel," quoth one of the men who laughed and helped. "Half as many is too much; get rid of them. Throw away that tent, and all those dishes--who's going to wash them, anyway? Good Lord, do you think you're traveling on a Pullman?"
And so it went, the inexorable elimination of the superfluous. Mercedes cried when her clothes-bags were dumped on the ground and article after article was thrown out. She cried in general, and she cried in particular over each discarded thing. She clasped hands about knees, rocking back and forth broken-heartedly. She averred she would not go an inch, not for a dozen Charleses. She appealed to everybody and to everything, finally wiping her eyes and proceeding to cast out even articles of apparel that were imperative necessaries. And in her zeal, when she had finished with her own, she attacked the belongings of her men and went through them like a tornado.
This accomplished, the outfit, though cut in half, was still a formidable bulk. Charles and Hal went out in the evening and bought six Outside dogs. They, added to the six of the original team, and Teek and Koona, the huskies obtained at the Rink Rapids on the record trip, brought the team up to fourteen. But the Outside dogs, though practically broken in since their landing, did not amount to much. Three were short-haired pointers, one was a Newfoundland, and the other two were mongrels of indeterminate breed. They did not seem to know anything, these newcomers. Buck and his comrades looked upon them with disgust, and though he speedily taught them their places and what not to do, he could not teach them what to do. They did not take kindly to trace and trail. With the exception of the two mongrels, they were bewildered and spirit-broken by the strange savage environment in which they found themselves and by the ill treatment they had received. The two mongrels were without spirit at all; bones were the only things breakable about them.
With the newcomers hopeless and forlorn, and the old team worn out by twenty-five hundred miles of continuous trail, the outlook was anything but bright. The two men, however, were quite cheerful. And they were proud, too. They were doing the thing in style, with fourteen dogs. They had seen other sleds depart over the Pass for Dawson, or come in from Dawson, but never had they seen a sled with so many as fourteen dogs. In the nature of Arctic travel there was a reason why fourteen dogs should not drag one sled, and that was that one sled could not carry the food for fourteen dogs. But Charles and Hal did not know this. They had worked the trip out with a pencil, so much to a dog, so many dogs, and so many days, Q.E.D. Mercedes looked over their shoulders and nodded comprehensively, it was all so very simple.
Late next morning Buck led the long team up the street. There was nothing lively about it, no snap or go in him and his fellows. They were starting dead weary. Four times he had covered the distance between Salt Water and Dawson, and the knowledge that, jaded and tired, he was facing the same trail once more, made him bitter. His heart was not in the work, nor was the heart of any dog. The Outsiders were timid and frightened, the Insiders without confidence in their masters.
Buck felt vaguely that there was no depending upon these two men and the woman. They did not know how to do anything, and as the days went by it became apparent that they could not learn. They were slack in all things, without order or discipline. It took them half the night to pitch a slovenly camp, and half the morning to break that camp and get the sled loaded in fashion so slovenly that for the rest of the day they were occupied in stopping and rearranging the load. Some days they did not make ten miles. On other days they were unable to get started at all. And on no day did they succeed in making more than half the distance used by the men as a basis in their dog-food computation.
It was inevitable that they should go short on dog food. But they hastened it by overfeeding, bringing the day nearer when underfeeding would commence. The Outsider dogs whose digestions had not been trained by chronic famine to make the most of little, had voracious appetites. And when, in addition to this, the worn-out huskies pulled weakly, Hal decided that the orthodox ration was too small. He doubled it. And to cap it all, when Mercedes, with tears in her pretty eyes and a quaver in her throat, could not cajole him into giving the dogs still more, she stole from the fish-sacks and fed them slyly. But is was not food that Buck and the huskies needed, but rest. And though they were making poor time, the heavy load they dragged sapped their strength severely.
Then came the underfeeding. Hal awoke one day to the fact that his dog food was half-gone and the distance only quarter covered; further, that for love or money no additional dog food was to be obtained. So he cut down even the orthodox ration and tried to increase the day's travel. His sister and brother-in-law seconded him; but they were frustrated by their heavy outfit and their own incompetence. It was a simple matter to give the dogs less food; but it was impossible to make the dogs travel faster, while their own inability to get under way earlier in the morning prevented them from traveling longer hours. Not only did they not know how to work dogs, but they did not know how to work themselves.
The first to go was Dub. Poor blundering thief that he was, always getting caught and punished, he had none the less been a faithful worker. His wrenched shoulder-blade, untreated and unrested, went from bad to worse, till finally Hal shot him with the big Colt's revolver. It is a saying of the country that an Outside dog starves to death on the ration of the husky, so the six Outside dogs under Buck could do no less than die on half the ration of the husky. The Newfoundland went first, followed by the three short-haired pointers, the two mongrels hanging more grittily on to life, but going in the end.
By this time all the amenities and gentleness of the Southland had fallen away from the three people. Shorn of its glamour and romance, Arctic travel became to them a reality too harsh for their manhood and womanhood. Mercedes ceased weeping over the dogs, being too occupied with weeping over herself and with quarreling with her husband and brother. To quarrel was the one thing they were never too weary to do. Their irritability arose out of their misery, increased with it, doubled upon it, out-distanced it. The wonderful patience of the trail which comes to men who toil hard and suffer sore, and remain sweet of speech and kindly, did not come to these two men and the woman. They had no inkling of such a patience. They were stiff and in pain; their muscles ached, their bones ached, their very hearts ached; and because of this they became sharp of speech, and hard words were first on their lips in the morning and last at night.
Charles and Hal wrangled whenever Mercedes gave them a chance. It was the cherished belief of each that he did more than his share of the work, and neither forbore to speak this belief at every opportunity. Sometimes Mercedes sided with her husband, sometimes with her brother. The result was a beautiful and unending family quarrel. Starting from a dispute as to which should chop a few sticks for the fire (a dispute which concerned only Charles and Hal), presently would be lugged in the rest of the family, fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, people thousands of miles away, and some of them dead. That Hal's views on art, or the sort of society plays his mother's brother wrote, should have anything to do with the chopping of a few sticks of firewood, passes comprehension; nevertheless the quarrel was as likely to tend in that direction as in the direction of Charles's political prejudices. And that Charles's sister's tale-bearing tongue should be relevant to the building of a Yukon fire, was apparent only to Mercedes, who disburdened herself of copious opinions upon that topic, and incidentally upon a few other traits unpleasantly peculiar to her husband's family. In the meantime the fire remained unbuilt, the camp half-pitched, and the dogs unfed.
Mercedes nursed a special grievance--the grievance of sex. She was pretty and soft, and had been chivalrously treated all her days. But the present treatment by her husband and brother was everything save chivalrous. It was her custom to be helpless. They complained. Upon which impeachment of what to her was her most essential sex prerogative, she made their lives unendurable. She no longer considered the dogs, and because she was sore and tired, she persisted in riding in the sled. She was pretty and soft, but she weighed one hundred and twenty pounds--a lusty last straw to the load dragged by the weak and starving animals. She rode for days, till they fell in the traces and the sled stood still. Charles and Hal begged her to get off and walk, pleaded with her, entreated, the while she wept and importuned Heaven with a recital of their brutality.
On one occasion they took her off the sled by main strength. They never did it again. She let her legs go limp like a spoiled child, and sat down on the trail. They went on their way, but she did not move. After they had traveled three miles they unloaded the sled, came back for her, and by main strength put her on the sled again.
In the excess of their own misery they were callous to the suffering of their animals. Hal's theory, which he practiced on others, was that one must get hardened. He had started out preaching it to his sister and brother-in-law. Failing there, he hammered it into the dogs with a club. At the Five Fingers the dog food gave out, and a toothless old squaw offered to trade them a few pounds of frozen horsehide for the Colt's revolver that kept the big hunting knife company at Hal's hip. A poor substitute for food was this hide, just as it had been stripped from the starved horses of the cattlemen six months back. In its frozen state it was more like strips of galvanized iron, and when a dog wrestled it into his stomach, it thawed into thin and unnutritious leathery strings and into a mass of short hair, irritating and indigestible.
And through it all Buck staggered along at the head of the team as in a nightmare. He pulled when he could; when he could no longer pull, he fell down and remained down till blows from whip or club drove him to his feet again. All the stiffness and gloss had gone out of his beautiful furry coat. The hair hung down, limp and draggled, or matted with dried blood where Hal's club had bruised him. His muscles had wasted away to knotty strings, and the flesh pads had disappeared, so that each rib and every bone in his frame were outlined cleanly through the loose hide that was wrinkled in folds of emptiness. It was heartbreaking, only Buck's heart was unbreakable. The man in the red sweater had proved that.
As it was with Buck, so was it with his mates. They were perambulating skeletons. There were seven all together, including him. In their very great misery they had become insensible to the bite of the lash or the bruise of the club. The pain of the beating was dull and distant, just as the things their eyes saw and their ears heard seemed dull and distant. They were not half-living, or quarter-living. They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly. When a halt was made, they dropped down in the traces like dead dogs, and the spark dimmed and paled and seemed to go out. And when the club or whip fell upon them, the spark fluttered feebly up, and they tottered to their feet and staggered on.
There came a day when Billee, the good-natured, fell and could not rise. Hal had traded off his revolver, so he took the axe and knocked Billee on the head as he lay in the traces, then cut the carcass out of the harness and dragged it to one side. Buck saw, and his mates saw, and they knew that this thing was very close to them. On the next day Koona went, and but five of them remained: Joe, too far gone to be malignant; Pike, crippled and limping, only half-conscious and not conscious enough longer to malinger; Sol-leks, the one-eyed, still faithful to the toil of trace and trail, and mournful in that he had so little strength with which to pull; Teek, who had not traveled so far that winter and who was now beaten more than the others because he was fresher; and Buck, still at the head of the team, but no longer enforcing discipline or striving to enforce it, blind with weakness half the time and keeping the trail by the loom of it and by the dim feel of his feet.
It was beautiful spring weather, but neither dogs nor humans were aware of it. Each day the sun rose earlier and set later. It was dawn by three in the morning, and twilight lingered till nine at night. The whole long day was a blaze of sunshine. The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life. This murmur arose from all the land, fraught with the joy of living. It came from the things that lived and moved again, things which had been as dead and which had not moved during the long months of frost. The sap was rising in the pines. The willows and aspens were bursting out in young buds. Shrubs and vines were putting on fresh garbs of green. Crickets sang in the nights, and in the days all manner of creeping, crawling things rustled forth into the sun. Partridges and woodpeckers were booming and knocking in the forest. Squirrels were chattering, birds singing, and overhead honked the wild fowl driving up from the south in cunning wedges that split the air.
From every hill slope came the trickle of water, the music of unseen fountains. All things were thawing, bending, snapping. The Yukon was straining to break loose the ice that bound it down. It ate away from beneath; the sun ate from above. Air-holes formed, fissures sprang and spread apart, while thin sections of ice fell through bodily into the river. And amid all this bursting, rending, throbbing of awakening life, under the blazing sun and through the soft-sighing breezes, like wayfarers to death, staggered the two men, the woman and the huskies.
With the dogs falling, Mercedes weeping and riding, Hal swearing innocuously, and Charles eyes wistfully watering, they staggered into John Thornton's camp at the mouth of the White River. When they halted, the dogs dropped down as though they had all been struck dead. Mercedes dried her eyes and looked at John Thornton. Charles sat down on a log to rest. He sat down very slowly and painstakingly, what of his great stiffness. Hal did the talking. John Thornton was whittling the last touches on an axe-handle he had made from a stick of birch. He whittled and listened, gave monosyllabic replies, and when it was asked, terse advice. He knew the breed, and he gave his advice in the certainty that it would not be followed.
"They told us up above that the bottom was dropping out of the trail and that the best thing for us to do was to lay over," Hal said in response to Thornton's warning to take no more chances on the rotten ice. "They told us we couldn't make White River, and here we are." This last with a sneering ring of triumph in it.
"And they told you true," John Thornton answered. "The bottom's likely to drop out at any moment. Only fools, with the blind luck of fools, could have made it. I tell you straight, I wouldn't risk my carcass on that ice for all the gold in Alaska."
"That's because you're not a fool, I suppose," said Hal. "All the same, we'll go on to Dawson." He uncoiled his whip. "Get up there, Buck! Hi! Get up there! Mush on!"
Thornton went on whittling. It was idle, he knew, to get between a fool and his folly; while two or three fools more or less would not alter the scheme of things.
But the team did not get up at the command. It had long since passed into the stage where blows were required to rouse it. The whip flashed out, here and there, on its merciless errands. John Thornton compressed his lips. Sol-leks was the first to crawl to his feet. Teek followed. Joe came next, yelping with pain. Pike made painful efforts. Twice he fell over, when half-up, and on the third attempt managed to rise. Buck made no effort. He lay quietly where he had fallen. The lash bit into him again and again, but he neither whined nor struggled. Several times Thornton started, as though to speak, but changed his mind. A moisture came into his eyes, and, as the whipping continued, he arose and walked irresolutely up and down.
This was the first time Buck had failed, in itself a sufficient reason to drive Hal into a rage. He exchanged the whip for the customary club. Buck refused to move under the rain of heavier blows which now fell upon him. Like his mates, he was barely able to get up, but, unlike them, He had made up his mind not to get up. He had a vague feeling of impending doom. This had been strong upon him when he pulled into the bank, and it had not departed from him. What of the thin and rotten ice he had felt under his feet all day, it seemed that he sensed disaster close at hand, out there ahead on the ice where his master was trying to drive him. He refused to stir. So greatly had he suffered, and so far gone was he, that the blows did not hurt much. And as they continued to fall upon him, the spark of life within flickered and went down. It was nearly out. He felt strangely numb. As though from a great distance, he was aware that he was being beaten. The last sensations of pain left him. He no longer felt anything, though very faintly he could hear the impact of the club upon his body. But it was no longer his body, it seemed so far away.
And then, suddenly, without warning, uttering a cry that was inarticulate and more like the cry of an animal, John Thornton sprang upon the man who wielded the club. Hal was hurled backward, as though struck by a falling tree. Mercedes screamed. Charles looked on wistfully, wiped his watery eyes, but did not get up because of his stiffness.
John Thornton stood over Buck, struggling to control himself, too convulsed with rage to speak.
"If you strike that dog again, I'll kill you," he at last managed to say in a choking voice.
"It's my dog," Hal replied, wiping the blood from his mouth as he came back. "Get out of my way, or I'll fix you. I'm going to Dawson."
Thornton stood between him and Buck and evinced no intention of getting out of the way. Hal drew his long hunting knife. Mercedes screamed, cried, laughed, and manifested the chaotic abandonment of hysteria. Thornton rapped Hal's knuckles with the axe-handle, knocking the knife to the ground. He rapped his knuckles again as he tried to pick it up. Then he stooped, picked it up himself, and with two strokes cut Buck's traces.
Hal had no fight left in him. Besides, his hands were full with his sister, or his arms, rather; while Buck was too near dead to be of further use in hauling the sled. A few minutes later they pulled out from the bank and down the river. Buck heard them go and raised his head to see. Pike was leading, Sol-leks was at the wheel, and between were Joe and Teek. They were limping and staggering. Mercedes was riding the loaded sled. Hal guided at the gee-pole, and Charles stumbled along in the rear.
As Buck watched them, Thornton knelt beside him and with rough, kindly hands searched for broken bones. By the time his search had disclosed nothing more than many bruises and a state of terrible starvation, the sled was a quarter of a mile away. Dog and man watched it crawling along over the ice. Suddenly, they saw its back end drop down, as into a rut, and the gee-pole, with Hal clinging to it, jerk into the air. Mercedes' scream came to their ears. They saw Charles turn one step to run back, Sand then a whole section of ice give way and dogs and humans disappear. A yawning hole was all that was to be seen. The bottom had dropped out of the trail.
"You poor devil," said John Thornton and Buck licked his hand.

CHAPTER 6

FOR THE LOVE OF A MAN

When John Thornton froze his feet in the previous December, his partners had made him comfortable and left him to get well, going on themselves up the river to get out a raft of saw-logs for Dawson. He was still limping slightly at the time he rescued Buck, but with the continued warm weather even the slight limp left him. And here, lying by the river bank through the long spring days, watching the running water, listening lazily to the songs of birds and the hum of nature, Buck slowly won back his strength.
A rest comes very good after one has traveled three thousand miles, and it must be confessed that Buck waxed lazy as his wounds healed, his muscles swelled out, and the flesh came back to cover his bones. For that matter, they were all loafing,--Buck, John Thornton, and Skeet and Nig--waiting for the raft to come that was to carry them down to Dawson. Skeet was a little Irish setter who early made friends with Buck, who, in a dying condition, was unable to resent her first advances. She had the doctor trait which some dogs possess; and as a mother cat washes her kittens, so she washed and cleansed Buck's wounds. Regularly, each morning after he had finished his breakfast, she performed her self-appointed task, till he came to look for her ministrations as much as he did for Thornton's. Nig, equally friendly though less demonstrative, was a huge black dog, half-bloodhound and half-deerhound, with eyes that laughed and a boundless good nature.
To Buck's surprise these dogs manifested no jealousy toward him. They seemed to share the kindliness and largeness of John Thornton. As Buck grew stronger they enticed him into all sorts of ridiculous games, in which Thornton himself could not forbear to join; and in this fashion Buck romped through his convalescence and into a new existence. Love, genuine passionate love, was his for the first time. This he had never experienced at Judge Miller's down in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. With the Judge's sons, hunting and tramping, it had been a working partnership; with the Judge's grandsons, a sort of pompous guardianship; and with the Judge himself, a stately and dignified friendship. But love that was feverish and burning, that was adoration, that was madness, it had taken John Thornton to arouse.
This man had saved his life, which was something; but, further, he was the ideal master. Other men saw to the welfare of their dogs from a sense of duty and business expediency; he saw to the welfare of his as if they were his own children, because he could not help it. And he saw further. He never forgot a kindly greeting or a cheering word, and to sit down for a long talk with them--"gas" he called it--was as much his delight as theirs. He had a way of taking Buck's head roughly between his hands, and resting his own head upon Buck's, of shaking him back and forth, the while calling him ill names that to Buck were love names. Buck knew no greater joy than that rough embrace and the sound of murmured oaths, and at each jerk back and forth it seemed that his heart would be shaken out of his body, so great was its ecstasy. And when, released, he sprang to his feet, his mouth laughing, his eyes eloquent, his throat vibrant with unuttered sound, and in that fashion remained without movement, John Thornton would reverently exclaim, "God! you can all but speak!"
Buck had a trick of love expression that was akin to hurt. He would often seize Thornton's hand in his mouth and close so fiercely that the flesh bore the impress of his teeth for some time afterward. And as Buck understood the oaths to be love words, so the man understood this feigned bite for a caress.
For the most part, however, Buck's love was expressed in adoration. While he went wild with happiness when Thornton touched him or spoke to him, he did not seek these tokens. Unlike Skeet, who was wont to shove her nose under Thornton's hand and nudge and nudge till petted, or Nig, who would stalk up and rest his great head on Thornton's knee, Buck was content to adore at a distance. He would lie by the hour, eager, alert, at Thornton's feet, looking up into his face, dwelling upon it, studying it, following with keenest interest each fleeting expression, every movement or change of feature. Or, as chance might have it, he would lie farther away, to the side or rear, watching the outlines of the man and the occasional movements of his body. And often, such was the communion in which they lived, the strength of Buck's gaze would draw John Thornton's head around, and he would return the gaze, without speech, his heart shining out of his eyes as Buck's heart shone out.
For a long time after his rescue, Buck did not like Thornton to get out of his sight. From the moment he left the tent to when he entered it again, Buck would follow at his heels. His transient masters since he had come into the Northland had bred in him a fear that no master could be permanent. He was afraid that Thornton would pass out of his life as Perrault and Francois and the Scotch half-breed had passed out. Even in the night, in his dreams, he was haunted by this fear. At such times he would shake off sleep and creep through the chill to the flap of the tent, where he would stand and listen to the sound of his master's breathing.
But in spite of this great love he bore John Thornton, which seemed to bespeak the soft civilizing influence, the strain of the primitive, which the Northland had aroused in him, remained alive and active. Faithfulness and devotion, things born of fire and roof, were his; yet he retained his wildness and wiliness. He was a thing of the wild, come in from the wild to sit by John Thornton's fire, rather than a dog of the soft Southland stamped with the marks of generations of civilization. Because of his very great love, he could not steal from this man, but from any other man, in any other camp, he did not hesitate an instant; while the cunning with which he stole enabled him to escape detection.
His face and body were scored by the teeth of many dogs, and he fought as fiercely as ever and more shrewdly. Skeet and Nig were too good-natured for quarreling--besides, they belonged to John Thornton; but the strange dog, no matter what the breed or valor, swiftly acknowledged Buck's supremacy or found himself struggling for life with a terrible antagonist. And Buck was merciless. He had learned well the law of club and fang, and he never forewent an advantage or drew back from a foe he had started on the way to death. He had lessoned from Spitz, and from the chief fighting dogs of the police and mail, and knew there was no middle course. He must master or be mastered; while to show mercy was a weakness. Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time, he obeyed.
He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed as the tides and seasons swayed. He sat by John Thornton's fire, a broad-breasted dog, white-fanged and long-furred; but behind him were the shades of all manner of dogs, half wolves and wild wolves, urgent and prompting, tasting the savor of the meat he ate, thirsting for the water he drank, scenting the wind with him, listening with him and telling him the sounds made by the wild life in the forest; dictating his moods, directing his actions, lying down to sleep with him when he lay down, and dreaming with him and beyond him and becoming themselves the stuff of his dreams.
So peremptorily did these shades beckon him, that each day mankind and the claims of mankind slipped farther from him. Deep in the forest a call was sounding, and as often as he heard this call, mysteriously thrilling and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back upon the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to plunge into the forest, and on and on, he knew not where or why; nor did he wonder where or why, the call sounding imperiously, deep in the forest. But as often as he gained the soft unbroken earth and the green shade, the love for John Thornton drew him back to the fire again.
Thornton alone held him. The rest of mankind was as nothing. Chance travelers might praise or pet him; but he was cold under it all, and from a too demonstrative man he would get up and walk away. When Thornton's partners, Hans and Pete, arrived on the long-expected raft, Buck refused to notice them till he learned they were close to Thornton; after that he tolerated them in a passive sort of way, accepting favors from them as though he favored them by accepting. They were of the same large type as Thornton, living close to the earth, thinking simply and seeing clearly; and ere they swung the raft into the big eddy by the saw-mill at Dawson, they understood Buck and his ways, and did not insist upon an intimacy such as obtained with Skeet and Nig.
For Thornton, however, his love seemed to grow and grow. He, alone among men, could put a pack upon Buck's back in the summer traveling. Nothing was too great for Buck to do, when Thornton commanded. One day (they had grub-staked themselves from the proceeds of the raft and left Dawson for the head waters of the Tanana) the men and dogs were sitting on the crest of a cliff which fell away, straight down, to naked bedrock three hundred feet below. John Thornton was sitting near the edge, Buck at his shoulder. A thoughtless whim seized Thornton, and he drew the attention of Hans and Pete to the experiment he had in mind. "Jump, Buck!" he commanded, sweeping his arm out and over the chasm. The next instant he was grappling with Buck on the extreme edge, while Hans and Pete were dragging them back into safety.
"It's uncanny," Pete said, after it was over and they had caught their speech.
Thornton shook his head. "No, it is splendid, and it is terrible, too. Do you know, it sometimes makes me afraid."
"I'm not hankering to be the man that lays hands on you while he's around," Pete announced conclusively, nodding his head toward Buck.
"Py Jingo!" was Hans's contribution. "Not mineself either."
It was at Circle City, ere the year was out, that Pete's apprehensions were realized. "Black" Burton, a man evil tempered and malicious, had been picking a quarrel with a tenderfoot at the bar, when Thornton stepped good naturedly between. Buck, as was his custom, was lying in a corner, head on paws, watching his master's every action. Burton struck out, without warning, straight from the shoulder. Thornton was sent spinning, and saved himself from falling only by clutching the rail of the bar.
Those who were looking on heard what was neither bark nor yelp, but a something which is best described as a roar, and they saw Buck's body rise up in the air as he left the floor for Burton's throat. The man saved his life by instinctively throwing out his arm, but was hurled backward to the floor with Buck on top of him. Buck loosed his teeth from the flesh of the arm and drove in again for the throat. This time the man succeeded only in partly blocking, and his throat was torn open. Then the crowd was upon Buck, and he was driven off; but while a surgeon checked the bleeding, he prowled up and down, growling furiously, attempting to rush in, and being forced back by an array of hostile clubs. A "miners' meeting" called on the spot, decided that the dog had sufficient provocation, and Buck was discharged. But his reputation was made, and from that day his name spread through every camp in Alaska.
Later on, in the fall of the year, he saved John Thornton's life in quite another fashion. The three partners were lining a long and narrow poling boat down a bad stretch of rapids on the Forty Mile Creek. Hans and Pete moved along the bank, snubbing with a thin Manila rope from tree to tree, while Thornton remained in the boat, helping its descent by means of a pole, and shouting directions to the shore. Buck, on the bank, worried and anxious, kept abreast of the boat, his eyes never off his master.
At a particularly bad spot, where a ledge of barely submerged rocks jutted out into the river, Hans cast off the rope, and, while Thornton poled the boat out into the stream, ran down the bank with the end in his hand to snub the boat when it had cleared the ledge. This it did, and was flying down-stream in a current as swift as a mill-race, when Hans checked it with the rope and checked too suddenly. The boat flirted over and snubbed in to the bank bottom up, while Thornton, flung sheer out of it, was carried down-stream toward the worst part of the rapids, a stretch of wild water in which no swimmer could live.
Buck had sprung in on the instant; and at the end of three hundred yards, amid a mad swirl of water, he over-hauled Thornton. When he felt him grasp his tail, Buck headed for the bank, swimming with all his splendid strength. But the progress shoreward was slow; the progress down-stream amazingly rapid. From below came the fatal roaring where the wild current went wilder and was rent in shreds and spray by the rocks which thrust through like the teeth of an enormous comb. The suck of the water as it took the beginning of the last steep pitch was frightful, and Thornton knew that the shore was impossible. He scraped furiously over a rock, bruised across a second, and struck a third with crushing force. He clutched its slippery top with both hands, releasing Buck, and above the roar of the churning water shouted: "Go, Buck! Go!"
Buck could not hold his own, and swept on downstream, struggling desperately, but unable to win back. When he heard Thornton's command repeated, he partly reared out of the water, throwing his head high, as though for a last look, then turned obediently toward the bank. He swam powerfully and was dragged ashore by Pete and Hans at the very point where swimming ceased to be possible and destruction began.
They knew that the time a man could cling to a slippery rock in the face of that driving current was a matter of minutes, and they ran as fast as they could up the bank to a point far above where Thornton was hanging on. They attached the line with which they had been snubbing the boat to Buck's neck and shoulders, being careful that it should neither strangle him nor impede his swimming, and launched him into the stream. He struck out boldly, but not straight enough into the stream. He discovered the mistake too late, when Thornton was abreast of him and a bare half-dozen strokes away while he was being carried helplessly past.
Hans promptly snubbed with the rope, as though Buck were a boat. The rope thus tightening on him in the sweep of the current, he was jerked under the surface, and under the surface he remained till his body struck against the bank and he was hauled out. He was half drowned, and Hans and Pete threw themselves upon him, pounding the breath into him and the water out of him. He staggered to his feet and fell down. The faint sound of Thornton's voice came to them, and though they could not make out the words of it, they knew that he was in his extremity. His master's voice acted on Buck like an electric shock. He sprang to his feet and ran up the bank ahead of the men to the point of his previous departure.
Again the rope was attached and he was launched, and again he struck out, but this time straight into the stream. He had miscalculated once, but he would not be guilty of it a second time. Hans paid out the rope, permitting no slack, while Pete kept it clear of coils. Buck held on till he was on a line straight above Thornton; then he turned, and with the speed of an express train headed down upon him. Thornton saw him coming, and, as Buck struck him like a battering ram, with the whole force of the current behind him, he reached up and closed with both arms around the shaggy neck. Hans snubbed the rope around the tree, and Buck and Thornton were jerked under the water. Strangling, suffocating, sometimes one uppermost and sometimes the other, dragging over the jagged bottom, smashing against rocks and snags, they veered in to the bank.
Thornton came to, belly downward and being violently propelled back and forth across a drift log by Hans and Pete. His first glance was for Buck, over whose limp and apparently lifeless body Nig was setting up a howl, while Skeet was licking the wet face and closed eyes. Thornton was himself bruised and battered, and he went carefully over Buck's body, when he had been brought around, finding three broken ribs.
"That settles it," he announced. "We camp right here." And camp they did, till Buck's ribs knitted and he was able to travel.
That winter, at Dawson, Buck performed another exploit, not so heroic perhaps, but one that puts his name many notches higher on the totem pole of Alaskan fame. This exploit was particularly gratifying to the three men; for they stood in need of the outfit which it furnished, and were enabled to make a long-desired trip into the virgin East, where miners had not yet appeared. It was brought about by a conversation in the Eldorado Saloon, in which men waxed boastful of their favorite dogs. Buck, because of his record, was the target for these men, and Thornton was driven stoutly to defend him. At the end of half an hour one man stated that his dog could start a sled with five hundred pounds and walk off with it; a second bragged six hundred for his dog; and a third, seven hundred.
"Pooh! Pooh!" said John Thornton. "Buck can start a thousand pounds."
"And break it out, and walk off with it for a hundred yards?" demanded Matthewson, a Bonanza king, he of the seven hundred vaunt.
"And break it out, and walk off with it for a hundred yards," John Thornton said cooly.
"Well," Matthewson said, slowly and deliberately, so that all could hear, "I've got a thousand dollars that says he can't. And there it is." So saying, he slammed a sack of gold dust of the size of a bologna sausage down upon the bar.
Nobody spoke. Thornton's bluff, if bluff it was, had been called. He could feel a flush of warm blood creeping up his face. His tongue had tricked him. He did not know whether Buck could start a thousand pounds. Half a ton! The enormousness of it appalled him. He had great faith in Buck's strength and had often thought him capable of starting such a load; but never, as now, had he faced the possibility of it, the eyes of a dozen men fixed upon him, silent and waiting. Further, he had no thousand dollars; nor had Hans and Pete.
"I've got a sled standing outside now, with twenty fifty-pound sacks of flour on it," Matthewson went on with brutal directness; "so don't let that hinder you."
Thornton did not reply. He did not know what to say. He glanced from face to face in the absent way of a man who has lost the power of thought and is seeking somewhere to find the thing that will start it going again. The face of Jim O'Brien, a Mastodon king and old-time comrade, caught his eyes. It was a cue to him, seeming to rouse him to do what he would never have dreamed of doing.
"Can you lend me a thousand?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Sure," answered O'Brien, thumping down a plethoric sack by the side of Matthewson's. "Though it's little faith I'm having, John, that the beast can do the trick."
The Eldorado emptied its occupants into the street to see the test. The tables were deserted, and the dealers and gamekeepers came forth to see the outcome of the wager and to lay odds. Several hundred men, furred and mittened, banked around the sled within easy distance. Matthewson's sled, loaded with a thousand pounds of flour, had been standing for a couple of hours, and in the intense cold --it was sixty below zero--the runners had frozen fast to the hard-packed snow. Men offered odds of two to one that Buck could not budge the sled. A quibble arose concerning the phrase "break out." O'Brien contended it was Thornton's privilege to knock the runners loose, leaving Buck to "break it out" from a dead standstill. Matthewson insisted that the phrase included breaking the runners from the frozen grip of the snow. A majority of the men who had witnessed the making of the bet decided in his favor, whereat the odds went up to three to one against Buck.
There were no takers. Not a man believed him capable of the feat. Thornton had been hurried into the wager, heavy with doubt; and now that he looked at the sled itself, the concrete fact, with the regular team of ten dogs curled up in the snow before it, the more impossible the task appeared. Matthewson waxed jubilant.
"Three to one!" he proclaimed. "I'll lay you another thousand at that figure, Thornton, what do you say?"
Thornton's doubt was strong in his face, but his fighting spirit was aroused--the fighting spirit that soars above odds, fails to recognize the impossible, and is deaf to all save the clamor for battle. He called Hans and Pete to him. Their sacks were slim, and with his own the three partners could rake together only two hundred dollars. In the ebb of their fortunes, this sum was their total capital; yet they laid it unhesitatingly against Matthewson's six hundred.
The team of ten dogs was unhitched, and Buck, with his own harness, was put into the sled. He had caught the contagion of the excitement, and he felt that in some way he must do a great thing for John Thornton. Murmurs of admiration at his splendid appearance went up. He was in perfect condition, without an ounce of superfluous flesh, and the one hundred and fifty pounds that he weighed were so many pounds of grit and virility. His furry coat shone with the sheen of silk. Down the neck and across the shoulders, his mane, in repose as it was, half bristled and seemed to lift with every movement, as though excess of vigor made each particular hair alive and active. The great breast and heavy fore legs were no more than in proportion with the rest of his body, where the muscles showed in tight rolls underneath the skin. Men felt these muscles and proclaimed them hard as iron, and the odds went down to two to one.
"Gad, sir! Gad, sir!" stuttered a member of the latest dynasty, a king of the Skookum Benches. "I offer you eight hundred for him, sir, before the test; eight hundred just as he stands."
Thornton shook his head and stepped over to Buck's side.
"You must stand off from him," Matthewson protested. "Free play and plenty of room."
The crowd fell silent; only could be heard the voices of the gamblers vainly offering two to one. Everybody acknowledged Buck a magnificent animal, but twenty fifty-pound sacks of flour bulked too large in their eyes for them to loosen their pouch strings.
Thornton knelt down by Buck's side. He took his head in his hands and rested cheek on cheek. He did not playfully shake him, as was his wont, or murmur soft love curses; but he whispered in his ear. "As you love me, Buck. As you love me," was what he whispered. Buck whined with suppressed eagerness.
The crowd was watching curiously. The affair was growing mysterious. It seemed like a conjuration. As Thornton got to his feet, Buck seized his mittened hand between his jaws, pressing in with his teeth and releasing slowly, half-reluctantly. It was the answer, in terms, not of speech, but of love. Thornton stepped well back.
"Now, Buck," he said.
Buck tightened the traces, then slacked them for a matter of several inches. It was the way he had learned.
"Gee!" Thornton's voice rang out, sharp in the tense silence.
Buck swung to the right, ending the movement in a plunge that took up the slack and with a sudden jerk arrested his one hundred and fifty pounds. The load quivered, and from under the runners arose a crisp crackling.
"Haw!" Thornton commanded.
Buck duplicated the maneuver, this time to the left. The crackling turned into a snapping, the sled pivoting and the runners slipping and grating several inches to the side. The sled was broken out. Men were holding their breaths, intensely unconscious of the fact.
"Now, MUSH!"
Thornton's command cracked out like a pistol shot. Buck threw himself forward, tightening the traces with a jarring lunge. His whole body was gathered compactly together in the tremendous effort, the muscles writhing and knotting like live things under the silky fur. His great chest was low to the ground, his head forward and down, while his feet were flying like mad, the claws scarring the hard-packed snow in parallel grooves. The sled swayed and trembled, half-started forward. One of his feet slipped, and one man groaned aloud. The sled lurched ahead in what appeared a rapid succession of jerks, though it never really came to a dead stop again . . . half an inch . . . an inch . . . two inches . . . The jerks perceptibly diminished; as the sled gained momentum, he caught them up, till it was moving steadily along.
Men gasped and began to breathe again, unaware that for a moment they had ceased to breathe. Thornton was running behind, encouraging Buck with short, cheery words. The distance had been measured off, and as he neared the pile of firewood which marked the end of the hundred yards, a cheer began to grow and grow, which burst into a roar as he passed the firewood and halted at command. Every man was tearing himself loose, even Matthewson. Hats and mittens were flying in the air. Men were shaking hands, it did not matter with whom, and bubbling over in a general incoherent babel.
But Thornton fell on his knees beside Buck. Head was against head, and he was shaking him back and forth. Those who hurried up heard him cursing Buck, and he cursed him long and fervently, and softly and lovingly.
"Gad, sir! Gad, sir!" sputtered the Skookum Bench king. "I'll give you a thousand for him, sir, a thousand, sir--twelve hundred, sir."
Thornton rose to his feet. His eyes were wet. The tears were streaming frankly down his cheeks. "Sir," he said to the Skookum Bench king, "no, sir. You can go to hell, sir. It's the best I can do for you, sir."
Buck seized Thornton's hand in his teeth. Thornton shook him back and forth. As though animated by a common impulse, the onlookers drew back to a respectful distance; nor were they again indiscreet enough to interrupt.

第六章 为了一个人的爱

  　    约翰。桑顿十二月初冻伤了脚，他的合伙人把他留了下来养伤，而他们自己则坐着一个用锯木绑着的木排顺河去往道森。桑顿救巴克的时候腿就有点跛，随着天气渐渐变暖，他仍旧有点轻微的跛行。在这里，在这个漫长的春天里，巴克躺在河岸边，看着奔腾的水流，懒懒地听着小鸟的歌唱和大自然中的嗡嗡声……巴克慢慢地恢复了体力。
　　在走过三千英里之后来一次长时间的休息是再好也没有的了。必须承认，巴克变懒了。当它的伤口愈合的时候，它的肌肉松弛了，骨架上的肉丰满了。一句话，它在混日子了，当然这还包括约翰。桑顿，还有斯给特和尼格——后两只狗在等木排回来再把它们带到道森去。
　　斯给特是一只小身材的爱尔兰塞特种猎狗，它早就和巴克交上了朋友。而巴克当时处在一种垂死的状态下，对它先表示出来的母狗的那种亲近无法表示愤恨。斯给特有一种大夫般的特性，这种特性许多母狗都有。像猫妈妈给小猫洗脸一样，它洗干净了巴克身上的伤口。定期地，每天早上早饭后，它履行着它自己约定的职责，直到巴克逐渐地像期待桑顿到来一样，也那么强烈地期待着这只牧师般的母狗的到来。尼格，同样很友好，虽然这方面的证据很少。它是一只巨大的黑狗，半猎狗半鹿血统，有一双会笑的眼睛和一个无穷无尽的好脾气。
　　使巴克吃惊的是，这些狗对它毫无嫉妒之心，它们看上去一起在分享着约翰。桑顿对它们共同的友好和宽厚。随着巴克的渐渐康复，它们一起引诱它去参加各种各样荒谬可笑的游戏，这些游戏就连约翰。桑顿本人也忍不住要来参加。在这种时兴的游戏中，巴克渐渐地痊愈了，渐渐地进入了一个崭新的环境之中。爱，真正多情的爱，是它有生以来第一次所感受到的。这种经历，它在法官磨房主的那个太阳能亲吻到的桑塔。克拉拉山谷里的丘陵地带里是没有过的。和法官的儿子们一起去打猎，一起去旅行，那是一种工作上的合作关系。和法官的孙子们在一起，它扮演的是一种豪华壮丽的监护人角色。而和法官本人在一起，它有一种雄壮威严的友谊感。但是，爱，发热的、真正燃烧的爱，那种疯狂的崇拜的爱，却是在和约翰。桑顿在一起时才产生的。
　　这个人救了它的命，这是其一。但更进一步，他是它理想的主人。别的人看待他们的狗，只是从工作平安的角度，从生意上的便利出发的。可他却把狗看成是他自己的孩子。因为主人无法去做一些事，才有他的孩子去做。不仅如此，主人还看得更远。他从不忘记一句友好的问候，或是一句喝彩的话语。他总是坐下来，和狗们进行长时间的交谈，（“来点儿气”——桑顿这样称呼这样的谈话）。这种嗜好，他和它们都是非常喜欢的。他有一种特殊的方法：用他那双粗糙的双手抚摩着巴克的脑袋，亲昵地把巴克的头摇来晃去。他错误地叫着巴克的名字，而巴克却偏偏就喜欢他这样错叫它。巴克明白，没有什么更大的快乐能比的上这种粗糙的手的抚摩、拥抱和那种喃喃地诅咒和笑骂了。每次他抱着它的头摇来晃去，都好似要把它的心从它的身体里狂喜地摇出来，这使它心旷神怡。每当这种时候，他把它放开了，它就欢蹦乱跳，咧嘴大笑，眼睛里流光溢彩，激动地喉咙震颤着发不出声音来。在这种忘形的状态中，约翰。桑顿就总会虔诚谦恭地大喊：“上帝呀！你除了不会说话什么都会干！”巴克有一个表达爱的诡计，几乎跟伤害差不多。它常常用它的嘴量一量桑顿的手。它的嘴凶猛地接近手，用牙咬住手上的肉，咬住好长一段时间，在手上留下很深的印痕。巴克明白，主人的咒骂都是对它爱的话语；而桑顿也知道，巴克假装的咬也是一种爱的表示。
　　但在大多数时候，巴克的爱只是用崇拜来表达。当桑顿摸着它和它说话时，它狂放地高兴，它不去追寻什么回报，不象斯给特。斯给特喜欢把自己的鼻子嗅到桑顿的手掌下，轻轻地推来推去。它也不象那个尼格，尼格总是偷偷地走过来，把它巨大的头放到桑顿的膝盖下休息。巴克只满意于远距离的崇拜。它会长时间地带着极大的兴趣，热切地、机敏地爬在那里，爬在桑顿的脚下，看着他的脸，看着主人的每一个动作、主人每种神态的改变。它思考着、研究着，随时准备听从主人的每一个指示和暗示。或者，如果条件容许，它会爬的更远一点儿、爬在旁边或者他的后面，观察着主人的轮廓，观察着他身体的每一个偶尔的动作。经常地，它就用这种方式和主人神交着。它注视的目光会落在主人头的周围，主人也会盯着它看。桑顿不说话，他的思想从他的眼神中闪出来；而巴克的心中所想也从它的眼中迸发出来。
　　在它获救后好长一段时间里，巴克不喜欢桑顿看它的目光。桑顿离开帐篷，走进帐篷，它都跟在他的脚后。自从它来到北极地区，它的几位短期主人都使它产生过一种恐惧感，使它认为没有一个主人会改变对狗的态度。它害怕桑顿也会像波罗特、费兰柯斯以及那个半苏格兰血统的哈尔一样忘记它的生命。甚至在晚上、在睡梦中，它都被这种想法缠的不行。每当这种时候，它就会放弃睡觉，悄悄溜出帐篷，站在寒冷之中，听着主人睡着了的呼吸声。
　　但现在它却承受着约翰。桑顿极大的爱，这种在北极地区竟然还会有的爱、这种看起来好象是预先就受到文明影响了的爱，唤起了巴克对原始奋斗的巨大的爱，而它也仍然活生生地、鲜明地保留着这种原始奋斗的爱。忠诚和献身，这种诞生于血和火之中的爱，在它的内心里还是存在着的。可它仍然还保留着它自身的野性和多谋善断。现在它坐在约翰。桑顿的火堆边，但它毕竟是一个野生的东西，来自野性化了的世界。它宁愿如此也不愿做一条这样的狗：一条从温暖的南方而来，只是踩在祖辈们的文明标记之上的狗。因为这种巨大的爱，它不能从桑顿这个人身上偷来。要是在别的什么人那里，在别的什么营地里，它要想得到这种爱，它都不会犹豫片刻的，它会去偷的，并且这种它偷来爱的狡猾还使它不致被发觉。
　　它的脸上身上有别的狗牙所留下的记号。它作起战来和以前一样凶猛，不过却更加敏捷机灵了。吵架的时候，斯给特和尼格脾气太好——另外它们都是属于约翰。桑顿的，巴克不和它们吵。但对一只陌生的狗来说，不管它是什么种，不管它曾有多么英勇，它都要快速地承认：巴克是至高无上的；或者发现它自己是在和一个可怕的敌手进行着为生存而战的争斗。并且巴克还不慈悲，它很明白大棒和狗牙的法律。它从不放弃一次利益，在和敌人作战、通向死亡的路上，它从不后退。它已经从斯佩茨那里学会了许多，从和邮政警察的狗们发生的那次主要的战斗中学会了许多。它知道在生和死之间没有中间路好走，它必须掌握或者被掌握。而显示慈悲、宽恕是软弱的表现，慈悲和宽恕在这原始的生存中是不存在的。在这里，害怕是不能被理解的，理解了害怕将导致死亡。杀死对方或被对方杀死；吃了对手或被对手所吃，这就是法律。而这种赤裸裸的法律，这种从时代的小路上，从高山峻岭中，从荆棘丛林中走出来的法律它是必须得遵守的。
　　它比它所看到的这个时代里的一切，它所感受到的这个地区里的一切都要成熟的多。它联系着过去和现在：潮起潮落的汹涌澎湃和春夏秋冬的循环轮回在它的面前运动着，而这样的运动却又永远地落在了它的后面。
　　现在它坐在约翰。桑顿的火堆边。它是一条宽胸膛的狗，有一口白牙，有一身长毛。它有所有狗的方式、态度和阴影：半狼的、全狼的、紧迫的、激励的。吃肉就要吃出肉的滋味；渴了，就去喝水；能窥测出流向身旁的风；能分辨出发自大森林里野性生命所发出的声音，并能和它们进行交谈；能随时控制自己的情绪，指导自己的行动；要睡觉，就躺下去睡，并且还要做梦，做起梦来还要胡说八道一气。
　　不客气地说吧，这些阴暗隐蔽的东西都在向它点头招呼。每一天，人，和人的主张、要求从它这里滑向更远的地方。在森林的深处，有一个声音在呼唤着。它——巴克经常能听到这种呼唤。这种神秘的呼唤，谁听到了都要发抖，都要受到引诱。它感到有股力量强迫它把背转向火，转向周围被踏平的大地。它感到有股力量强迫它要一头扎进大森林里，要去奔跑、奔跑。它不知要奔向哪里，为什么要奔向那里；它也不想知道要奔向哪里，为什么要奔向那里。这种呼唤的声音很是专横，很是紧急，就在大森林的深处……可是它也一样经常地获得了那种在软软的、没被裂开的土地上正撑开的绿色的阴凉，还有那种爱，那种约翰。桑顿又把它拉回到火堆旁的爱。
　　桑顿独自容纳着巴克。其余的人都没有这种福份，有机会的旅行者们可能也赞扬巴克、宠爱它，但是巴克对这些都很冷淡。倘若有人太过明显地对巴克有所偏爱，它都会站起来跑开。
　　当桑顿的合伙人汉斯和皮特坐着一直被望眼欲穿的木筏回来时，巴克拒绝注意他们，直到它了解了他们和桑顿都是很亲密的朋友为止。自那以后，巴克就以一种被动的、默认的方式容忍了他们对它的友好，从他们那里接受友谊。并把对他们的这种被动的容忍，当成是反过来对他们这些人的最大恩惠。汉斯、皮特和桑顿一样，有着大大咧咧的言谈举止，贴着土地睡觉，思考方式简单，看上去很是清澈透明，毫无心眼。在他们从道森锯木厂旁边的旋涡里驾着木筏回来后，他们就理解了巴克，理解了巴克所走过的路。于是他们就不再坚持巴克一定要和斯给特、尼格一样地对他们那样亲密了。
　　对桑顿，巴克的爱是越来越强烈了。桑顿在这些男人们中间是孤独的。在夏季的旅行中，他会在巴克的背上放上一个包裹。对巴克来说，没有什么事情太巨大了而不能去做，只要桑顿下命令。
　　一天，（他们从漂木筏的所得中拿出了一些钱，离开道森地区往塔纳纳河的上游去了）桑顿和他的狗们坐在峭壁的顶峰上。这峭壁直上直下，三百英尺下才见到裸露的山岩。桑顿坐在峭壁的边上，巴克紧挨着他。桑顿忽然起了一个念头，他招呼汉斯和皮特注意他以前没想到过的这个实验：“跳，巴克！”他发了令，挥着胳膊指向一个深坑。巴克跳了过去，桑顿瞬间在这巨大的山崖边一把拉住了巴克。汉斯和皮特则把他们使劲地往回拉住以保证安全。
　　“这很神，很奇特！”皮特说。实验过去后，他们打开了话匣子。
　　桑顿摇摇头：“不，这很辉煌！也很可怕！你知道吗？有时这样做，我也很害怕。”“我可不愿做一个让它悬空了、再去伸手拉着它的人。”皮特看着巴克，下结论地说。
　　“这太危险了！太刺激了！”汉斯接过话说：“我就有这种想法。”他们到了阿拉斯加的环城。（该城1893年发现黄金。1897年道森地区大罢工后，该城逐渐废弃。）除夕夜过去了，皮特的忧虑成为了现实。“黑”布顿，一个脾气很坏、很恶毒的人，在酒吧里一直在和一个新来的伙计吵架。这时桑顿兴致勃勃地走了过去，站在二者之间。巴克习惯地爬在拐角，头放在前爪上，看着主人的一举一动。布顿出其不意地出了手，直向桑顿的胸口打来。桑顿一下子被打得后退了几步，只是靠着抓住了吧台的铁把手才勉强站稳。
　　旁观者听到的既非狗叫也非狗喊，而是一声最好形容为“咆哮”的吼声。他们看到巴克一下子跳起到半空，嘴就对准了布顿的嗓子眼。“黑”布顿本能求生地挥舞着胳膊，被巴克扑倒在地板上。巴克压在布顿的身上，牙松开了他的胳膊，嘴却对着他的喉咙。这下子，恶魔般的“黑”布顿只能部分成功地扭动着身子，他的喉咙已被撕破了。这时人们围向了巴克，巴克被赶开了。但当大夫检查布顿流血的伤口时，巴克还在上下左右地搜索着，不依不饶地狂吼着。并试图再一次冲上去，却被一排有敌意的大棒逼着退了回去。后来，在这个点上召开了一次“矿工会议”，会上的人们一致认为巴克的火气大，不能留在附近。于是巴克在会议期间就被送到别处去了，但是它的名声却从此鹊起，它的名字被传遍了阿拉斯加的每一个营地。
　　接着，这年秋天，巴克在另一次非常时兴的行动中救了桑顿的命。当时，他们三个合伙人：桑顿、汉斯和皮特正撑着一艘又长又窄的撑杆船，在四十里弯的一条险峻河道里顺流而下。汉斯和皮特的工作是：用一条细细的马尼拉绳，绕在岸上的一棵棵树上，慢慢地使船往下漂走。桑顿用一根杆子在撑船，不时地对着岸上呼喊。巴克在岸上，既担心又焦急，和船保持着同样的速度，眼睛从没离开过它的主人。
　　在一个特别糟糕的地点，没被水淹没的岩石边缘露出在水面上。汉斯放松了绳子，桑顿把杆子指向岩石，想用杆子顶住石头，使船饶开划到急流中去。就这么做着的时候，飞流而下的急流像脱缰的野马奔腾咆哮着。汉斯想看一下绳子。不料检查的太突然了，船开始不稳了，开始在水中乱晃。桑顿猛地被甩到船边，船一下子翻了，人和物都沉入到湍急的水中。在这段野马般的水流中，是没有游泳者能生还的。
　　巴克刹那间跃起，从三百码开外处跳入水中。在疯狂地打着旋的水里，它追上了桑顿，桑顿猛地拉住了巴克的尾巴。巴克向着岸边，用它所有非凡的气力向前游着。可是这种直接向岸边的游动进展得很慢，而顺水下漂却令人吃惊的快。身下，野马似的水流向上涌着，发出震耳欲聋的吼声。浪打在岩石上，被撕裂成千百万碎片，又向岩石反射而去。岩石却像一把巨大的梳子，用它的牙齿过滤着峰涌而来的急流。碰撞在最后面陡峭山岩上的水流又被打了回来，产生了可怕的吸力。
　　桑顿明白，从这里登陆是不可能的。他用尽全身的力气突然抱住了一块岩石，顾不上碰伤又被打向了第二块石头。还没等缓过一口气，又被急流冲向了第三块。他双手死死地抓住了岩石滑溜溜的尖端。他解开了巴克，用压过水流的吼声大喊：“走开！巴克！走开！”巴克控制不了自己，顺水快速地漂了下去，拼死在水中挣扎着。但它不能成功地游回来。它一遍又一遍地听着主人的命令，使劲将头举过水面，好象是要最后再看主人一眼，然后服从地向岸边游去了。它拼尽全力地游着，硬是在刚才那段不能游泳、发生事故的地方上了岸。
　　岸上的人知道，一个人抱住滑溜溜的岩石，面对着飞流而下的水流最多只能呆上几分钟。于是他们就飞快地往上游跑。在距离桑顿不远的上方，他们用那根停住小船的绳子斜绑在巴克身上。仔细地进行了判断：绳子在它游动时，要既不会勒上它，又要不会妨碍它的游动，然后他们把巴克投入水中。巴克勇敢地向前游着，但在急流中不能游的很直。等到巴克发现这一点时已是很迟了，桑顿和它并肩时向它扒了五六次，都无法靠近它。结果巴克无效地游过去了。
　　汉斯麻利地停住了绳子，就像巴克也是一条船。于是巴克套在紧紧的绳子上划过水面，脑袋不时地浸没在水里，它又挣扎着露出了头。当巴克被拉到岸上时，它已被淹得够戗。汉斯和皮特拼力把巴克拖了上来。巴克大口大口地喘着气，胸脯一上一下地，口里往外吐着水。它摇摇摆摆地站了起来，又一下子倒了下去。桑顿微弱的声音传了过来。虽然他们没说什么，但他们都知道：桑顿已到极限了，到了绝境了。巴克听到主人的声音，浑身如电击一般地又跳了起来，冲到了在岸边的汉斯和皮特跟前，冲到它刚才下水的地方。
　　绳子又一次套在了巴克身上，它又下水了。巴克向前游去。这一次它在水中游得更直了些，它已经算计错一次了，不能有罪地再错一次。汉斯松着绳子，但放得不是很开，而皮特则保证不使绳子绞在一起。巴克戴着绳子直接游到桑顿的正上方，然后稍转了一下身子，用一种特别的训练速度，头对着主人就游了过去。桑顿看见它游过来了。当巴克胡乱扑腾水的时候，身后的水流全力地推着它，它扑了过去，两只前爪紧紧地抱住了桑顿粗大的脖子。汉斯把绳子绕在树上，使绳子不再往下。巴克和主人在水里紧紧地拉扯着，绳子勒得很紧，令人窒息。有时主人在水上，有时巴克在水上。他们游过了锯齿般的岩石，一次又一次地碰在暗礁上，终于，他们拉着绳子回到了岸上。
　　桑顿倒了下去，肚子猛地撞在汉斯和皮特预先从河里打捞上来的木头上。他第一眼先看巴克，看着它一瘸一拐明显失去生气的躯体。尼克正在狂吠，斯给特则在舔着巴克湿淋淋的面孔和那双紧闭的眼睛。桑顿小心谨慎、跌跌撞撞地走到巴克跟前，仔细检查了它的身体，发现有三根肋骨断了。
　　“太难为它了！”桑顿大声喊到：“我们就在这宿营。”他们就在那里宿了营，直到巴克折断了的肋骨被接上，它又能行走了。
　　这年冬天，在道森，巴克又扮演了一次开拓者的角色，也许看上去不是那么轰轰烈烈，那么英雄气十足，但却使它的名字多次镶嵌在阿拉斯加名声很旺的图腾拄上了。这次开拓尤其使桑顿他们三个人满足，因为他们需要有能力在这处女般贞洁的北极东方，进行一次满怀长久希望的旅行，他们需要旅行的装备、旅行的费用。当时在这个地区，矿工们还没有出现。这事发端于一次在爱尔多瑞多。撒龙的谈话。在这次谈话中，人们大大地夸奖着他们自己的狗。巴克因为以往的记录而成为这些人谈话的目标，桑顿被强烈地虚荣心驱赶着来护卫巴克。半小时后一个人说，他的狗能拉五百磅重的雪橇行走；另一个人则吹他的狗能拉六百磅重；第三个人则说他的狗能拉七百磅。
　　“呸！”约翰。桑顿说：“巴克能拉一千磅！”“能拉着走吗？能拉着走一百码吗？”马托森，一位找金王喊到，就是刚才吹他的狗能拉七百磅的那位。
　　“能行！能拉着走一百码！”约翰。桑顿冷冷地说。
　　“好！”马托森说着，慢慢地思考着，为的是要让所有的人都能听清：“我出一千块钱说它不能！钱放在这里！”说着，他使劲将一袋大香肠大小的金粉砰地一声摔在酒吧的桌子上。
　　没有人说话。桑顿的卤莽，如果这算是卤莽的话，被大家伙儿认可了。桑顿能感到有一股热血慢慢地涌上了他的脸，他的舌头欺骗了他，他不知道巴克能不能拉动一千磅的东西。半吨重哪！这巨大的重量吓住了他。他对巴克的力气很有信心，经常认为它有能力拉起这么重的东西。但是直到现在，他没有看到过这种可能性。现在，众人的眼睛都在注视着他，他们不说话，在沉默中等待着。进一步说，桑顿现在可拿不出一千元钱来，汉斯和皮特也不能。
　　“我现在到外面去弄一个雪橇来，放上二十只五十磅重的面粉袋子！”马托森继续用那种粗鲁而坦然的语气说着：“希望这不妨碍你。”桑顿没有说话。他不知道该说什么好，他茫然地、像是失去了思考力地看着屋里每个人的脸，希望能有一种什么方式能使事情从头开始。吉姆。奥布瑞，也是一位找金王，还是过去的朋友，吸引了他的目光。这对他是一个暗示，好象是在提醒他，提醒他去做他从没有梦想去做的事情似的。
　　“你能借给我一千元吗？”他问到，几乎听不清。
　　“行！”奥布瑞答道，砰地一声扔下一个鼓鼓囊囊的袋子，摆在马托森袋子的旁边：“虽然我也没多大信心，约翰，我看这个畜生能行！”爱尔多瑞多全镇出动，都来观看这场打赌比赛。人们离开了桌子，商人们和游戏的保持者们都走上前来，看这场赌赛的结果，都来押赌。好几百人戴着皮帽子、皮手套、穿着皮衣、皮裤，都在不远的地方围定了雪橇。马托森的雪橇已经装上了一千磅重的面粉，已经在那里一两个小时了。在这种强烈的寒冷中，（零下六十度）跑过来的人很快就冻成硬硬的雪堆了。有人提议说巴克根本就不能动这个雪橇，他们下的赌注是二比一。人们叫嚷着、喊着有关“出发”“爆发”的双关语、俏皮话。奥布瑞主张：桑顿有权让围观者松动松动，有权让巴克从完全静止状态下出发；马托森则坚持：出发应包括怎么地都得快一点，不要让那些围观者冻僵了；而多数早已打过赌的人则根据自己的好恶把赌注下到三比一来反对巴克。
　　这里没有接受者。没有人相信巴克能完成这件活儿。桑顿已经匆匆忙忙地下了赌，已经背了债了，他带着深深的疑惑。现在他盯着雪撬，盯着这个事实，盯着只有十只狗的狗队才能拉起的、在雪中堆起的这堆货物，他觉得要完成这个任务是太不可能了。马托森更加得意扬扬了。
　　“三比一！”他宣布：“我在那个数字上再给你一千元，怎么样？桑顿！”桑顿脸上的疑惑是明显的。但是他的斗志被唤了起来——这种斗志高高翱翔在不可能意识到的成败上，对所有聚集在这次战斗上的喧闹声充耳不闻。他叫来了汉斯和皮特。他们的袋子是瘪的，加上他自己的，他们三个人总共只有两百多块钱。在他们日见减少的财富中，这就是他们的全部了，但他们还是毫不犹豫地放在马托森六百元钱的旁边。三比一就三比一！
　　没有十只狗的狗队，只有巴克。巴克戴着自己的绳套，被拉到了雪橇跟前。它感觉到，它一定要用某种方式为约翰。桑顿做出什么伟大的事来。赞美它辉煌出现的沙沙低语声甚嚣尘上，。巴克处在绝对良好的状态中，它过剩的体力没有一丝一毫的浪费；一百五十磅的体重使它显得那样年富力强、精力充沛和坚韧不拔；浑身上下的皮毛闪着丝绸般的光泽；横过颈下、肩膀的长毛，又恢复了往昔的雄姿，半竖了起来，看上去每根毛发都有力量去做运动，都显示着超群的活力和动力；那巨大的胸膛、有力的前肢和身体的其余部分，比例协调；肌肉在皮下紧绷绷地凸显着。人们感受到了这些肌肉，认定它们像铁一样的坚硬，加上去的赌注又下降到了二比一。
　　“好！先生们，好，先生们！”哥伦比亚河北岸印第安部落最后王朝的一位成员司库卡母。本切司王结结巴巴地说：“我向你们提议八百元！阁下，比赛前。阁下，八百块钱！”桑顿摇着头一步步地走到巴克跟前。
　　“你要离开它站着！”马托森抗议：“这是公平的游戏，你要离它远一点！”人们静下来了，只能听到赌徒们得意扬扬的二比一的声音。人们都知道：巴克是一只优秀的狗。但二十袋五十磅重的面粉，在他们眼中是太大了，不能不捂住他们钱袋的绳子。
　　桑顿半跪在巴克的旁边，他的双手支在脸颊上。他不能像平时那样习惯地、开玩笑地摇巴克，或者对巴克喃喃地说些爱的诅咒，只能小声对它说：“就像你爱我，巴克，就像你爱我一样！”他只能低声说这些话。巴克用一种被压抑的热情悲鸣着。
　　人们好奇地观看着。游戏正变的越来越神秘，看上去像一场念咒、戏法和魔法。当桑顿站起了脚，巴克用前爪抓住了他戴手套的手，用牙轻轻地咬了一下，然后慢慢地松开了牙。桑顿极不情愿地一步步走了回来。
　　“开始！巴克！”桑顿下令。
　　巴克绷紧了全身，然后慢慢地走了几步。它从来就都是这样开始的。
　　“走！”桑顿大喝了一声，划破了紧张的寂静。
　　巴克向右动了一下，一头扎进向前的运动中。装着二十袋面粉的雪橇绳子，一下子勒在巴克一百五十磅的躯体上。雪橇哆嗦了一下，巴克的四肢下爆发出了一声清脆的、划过冰雪的丝丝声。
　　“走！”桑顿又喊了一声。
　　巴克这次加倍用了力气。这次是向左。雪橇先是发出几乎听不见的吱吱声，接着声音越来越响。雪橇在原地打着转，巴克的四肢打着划、划擦过雪地，巴克向旁边划了几英寸，雪橇突地向前动了一下。旁观者憋住呼吸，热情地、下意识地看着这个场景。
　　“前进！”桑顿的命令像一声熗响。巴克拼命向前。绳索紧绷绷的雪橇发出了刺耳的吱吱声。巴克全身的力气径直集中在一个点上，它做出了可怕的努力。丝绸般皮毛下的一块块肌肉像活了似的翻滚着、打着结；它把整个胸脯低向了大地；头向下前方探着；四肢由飞快转向疯狂；所有的指甲都狠狠地抓在硬结的雪地上，抠出了一排排平行的、鲜明的凹槽。
　　雪橇摇动着、颤抖着、缓缓地向前启动了。
　　巴克的一只脚划了一下，旁观者中有人“哎呀”了一声。接着，雪橇犹豫不决地又动了起来，好象成功地摆脱了一次被阻止的冲撞，尽管它根本就没有被什么东西挡住过。……一英寸……一英寸……两英寸……能感觉出，阻力在减小。当雪橇获得冲力时，巴克就向前用劲，直到雪橇稳稳地沿着大道大动了起来。
　　人们大口地喘着气，用力地呼吸着。他们根本就没有发觉：刚才，他们根本就没有呼吸。桑顿跑在后面，用短促而热烈的话语鼓励着巴克。距离早就被量了出来。当巴克接近那堆用来标记一百码的柴火堆时，欢呼声就开始爆发了。声浪越来越大，在巴克通过了柴火堆，对停止的命令表现得迟疑不决时，声浪终于变成了震天地的吼声。
　　人们紧张的心情松弛了下来，个个眼里都满含着热泪，甚至包括那个马托森。帽子和手套飞上了天空；大家互相握手拥抱，不管是谁，不管认识不认识。大家的笑声、闹声、热腾腾地滚动着一排排激动人心的大浪。
　　桑顿跪在巴克旁边，头对着头。他把巴克摇得前仰后合。
　　急急忙忙走过来的人们听着他的咒骂。桑顿长久地、热情地、轻轻地、充满柔情蜜意地咒骂着巴克。
　　“天哪！阁下，阁下！”司库卡母。本切司王唾沫星乱溅地说：“我要为它给你一千元。阁下！一千元。啊…不不不。一千二百元！阁下！一千二百元！”桑顿站了起来，他双眼湿润，泪流满面：“先生，”他对司库卡母。本切司王说：“不！先生。你应该下地狱！这是我对你最好的回答！”巴克用牙咬住了桑顿的手。桑顿抱着它笑着、摇着，共同的喜悦使他们化为了一体。
　　旁观者尊敬地、有礼貌地离开了他们。
　　他们再也不会随便地被人分离开了。  

CHAPTER 7

THE SOUNDING OF THE CALL

When Buck earned sixteen hundred dollars in five minutes for John Thornton, he made it possible for his master to pay off certain debts and to journey with his partners into the East after a fabled lost mine, the history of which was as old as the history of the country. Many men had sought it; few had found it; and more than a few there were who had never returned from the quest. This lost mine was steeped in tragedy and shrouded in mystery. No one knew of the first man. The oldest tradition stopped before it got back to him. From the beginning there had been an ancient and ramshackle cabin. Dying men had sworn to it, and to the mine the site of which it marked, clinching their testimony with nuggets that were unlike any known grade of gold in the Northland.
But no living man had looted this treasure house, and the dead were dead; wherefore John Thornton and Pete and Hans, with Buck and half a dozen other dogs, faced into the East on an unknown trail to achieve where men and dogs as good as themselves had failed. They sledded seventy miles up the Yukon, swung to the left into the Stewart River, passed the Mayo and the McQuestion, and held on until the Stewart itself became a streamlet, threading the upstanding peaks which marked the backbone of the continent.

John Thornton asked little of man or nature. He was unafraid of the wild. With a handful of salt and a rifle he could plunge into the wilderness and fare wherever he pleased and as long as he pleased. Being in no haste, Indian fashion, he hunted his dinner in the course of the day's traveling; and if he failed to find it, like the Indian, he kept on traveling, secure in the knowledge that sooner or later he would come to it. So, on this great journey into the East, straight meat was the bill of fare, ammunition and tools principally made up the load on the sled, and the timecard was drawn upon the limitless future.
To Buck it was boundless delight, this hunting, fishing, and indefinite wandering through strange places. For weeks at a time they would hold on steadily, day after day; and for weeks upon end they would camp, here and there, the dogs loafing and the men burning holes through frozen muck and gravel and washing countless pans of dirt by the heat of the fire. Sometimes they went hungry, sometimes they feasted riotously, all according to the abundance of game and the fortune of hunting. Summer arrived, and dogs and men, packs on their backs, rafted across blue mountain lakes, and descended or ascended unknown rivers in slender boats whipsawed from the standing forest.
The months came and went, and back and forth they twisted through the uncharted vastness, where no men were and yet where men had been if the Lost Cabin were true. They went across divides in summer blizzards, shivered under the midnight sun on naked mountains between the timber line and the eternal snows, dropped into summer valleys amid swarming gnats and flies, and in the shadows of glaciers picked strawberries and flowers as ripe and fair as any the Southland could boast. In the fall of the year they penetrated a weird lake country, sad and silent, where wild fowl had been, but where then there was no life nor sign of life--only the blowing of chill winds, the forming of ice in sheltered places, and the melancholy rippling of waves on lonely beaches.
And through another winter they wandered on the obliterated trails of men who had gone before. Once, they came upon a path blazed throughout the forest, an ancient path, and the Lost Cabin seemed very near. But the path began nowhere and ended nowhere, and remained a mystery, as the man who made it and the reason he made it remained a mystery. Another time they chanced upon the time-graven wreckage of a hunting lodge, and amid the shreds of rotted blankets John Thornton found a long-barreled flintlock. He knew it for a Hudson Bay Company gun of the young days in the Northwest, when such a gun was worth its weight in beaver skins packed flat. And that was all--no hint as to the man who in an early day had reared the lodge and left the gun among the blankets.
Spring came on once more, and at the end of all their wandering they found, not the Lost Cabin, but a shallow placer in a broad valley where the gold showed like yellow butter across the bottom of the washing pan. They sought no farther. Each day they worked earned them thousands of dollars in clean dust and nuggets, and they worked every day. The gold was sacked in moosehide bags, fifty pounds to the bag, and piled like so much firewood outside the spruce-bough lodge. Like giants they toiled, days flashing on the heels of days like dreams as they heaped the treasure up.
There was nothing for the dogs to do, save the hauling of meat now and again that Thornton killed, and Buck spent long hours musing by the fire. The vision of the short-legged hairy man came to him more frequently, now that there was little work to be done; and often, blinking by the fire, Buck wandered with him in that other world which he remembered.
The salient thing of this other world seemed fear. When he watched the hairy man sleeping by the fire, head between his knees and hands clasped above, Buck saw that he slept restlessly, with many starts and awakenings at which times he would peer fearfully into the darkness and fling more wood upon the fire. Did they walk by the beach of a sea, where the hairy man gathered shellfish and ate them as he gathered, it was with eyes that roved everywhere for hidden danger and with legs prepared to run like the wind at its first appearance. Through the forest they crept noiselessly, Buck at the hairy man's heels; and they were alert and vigilant, the pair of them, ears twitching and moving and nostrils quivering, for the man heard and smelled as keenly as Buck. The hairy man could spring up into the trees and travel ahead as fast as on the ground, swinging by the arms from limb to limb, sometimes a dozen feet apart, letting go and catching, never falling, never missing his grip. In fact, he seemed as much at home among the trees as on the ground; and Buck had memories of nights of vigil spent beneath the trees wherein the hairy man roosted, holding on tightly as he slept.
And closely akin to the visions of the hairy man was the call still sounding in the depths of the forest. It filled him with a great unrest and strange desires. It caused him to feel a vague, sweet gladness, and he was aware of wild yearnings and stirrings for he knew not what. Sometimes he pursued the call into the forest, looking for it as though it were a tangible thing, barking softly or defiantly, as the mood might dictate. He would thrust his nose into the cool wood moss, or into the black soil where long grasses grew, and snort with joy at the fat earth smells; or he would crouch for hours, as if in concealment, behind fungus covered trunks of fallen trees, wide-eyed and wide-eared to all that moved and sounded about him. It might be, lying thus, that he hoped to surprise this call he could not understand. But he did not know why he did these various things. He was impelled to do them, and did not reason about them at all.
Irresistible impulses seized him. He would be lying in camp, dozing lazily in the heat of the day, when suddenly his head would lift and his ears cock up, intent and listening, and he would spring to his feet and dash away, and on and on, for hours, through the forest aisles and across the open spaces where the niggerheads bunched. He loved to run down dry watercourses, and to creep and spy upon the bird life in the woods. For a day at a time he would lie in the underbrush where he could watch the partridges drumming and strutting up and down. But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called--called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.
One night he sprang from sleep with a start, eager-eyed, nostrils quivering and scenting, his mane bristling in recurrent waves. From the forest came the call --(or one note of it, for the call was many-noted), distinct and definite as never before--a long-drawn howl, like, yet unlike, any noise made by husky dog. And he knew it, in the old familiar way, as a sound heard before. He sprang through the sleeping camp and in swift silence dashed through the woods. As he drew closer to the cry he went more slowly, with caution in every movement, till he came to an open place among the trees, and looking out saw, erect on haunches, with nose pointed to the sky, a long, lean, timber wolf.
He had made no noise, yet it ceased from its howling and tried to sense his presence. Buck stalked into the open, half-crouching, body gathered compactly together, tail straight and stiff, feet falling with unwonted care. Every movement advertised commingled threatening and overture of friendliness. It was the menacing truce that marks the meeting of wild beasts that prey. But the wolf fled at sight of him. He followed, with wild leapings, in a frenzy to overtake. He ran him into a blind channel, in the bed of the creek, where a timber jam barred the way. The wolf whirled about, pivoting on his hind legs after the fashion of Joe and of all cornered husky dogs, snarling and bristling, clipping his teeth together in a continuous and rapid succession of snaps.
Buck did not attack, but circled him about and hedged him in with friendly advances. The wolf was suspicious and afraid; for Buck made three of him in weight, while his head barely reached Buck's shoulder. Watching his chance, he darted away, and the chase was resumed. Time and again he was cornered, and the thing repeated, though he was in poor condition or Buck could not so easily have overtaken him. He would run till Buck's head was even with his flank, when he would whirl around at bay, only to dash away again at the first opportunity.
But in the end Buck's pertinacity was rewarded; for the wolf, finding that no harm was intended, finally sniffed noses with him. Then they became friendly, and played about in the nervous, half-coy way with which fierce beasts belie their fierceness. After some time of this the wolf started off at an easy lope in a manner that plainly showed he was going somewhere. He made it clear to Buck that he was to come, and they ran side by side through the somber twilight, straight up the creek bed, into the gorge from which it issued, and across the bleak divide where it took its rise.
On the opposite slope of the watershed they came down into a level country where were great stretches of forest and many streams, and through these great stretches they ran steadily, hour after hour, the sun rising higher and the day growing warmer. Buck was wildly glad. He knew he was at last answering the call, running by the side of his wood brother toward the place from where the call surely came. Old memories were coming upon him fast, and he was stirring to them as of old he stirred to the realities of which they were the shadows. He had done this thing before, somewhere in that other and dimly remembered world, and he was doing it again, now, running free in the open, the unpacked earth underfoot, the wide sky overhead.
They stopped by a running stream to drink, and, stopping, Buck remembered John Thornton. He sat down. The wolf started on toward the place from where the call surely came, then returned to him, sniffing noses and making actions as though to encourage him. But Buck turned about and started slowly on the back track. For the better part of an hour the wild brother ran by his side, whining softly. Then he sat down, pointed his nose upward, and howled. It was a mournful howl, and as Buck held steadily on his way he heard it grow faint and fainter until it was lost in the distance.
John Thornton was eating dinner when Buck dashed into camp and sprang upon him in a frenzy of affection, overturning him, scrambling upon him, licking his face, biting his hand--"playing the general tom-fool," as John Thornton characterized it, the while he shook Buck back and forth and cursed him lovingly.
For two days and nights Buck never left camp, never let Thornton out of his sight. He followed him about at his work, watched him while he ate, saw him into his blankets at night and out of them in the morning. But after two days the call in the forest began to sound more imperiously than ever. Buck's restlessness came back on him, and he was haunted by recollections of the wild brother, and of the smiling land beyond the divide and the run side by side through the wide forest stretches. Once again he took to wandering in the woods, but the wild brother came no more; and though he listened through long vigils, the mournful howl was never raised.
He began to sleep out at night, staying away from camp for days at a time; and once he crossed the divide at the head of the creek and went down into the land of timber and streams. There he wandered for a week, seeking vainly for fresh sign of the wild brother, killing his meat as he traveled and traveling with the long, easy lope that seems never to tire. He fished for salmon in a broad stream that emptied somewhere into the sea, and by this stream he killed a large black bear, blinded by the mosquitoes while likewise fishing, and raging through the forest helpless and terrible. Even so, it was a hard fight, and it aroused the last latent remnants of Buck's ferocity. And two days later, when he returned to his kill and found a dozen wolverines quarreling over the spoil, he scattered them like chaff; and those that fled left two behind who would quarrel no more.
The blood-longing became stronger than ever before. He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone, by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostile environment where only the strong survived. Because of all this he became possessed of a great pride in himself, which communicated itself like a contagion to his physical being. It advertised itself in all his movements, was apparent in the play of every muscle, spoke plainly as speech in the way he carried himself, and made his glorious furry coat if anything more glorious. But for the stray brown on his muzzle and above his eyes, and for the splash of white hair that ran midmost down his chest, he might well have been mistaken for a gigantic wolf, larger than the largest of the breed. From his St. Bernard father he had inherited size and weight, but it was his shepherd mother who had given shape to that size and weight. His muzzle was the long wolf muzzle, save that it was larger than the muzzle of any wolf; and his head, somewhat broader, was the wolf head on a massive scale.
His cunning was wolf cunning, and wild cunning; his intelligence, shepherd intelligence and St. Bernard intelligence; and all this, plus an experience gained in the fiercest of schools, made him as formidable a creature as any that roamed the wild. A carnivorous animal, living on a straight meat diet, he was in full flower, at the high tide of his life, over-spilling with vigor and virility. When Thornton passed a caressing hand along his back, a snapping and crackling followed the hand, each hair discharging its pent magnetism at the contact. Every part, brain and body, nerve tissue and fiber, was keyed to the most exquisite pitch; and between all the parts there was a perfect equilibrium or adjustment. To sights and sounds and events which required action, he responded with lighting-like rapidity. Quickly as a husky dog could leap to defend from attack or to attack, he could leap twice as quickly. He saw the movement, or heard sound, and responded in less time than another dog required to compass the mere seeing or hearing. He perceived and determined and responded in the same instant. In point of fact the three actions of perceiving, determining, and responding were sequential; but so infinitesimal were the intervals of time between them that they appeared simultaneous. His muscles were surcharged with vitality, and snapped into play sharply, like steel springs. Life streamed through him in splendid flood, glad and rampant, until it seemed that it would burst him asunder in sheer ecstasy and put forth generously over the world.
"Never was there such a dog," said John Thornton one day, as the partners watched Buck marching out of camp.
"When he was made, the mold was broke," said Pete.
"Py Jingo! I think so mineself," Hans affirmed.
They saw him marching out of camp, but they did not see the instant and terrible transformation which took place as soon as he was within the secrecy of the forest. He no longer marched. At once he became a thing of the wild, stealing along softly, cat-footed, a passing shadow that appeared and disappeared among the shadows. He knew how to take advantage of every cover, to crawl on his belly like a snake, and like a snake to leap and strike. He could take a ptarmigan from its nest, kill a rabbit as it slept, and snap in mid-air the little chipmunks fleeing a second too late for the trees. Fish, in open pools, were not too quick for him; nor were beaver, mending their dams, too wary. he killed to eat, not from wantonness; but he preferred to eat what he killed himself. So a lurking humor ran through his deeds, and it was his delight to steal upon the squirrels, and, when he all but had them, to let them go, chattering in mortal fear to the tree-tops.
As the fall of the year came on, the moose appeared in greater abundance, moving slowly down to meet the winter in the lower and less rigorous valleys. Buck had already dragged down a stray part-grown calf; but he wished strongly for larger and more formidable quarry, and he came upon it one day on the divide at the head of the creek. A band of twenty moose had crossed over from the land of streams and timber, and chief among them was a great bull. He was in a savage temper, and, standing over six feet from the ground, was as formidable an antagonist as even Buck could desire. Back and forth the bull tossed his great palmated antlers, branching to fourteen points and embracing seven feet with the tips. His small eyes burned with a vicious and bitter light, while he roared with fury at sight of Buck.
From the bull's side, just forward of the flank, protruded a feathered arrow-end, which accounted for his savageness. Guided by that instinct which came from the old hunting days of the primordial world, Buck proceeded to cut the bull out from the herd. It was no slight task. He would bark and dance about in front of the bull, just out of reach of the great antlers and of the terrible splay hoofs which could have stamped his life out with a single blow. Unable to turn his back on the fanged danger and go on, the bull would be driven into paroxysms of rage. At such moments he charged Buck, who retreated craftily, luring him on by a simulated inability to escape. But when he was thus separated from his fellows, two or three of the younger bulls would charge back upon Buck and enable the wounded bull to rejoin the herd.
There is a patience of the wild--dogged, tireless, persistent as life itself--that holds motionless for endless hours the spider in its web, the snake in its coils, the panther in its ambuscade; this patience belongs peculiarly to life when it hunts its living food; and it belonged to Buck as he clung to the flank of the herd, retarding its march, irritating the young bulls, worrying the cows with their half-grown calves, and driving the wounded bull mad with helpless rage. For half a day this continued. Buck multiplied himself, attacking from all sides, enveloping the herd in a whirlwind of menace, cutting out his victim as fast as it could rejoin its mates, wearing out the patience of creatures preyed upon, which is a lesser patience than that of creatures preying.
As the day wore along and the sun dropped to its bed in the northwest (the darkness had come back and the fall nights were six hours long), the young bulls retraced their steps more and more reluctantly to the aid of their beset leader. The down-coming winter was hurrying them on to the lower levels, and it seemed they could never shake off this tireless creature that held them back. Besides, it was not the life of the herd, or of the young bulls, that was threatened. The life of only one member was demanded, which was a remoter interest than their lives, and in the end they were content to pay the toll.
As twilight fell the old bull stood with lowered head, watching his mates--the cows he had known, the calves he had fathered, the bulls he had mastered--as they shambled on at a rapid pace through the fading light. He could not follow, for before his nose leaped the merciless fanged terror that would not let him go. Three hundred weight more than half a ton he weighed; he had lived a long, strong life, full of fight and struggle, and at the end he faced death at the teeth of a creature whose head did not reach beyond his great knuckled knees.
From then on, night and day, Buck never left his prey, never gave it a moment's rest, never permitted it to browse the leaves of trees or the shoots of young birch and willow. Nor did he give the wounded bull opportunity to slake his burning thirst in the slender trickling streams they crossed. Often, in desperation, he burst into long stretches of flight. At such time Buck did not attempt to stay him, but loped easily at his heels, satisfied with the way the game was played, lying down when the moose stood still, attacking him fiercely when he strove to eat or drink.
The great head drooped more and more under its tree of horns, and the shambling trot grew weaker and weaker. He took to standing for long periods, with nose to the ground and dejected ears dropped limply; and Buck found more time in which to get water for himself and in which to rest. At such moments, panting with red lolling tongue and with eyes fixed upon the big bull, it appeared to Buck that a change was coming over the face of things. He could feel a new stir in the land. As the moose were coming into the land, other kinds of life were coming in. Forest and stream and air seemed palpitant with their presence. The news of it was borne in upon him, not by sight, or sound, or smell, but by some other and subtler sense. He heard nothing, saw nothing, yet knew that the land was somehow different; that through it strange things were afoot and ranging; and he resolved to investigate after he had finished the business in hand.
At last, at the end of the fourth day, he pulled the great moose down. For a day and a night he remained by the kill, eating and sleeping, turn and turn about. Then, rested, refreshed and strong, he turned his face toward camp and John Thornton. He broke into the long easy lope, and went on, hour after hour, never at loss for the tangled way, heading straight home through strange country with a certitude of direction that put man and his magnetic needle to shame.
As he held on he became more and more conscious of the new stir in the land. There was life abroad in it different from the life which had been there throughout the summer. No longer was this fact borne in upon him in some subtle, mysterious way. The birds talked of it, the squirrels chattered about it, the very breeze whispered of it. Several times he stopped and drew in the fresh morning air in great sniffs, reading a message which made him leap on with greater speed. He was oppressed with a sense of calamity happening, if it were not calamity already happened, and as he crossed the last watershed and dropped down into the valley toward camp, he proceeded with greater caution.
Three miles away he came upon a fresh trail that sent his neck hair rippling and bristling. It led straight toward camp and John Thornton. Buck hurried on, swiftly and stealthily, every nerve straining and tense, alert to the multitudinous details which told a story--all but the end. His nose gave him a varying description of the passage of the life on the heels of which he was traveling. He remarked the pregnant silence of the forest. The bird life had flitted. The squirrels were in hiding. One only he saw--a sleek gray fellow, flattened against a gray dead limb so that he seemed a part of it, a woody excrescence upon the wood itself.
As Buck slid along with the obscureness of a gliding shadow, his nose was jerked suddenly to the side as though a positive force had gripped and pulled it. He followed the new scent into a thicket and found Nig. He was lying on his side, dead where he had dragged himself, an arrow protruding, head and feathers, from either side of his body.
A hundred yards farther on, Buck came upon one of the sled dogs Thornton had bought in Dawson. This dog was thrashing about in a death-struggle, directly on the trail, and Buck passed around him without stopping. From the camp came the faint sound of many voices, rising and falling in a sing-song chant. Bellying forward to the edge of the clearing, he found Hans, lying on his face, feathered with arrows like a porcupine. At the same instant Buck peered out where the spruce-bough lodge had been and saw what made his hair leap straight up on his neck and shoulders. A gust of overpowering rage swept over him. He did not know that he growled, but he growled aloud with a terrible ferocity. For the last time in his life he allowed passion to usurp cunning and reason, and it was because of his great love for John Thornton that he lost his head.
The Yeehats were dancing about the wreckage of the spruce-bough lodge when they heard a fearful roaring and saw rushing upon them an animal the like of which they had never seen before. It was Buck, a live hurricane of fury, hurling himself upon them in a frenzy to destroy. He sprang at the foremost man--it was the chief of the Yeehats--ripping the throat wide open till the rent jugular spouted a fountain of blood. He did not pause to worry the victim, but ripped in passing, with the next bound tearing wide the throat of a second man. There was no withstanding him. He plunged about in their very midst, tearing, rending, destroying, in constant and terrific motion which defied the arrows they discharged at him. In fact, so inconceivably rapid were his movements, and so closely were the Indians tangled together, that they shot one another with the arrows; and one young hunter, hurling a spear at Buck in mid-air, drove it through the chest of another hunter with such force that the point broke through the skin of the back and stood out beyond. then a panic seized the Yeehats, and they fled in terror to the woods, proclaiming as they fled the advent of the Evil Spirit.
And truly Buck was the Fiend incarnate, raging at their heels and dragging them down like deer as they raced through the trees. It was a fateful day for the Yeehats. They scattered far and wide over the country, and it was not till a week later that the last of the survivors gathered together in a lower valley and counted their losses. As for Buck, wearying of the pursuit, he returned to the desolated camp. He found Pete where he had been killed in his blankets in the first moment of surprise. Thornton's desperate struggle was fresh-written on the earth and Buck scented every detail of it down to the edge of a deep pool. By the edge, head and fore feet in the water, lay Skeet, faithful to the last. The pool itself, muddy and discolored from the sluice boxes, effectually hid what it contained, and it contained John Thornton; for Buck followed his trace into the water, from which no trace led away.
All day Buck brooded by the pool or roamed restlessly about the camp. Death, as a cessation of movement, as a passing out and away from the lives of the living, he knew, and he knew John Thornton was dead. It left a great void in him, somewhat akin to hunger, but a void which ached and ached, and which food could not fill. At times, when he paused to contemplate the carcasses of the Yeehats, he forgot the pain of it; and at such times he was aware of a great pride in himself--a pride greater than any he had yet experienced. He had killed man, the noblest game of all, and he had killed in the face of the law of club and fang. He sniffed the bodies curiously. They had died so easily. It was harder to kill a husky dog than them. They were no match at all, were it not for their arrows and spears and clubs. Thenceforward he would be unafraid of them except when they bore in their hands their arrows, spears and clubs.
Night came on, and a full moon rose high over the trees into the sky, lighting the land till it lay bathed in ghostly day. And with the coming of the night, brooding and mourning by the pool, Buck came alive to a stirring of the new life in the forest other than that which the Yeehats had made. He stood up, listening and scenting. From far away drifted a faint, sharp yelp, followed by a chorus of similar sharp yelps. As the moments passed the yelps grew closer and louder. Again Buck knew them as things heard in that other world which persisted in his memory. He walked to the center of the open space and listened. It was the call, the many-noted call, sounding more luringly and compelling than ever before. And as never before, he was ready to obey. John Thornton was dead. The last tie was broken. Man and the claims of man no longer bound him.
Hunting their living meat, as the Yeehats were hunting it, on the flanks of the migrating moose, the wolf pack had at last crossed over from the land of streams and timber and invaded Buck's valley. Into the clearing where the moonlight streamed, they poured in a silvery flood; and in the center of the clearing stood Buck, motionless as a statue, waiting their coming. they were awed, so still and large he stood, and a moment's pause fell, till the boldest one leaped straight for him. Like a flash Buck struck, breaking the neck. Then he stood, without movement, as before, the stricken wolf rolling in agony behind him. Three others tried it in sharp succession; and one after the other they drew back, streaming blood from slashed throats or shoulders.
This was sufficient to fling the whole pack forward, pellmell, crowded together, blocked and confused by its eagerness to pull down the prey. Buck's marvelous quickness and agility stood him in good stead. Pivoting on his hind legs, and snapping and gashing, he was everywhere at once, presenting a front which was apparently unbroken so swiftly did he whirl and guard from side to side. But to prevent them from getting behind him, he was forced back, down past the pool and into the creek bed, till he brought up against a high gravel bank. He worked along to a right angle in the bank which the men had made in the course of mining, and in this angle he came to bay, protected on three sides and with nothing to do but face the front.
And so well did he face it, that at the end of half an hour the wolves drew back discomfited. The tongues of all were out and lolling, the white fangs showing cruelly white in the moonlight. Some were lying down with heads raised and ears pricked forward; others stood on their feet, watching him; and still others were lapping water from the pool. One wolf, long and lean and gray, advanced cautiously, in a friendly manner, and Buck recognized the wild brother with whom he had run for a night and a day. He was whining softly, and, as Buck whined, they touched noses.
Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came forward. Buck writhed his lips into the preliminary of a snarl, but sniffed noses with him. Whereupon the old wolf sat down, pointed nose at the moon, and broke out the long wolf howl. The others sat down and howled. And now the call came to Buck in unmistakable accents. He, too, sat down and howled. This over, he came out of his angle and the pack crowded around him, sniffing in half-friendly, half-savage manner. the leaders lifted the yelp of the pack and sprang away into the woods. The wolves swung in behind, yelping in chorus. And Buck ran with them, side by side with the wild brother, yelping as he ran.
And here may well end the story of Buck. The years were not many when the Yeehats noted a change in the breed of timber wolves; for some were seen with splashes of brown on head and muzzle, and with a rift of white centering down the chest. But more remarkable than this the Yeehats tell of a Ghost Dog that runs at the head of the pack. They are afraid of this Ghost Dog, for it has cunning greater than they, stealing from their camps in the fierce winters, robbing their traps, slaying their dogs, and defying their bravest hunters.
Nay, the tale grows worse. Hunters there are who fail to return to the camp, and hunters there have been whom their tribesmen found with throats slashed cruelly open and with wolf prints about them in the snow greater than the prints of any wolf. Each fall, when the Yeehats follow the movement of the moose, there is a certain valley which they never enter. And women there are who become sad when the word goes over the fire of how the Evil Spirit came to select that valley for an abiding-place.
In the summers there is one visitor, however, to that valley, of which the Yeehats do not know. It is a great, gloriously coated wolf, like, and yet unlike, all other wolves. He crosses alone from the smiling timber land and comes down into an open space among the trees. Here a yellow stream flows from rotted moose-hide sacks and sinks into the ground, with long grasses growing through it and vegetable mold overrunning it and hiding its yellow from the sun; and here he muses for a time, howling once, long and mournfully, ere he departs.
But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.