B2 中高級 美國腔 40598 分類 收藏
CHAPTER I. Into the Primitive
"Old longings nomadic leap, Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep Wakens the ferine strain."
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing,
not alone for himself, but for every tide- water dog, strong of muscle and with warm,
long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.
Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and
because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands
of men were rushing into the Northland.
These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles
by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.
Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley.
Judge Miller's place, it was called.
It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses
could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides.
The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-
spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars.
At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front.
There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-
clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape
arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches.
Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank
where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot
And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the
four years of his life.
It was true, there were other dogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a
place, but they did not count.
They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses
of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican
hairless,--strange creatures that rarely
put nose out of doors or set foot to ground.
On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who
yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and
protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.
But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel- dog.
The whole realm was his.
He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted
Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on
wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet
before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or
rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to
the fountain in the stable yard, and even
beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches.
Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored,
for he was king,--king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's
place, humans included.
His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable companion, and
Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father.
He was not so large,--he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds,--for his mother,
Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog.
Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes
of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal
During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated
aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as country
gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation.
But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house-dog.
Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles;
and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a
health preserver.
And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike
dragged men from all the world into the frozen North.
But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the
gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance.
Manuel had one besetting sin.
He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting
weakness--faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain.
For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener's helper do not lap
over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.
The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers' Association, and the boys were
busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel's treachery.
No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a
And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag
station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money
chinked between them.
"You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm," the stranger said gruffly, and
Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck under the collar.
"Twist it, an' you'll choke 'm plentee," said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a
ready affirmative. Buck had accepted the rope with quiet
To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew,
and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own.
But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled
He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to
command. But to his surprise the rope tightened
around his neck, shutting off his breath.
In quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the
throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back.
Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue
lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely.
Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he
been so angry.
But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was
flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.
The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that he was
being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance.
The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was.
He had travelled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a
baggage car.
He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king.
The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him.
His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of
him once more.
"Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the baggageman, who had
been attracted by the sounds of struggle. "I'm takin' 'm up for the boss to 'Frisco.
A crack dog-doctor there thinks that he can cure 'm."
Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little
shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front.
"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it over for a thousand,
cold cash."
His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was
ripped from knee to ankle. "How much did the other mug get?" the
saloon-keeper demanded.
"A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me."
"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated; "and he's worth
it, or I'm a squarehead."
The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand.
"If I don't get the hydrophoby--" "It'll be because you was born to hang,"
laughed the saloon-keeper.
"Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight," he added.
Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half
throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors.
But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing
the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung
into a cagelike crate.
There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride.
He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange
Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate?
He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity.
Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open,
expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least.
But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered in at him by
the sickly light of a tallow candle.
And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage
But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up
the crate.
More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and
unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars.
They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth
till he realized that that was what they wanted.
Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon.
Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many
Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon;
a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he
was trucked off the steamer into a great
railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car.
For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking
locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank.
In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and
they had retaliated by teasing him.
When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him
and taunted him.
They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and
It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity,
and his anger waxed and waxed.
He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering
and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch.
For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him
into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen
throat and tongue.
He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck.
That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show
They would never get another rope around his neck.
Upon that he was resolved.
For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights
of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul
of him.
His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend.
So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the
express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at
Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back
A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed
the book for the driver.
That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely
against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a
hatchet and a club.
"You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked.
"Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.
There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and
from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance.
Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging and
wrestling with it.
Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and
growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly
intent on getting him out.
"Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening sufficient for the
passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the hatchet and
shifted the club to his right hand.
And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the spring, hair
bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes.
Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury,
surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights.
In mid air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that
checked his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip.
He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side.
He had never been struck by a club in his life, and did not understand.
With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet and
launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought
crushingly to the ground.
This time he was aware that it was the club, but his madness knew no caution.
A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.
After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush.
He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his
beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver.
Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose.
All the pain he had endured was as nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this.
With a roar that was almost lionlike in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the
But the man, shifting the club from right to left, coolly caught him by the under
jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward.
Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to
the ground on his head and chest. For the last time he rushed.
The man struck the shrewd blow he had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck
crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless.
"He's no slouch at dog-breakin', that's wot I say," one of the men on the wall cried
"Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays," was the reply of the driver,
as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses.
Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength.
He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater.
"'Answers to the name of Buck,'" the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-
keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate and contents.
"Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, "we've had our little
ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that.
You've learned your place, and I know mine.
Be a good dog and all 'll go well and the goose hang high.
Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin' outa you.
As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though
Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest.
When the man brought him water he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal
of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.
He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken.
He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club.
He had learned the lesson, and in all his after life he never forgot it.
That club was a revelation.
It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction
The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he
faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused.
As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some
docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them
pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater.
Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven
home to Buck: a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to be obeyed, though not
necessarily conciliated.
Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the
man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand.
Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in the
struggle for mastery.
Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedlingly, and in all
kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater.
And at such times that money passed between them the strangers took one or more of the
dogs away with them.
Buck wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear of the future
was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when he was not selected.
Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man who spat broken
English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buck could not
"Sacredam!" he cried, when his eyes lit upon Buck.
"Dat one dam bully dog! Eh? How moch?"
"Three hundred, and a present at that," was the prompt reply of the man in the red
sweater. "And seem' it's government money, you ain't
got no kick coming, eh, Perrault?"
Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been
boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so fine an
The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor would its despatches travel the slower.
Perrault knew dogs, and when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand-
-"One in ten t'ousand," he commented mentally.
Buck saw money pass between them, and was not surprised when Curly, a good-natured
Newfoundland, and he were led away by the little weazened man.
That was the last he saw of the man in the red sweater, and as Curly and he looked at
receding Seattle from the deck of the Narwhal, it was the last he saw of the warm
Curly and he were taken below by Perrault and turned over to a black-faced giant
called Francois.
Perrault was a French-Canadian, and swarthy; but Francois was a French-Canadian
half-breed, and twice as swarthy.
They were a new kind of men to Buck (of which he was destined to see many more),
and while he developed no affection for them, he none the less grew honestly to
respect them.
He speedily learned that Perrault and Francois were fair men, calm and impartial
in administering justice, and too wise in the way of dogs to be fooled by dogs.
In the 'tween-decks of the Narwhal, Buck and Curly joined two other dogs.
One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from Spitzbergen who had been brought away
by a whaling captain, and who had later accompanied a Geological Survey into the
He was friendly, in a treacherous sort of way, smiling into one's face the while he
meditated some underhand trick, as, for instance, when he stole from Buck's food at
the first meal.
As Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of Francois's whip sang through the air,
reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained to Buck but to recover the bone.
That was fair of Francois, he decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's
The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not attempt to
steal from the newcomers.
He was a gloomy, morose fellow, and he showed Curly plainly that all he desired
was to be left alone, and further, that there would be trouble if he were not left
"Dave" he was called, and he ate and slept, or yawned between times, and took interest
in nothing, not even when the Narwhal crossed Queen Charlotte Sound and rolled
and pitched and bucked like a thing possessed.
When Buck and Curly grew excited, half wild with fear, he raised his head as though
annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned, and went to sleep again.
Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the propeller, and though
one day was very like another, it was apparent to Buck that the weather was
steadily growing colder.
At last, one morning, the propeller was quiet, and the Narwhal was pervaded with an
atmosphere of excitement. He felt it, as did the other dogs, and knew
that a change was at hand.
Francois leashed them and brought them on deck.
At the first step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushy
something very like mud.
He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was falling
through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell upon
He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue.
It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone.
This puzzled him.
He tried it again, with the same result. The onlookers laughed uproariously, and he
felt ashamed, he knew not why, for it was his first snow.
CHAPTER II. The Law of Club and Fang
Buck's first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare.
Every hour was filled with shock and surprise.
He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of
things primordial. No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with
nothing to do but loaf and be bored.
Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a moment's safety.
All was confusion and action, and every moment life and limb were in peril.
There was imperative need to be constantly alert; for these dogs and men were not town
dogs and men. They were savages, all of them, who knew no
law but the law of club and fang.
He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his first
experience taught him an unforgetable lesson.
It is true, it was a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived to profit by
it. Curly was the victim.
They were camped near the log store, where she, in her friendly way, made advances to
a husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large as she.
There was no warning, only a leap in like a flash, a metallic clip of teeth, a leap out
equally swift, and Curly's face was ripped open from eye to jaw.
It was the wolf manner of fighting, to strike and leap away; but there was more to
it than this.
Thirty or forty huskies ran to the spot and surrounded the combatants in an intent and
silent circle.
Buck did not comprehend that silent intentness, nor the eager way with which
they were licking their chops. Curly rushed her antagonist, who struck
again and leaped aside.
He met her next rush with his chest, in a peculiar fashion that tumbled her off her
feet. She never regained them, This was what the
onlooking huskies had waited for.
They closed in upon her, snarling and yelping, and she was buried, screaming with
agony, beneath the bristling mass of bodies.
So sudden was it, and so unexpected, that Buck was taken aback.
He saw Spitz run out his scarlet tongue in a way he had of laughing; and he saw
Francois, swinging an axe, spring into the mess of dogs.
Three men with clubs were helping him to scatter them.
It did not take long.
Two minutes from the time Curly went down, the last of her assailants were clubbed
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 hind quarters whenever he was in error.
Spitz was the leader, likewise experienced, and while he could not always get at Buck,
he growled sharp reproof now and again, or cunningly threw his weight in the traces to
jerk Buck into the way he should go.
Buck learned easily, and under the combined tuition of his two mates and Francois made
remarkable progress.
Ere they returned to camp he knew enough to stop at "ho," to go ahead at "mush," to
swing wide on the bends, and to keep clear of the wheeler when the loaded sled shot
downhill at their heels.
"T'ree vair' good dogs," Francois told Perrault.
"Dat Buck, heem pool lak hell. I tich heem queek as anyt'ing."
By afternoon, Perrault, who was in a hurry to be on the trail with his despatches,
returned with two more dogs. "Billee" and "Joe" he called them, two
brothers, and true huskies both.
Sons of the one mother though they were, they were as different as day and night.
Billee's one fault was his excessive good nature, while Joe was the very opposite,
sour and introspective, with a perpetual snarl and a malignant eye.
Buck received them in comradely fashion, Dave ignored them, while Spitz proceeded to
thrash first one and then the other.
Billee wagged his tail appeasingly, turned to run when he saw that appeasement was of
no avail, and cried (still appeasingly) when Spitz's sharp teeth scored his flank.
But no matter how Spitz circled, Joe whirled around on his heels to face him,
mane bristling, ears laid back, lips writhing and snarling, jaws clipping
together as fast as he could snap, and eyes
diabolically gleaming--the incarnation of belligerent fear.
So terrible was his appearance that Spitz was forced to forego disciplining him; but
to cover his own discomfiture he turned upon the inoffensive and wailing Billee and
drove him to the confines of the camp.
By evening Perrault secured another dog, an old husky, long and lean and gaunt, with a
battle-scarred face and a single eye which flashed a warning of prowess that commanded
He was called Sol-leks, which means the Angry One.
Like Dave, he asked nothing, gave nothing, expected nothing; and when he marched
slowly and deliberately into their midst, even Spitz left him alone.
He had one peculiarity which Buck was unlucky enough to discover.
He did not like to be approached on his blind side.
Of this offence Buck was unwittingly guilty, and the first knowledge he had of
his indiscretion was when Sol-leks whirled upon him and slashed his shoulder to the
bone for three inches up and down.
Forever after Buck avoided his blind side, and to the last of their comradeship had no
more trouble.
His only apparent ambition, like Dave's, was to be left alone; though, as Buck was
afterward to learn, each of them possessed one other and even more vital ambition.
That night Buck faced the great problem of sleeping.
The tent, illumined by a candle, glowed warmly in the midst of the white plain; and
when he, as a matter of course, entered it, both Perrault and Francois bombarded him
with curses and cooking utensils, till he
recovered from his consternation and fled ignominiously into the outer cold.
A chill wind was blowing that nipped him sharply and bit with especial venom into
his wounded shoulder.
He lay down on the snow and attempted to sleep, but the frost soon drove him
shivering to his feet.
Miserable and disconsolate, he wandered about among the many tents, only to find
that one place was as cold as another.
Here and there savage dogs rushed upon him, but he bristled his neck-hair and snarled
(for he was learning fast), and they let him go his way unmolested.
Finally an idea came to him.
He would return and see how his own team- mates were making out.
To his astonishment, they had disappeared.
Again he wandered about through the great camp, looking for them, and again he
returned. Were they in the tent?
No, that could not be, else he would not have been driven out.
Then where could they possibly be?
With drooping tail and shivering body, very forlorn indeed, he aimlessly circled the
tent. Suddenly the snow gave way beneath his fore
legs and he sank down.
Something wriggled under his feet. He sprang back, bristling and snarling,
fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a friendly little yelp reassured him,
and he went back to investigate.
A whiff of warm air ascended to his nostrils, and there, curled up under the
snow in a snug ball, lay Billee.
He whined placatingly, squirmed and wriggled to show his good will and
intentions, and even ventured, as a bribe for peace, to lick Buck's face with his
warm wet tongue.
Another lesson. So that was the way they did it, eh?
Buck confidently selected a spot, and with much fuss and waste effort proceeded to dig
a hole for himself.
In a trice the heat from his body filled the confined space and he was asleep.
The day had been long and arduous, and he slept soundly and comfortably, though he
growled and barked and wrestled with bad dreams.
Nor did he open his eyes till roused by the noises of the waking camp.
At first he did not know where he was. It had snowed during the night and he was
completely buried.
The snow walls pressed him on every side, and a great surge of fear swept through
him--the fear of the wild thing for the trap.
It was a token that he was harking back through his own life to the lives of his
forebears; for he was a civilized dog, an unduly civilized dog, and of his own
experience knew no trap and so could not of himself fear it.
The muscles of his whole body contracted spasmodically and instinctively, the hair
on his neck and shoulders stood on end, and with a ferocious snarl he bounded straight
up into the blinding day, the snow flying about him in a flashing cloud.
Ere he landed on his feet, he saw the white camp spread out before him and knew where
he was and remembered all that had passed from the time he went for a stroll with
Manuel to the hole he had dug for himself the night before.
A shout from Francois hailed his appearance.
"Wot I say?" the dog-driver cried to Perrault.
"Dat Buck for sure learn queek as anyt'ing."
Perrault nodded gravely.
As courier for the Canadian Government, bearing important despatches, he was
anxious to secure the best dogs, and he was particularly gladdened by the possession of
Three more huskies were added to the team inside an hour, making a total of nine, and
before another quarter of an hour had passed they were in harness and swinging up
the trail toward the Dyea Canon.
Buck was glad to be gone, and though the work was hard he found he did not
particularly despise it.
He was surprised at the eagerness which animated the whole team and which was
communicated to him; but still more surprising was the change wrought in Dave
and Sol-leks.
They were new dogs, utterly transformed by the harness.
All passiveness and unconcern had dropped from them.
They were alert and active, anxious that the work should go well, and fiercely
irritable with whatever, by delay or confusion, retarded that work.
The toil of the traces seemed the supreme expression of their being, and all that
they lived for and the only thing in which they took delight.
Dave was wheeler or sled dog, pulling in front of him was Buck, then came Sol-leks;
the rest of the team was strung out ahead, single file, to the leader, which position
was filled by Spitz.
Buck had been purposely placed between Dave and Sol-leks so that he might receive
Apt scholar that he was, they were equally apt teachers, never allowing him to linger
long in error, and enforcing their teaching with their sharp teeth.
Dave was fair and very wise.
He never nipped Buck without cause, and he never failed to nip him when he stood in
need of it.
As Francois's whip backed him up, Buck found it to be cheaper to mend his ways
than to retaliate.
Once, during a brief halt, when he got tangled in the traces and delayed the
start, both Dave and Solleks flew at him and administered a sound trouncing.
The resulting tangle was even worse, but Buck took good care to keep the traces
clear thereafter; and ere the day was done, so well had he mastered his work, his mates
about ceased nagging him.
Francois's whip snapped less frequently, and Perrault even honored Buck by lifting
up his feet and carefully examining them.
It was a hard day's run, up the Canon, through Sheep Camp, past the Scales and the
timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts hundreds of feet deep, and over the great
Chilcoot Divide, which stands between the
salt water and the fresh and guards forbiddingly the sad and lonely North.
They made good time down the chain of lakes which fills the craters of extinct
volcanoes, and late that night pulled into the huge camp at the head of Lake Bennett,
where thousands of goldseekers were
building boats against the break-up of the ice in the spring.
Buck made his hole in the snow and slept the sleep of the exhausted just, but all
too early was routed out in the cold darkness and harnessed with his mates to
the sled.
That day they made forty miles, the trail being packed; but the next day, and for
many days to follow, they broke their own trail, worked harder, and made poorer time.
As a rule, Perrault travelled ahead of the team, packing the snow with webbed shoes to
make it easier for them.
Francois, guiding the sled at the gee-pole, sometimes exchanged places with him, but
not often.
Perrault was in a hurry, and he prided himself on his knowledge of ice, which
knowledge was indispensable, for the fall ice was very thin, and where there was
swift water, there was no ice at all.
Day after day, for days unending, Buck toiled in the traces.
Always, they broke camp in the dark, and the first gray of dawn found them hitting
the trail with fresh miles reeled off behind them.
And always they pitched camp after dark, eating their bit of fish, and crawling to
sleep into the snow. Buck was ravenous.
The pound and a half of sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for each day, seemed
to go nowhere. He never had enough, and suffered from
perpetual hunger pangs.
Yet the other dogs, because they weighed less and were born to the life, received a
pound only of the fish and managed to keep in good condition.
He swiftly lost the fastidiousness which had characterized his old life.
A dainty eater, he found that his mates, finishing first, robbed him of his
unfinished ration.
There was no defending it. While he was fighting off two or three, it
was disappearing down the throats of the others.
To remedy this, he ate as fast as they; and, so greatly did hunger compel him, he
was not above taking what did not belong to him.
He watched and learned.
When he saw Pike, one of the new dogs, a clever malingerer and thief, slyly steal a
slice of bacon when Perrault's back was turned, he duplicated the performance the
following day, getting away with the whole chunk.
A great uproar was raised, but he was unsuspected; while Dub, an awkward
blunderer who was always getting caught, was punished for Buck's misdeed.
This first theft marked Buck as fit to survive in the hostile Northland
It marked his adaptability, his capacity to adjust himself to changing conditions, the
lack of which would have meant swift and terrible death.
It marked, further, the decay or going to pieces of his moral nature, a vain thing
and a handicap in the ruthless struggle for existence.
It was all well enough in the Southland, under the law of love and fellowship, to
respect private property and personal feelings; but in the Northland, under the
law of club and fang, whoso took such
things into account was a fool, and in so far as he observed them he would fail to
prosper. Not that Buck reasoned it out.
He was fit, that was all, and unconsciously he accommodated himself to the new mode of
life. All his days, no matter what the odds, he
had never run from a fight.
But the club of the man in the red sweater had beaten into him a more fundamental and
primitive code.
Civilized, he could have died for a moral consideration, say the defence of Judge
Miller's riding-whip; but the completeness of his decivilization was now evidenced by
his ability to flee from the defence of a moral consideration and so save his hide.
He did not steal for joy of it, but because of the clamor of his stomach.
He did not rob openly, but stole secretly and cunningly, out of respect for club and
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
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
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
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
And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long
and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling
down through the centuries and through him.
And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to
them was the meaning of the stiffness, and the cold, and dark.
Thus, as token of what a puppet thing life is, the ancient song surged through him and
he came into his own again; and he came because men had found a yellow metal in the
North, and because Manuel was a gardener's
helper whose wages did not lap over the needs of his wife and divers small copies
of himself.
CHAPTER III. 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
At the end of this day they made a bleak and miserable camp on the shore of Lake Le
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
The tent they had discarded at Dyea in order to travel light.
A few sticks of driftwood furnished them with a fire that thawed down through the
ice and left them to eat supper in the dark.
Close in under the sheltering rock Buck made his nest.
So snug and warm was it, that he was loath to leave it when Francois distributed the
fish which he had first thawed over the fire.
But when Buck finished his ration and returned, he found his nest occupied.
A warning snarl told him that the trespasser was Spitz.
Till now Buck had avoided trouble with his enemy, but this was too much.
The beast in him roared.
He sprang upon Spitz with a fury which surprised them both, and Spitz
particularly, for his whole experience with Buck had gone to teach him that his rival
was an unusually timid dog, who managed to
hold his own only because of his great weight and size.
Francois was surprised, too, when they shot out in a tangle from the disrupted nest and
he divined the cause of the trouble.
"A-a-ah!" he cried to Buck. "Gif it to heem, by Gar!
Gif it to heem, the dirty t'eef!" Spitz was equally willing.
He was crying with sheer rage and eagerness as he circled back and forth for a chance
to spring in.
Buck was no less eager, and no less cautious, as he likewise circled back and
forth for the advantage.
But it was then that the unexpected happened, the thing which projected their
struggle for supremacy far into the future, past many a weary mile of trail and toil.
An oath from Perrault, the resounding impact of a club upon a bony frame, and a
shrill yelp of pain, heralded the breaking forth of pandemonium.
The camp was suddenly discovered to be alive with skulking furry forms,--starving
huskies, four or five score of them, who had scented the camp from some Indian
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
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
Pike, the malingerer, leaped upon the crippled animal, breaking its neck with a
quick flash of teeth and a jerk, Buck got a frothing adversary by the throat, and was
sprayed with blood when his teeth sank through the jugular.
The warm taste of it in his mouth goaded him to greater fierceness.
He flung himself upon another, and at the same time felt teeth sink into his own
throat. It was Spitz, treacherously attacking from
the side.
Perrault and Francois, having cleaned out their part of the camp, hurried to save
their sled-dogs.
The wild wave of famished beasts rolled back before them, and Buck shook himself
free. But it was only for a moment.
The two men were compelled to run back to save the grub, upon which the huskies
returned to the attack on the team.
Billee, terrified into bravery, sprang through the savage circle and fled away
over the ice. Pike and Dub followed on his heels, with
the rest of the team behind.
As Buck drew himself together to spring after them, out of the tail of his eye he
saw Spitz rush upon him with the evident intention of overthrowing him.
Once off his feet and under that mass of huskies, there was no hope for him.
But he braced himself to the shock of Spitz's charge, then joined the flight out
on the lake.
Later, the nine team-dogs gathered together and sought shelter in the forest.
Though unpursued, they were in a sorry plight.
There was not one who was not wounded in four or five places, while some were
wounded grievously.
Dub was badly injured in a hind leg; Dolly, the last husky added to the team at Dyea,
had a badly torn throat; Joe had lost an eye; while Billee, the good-natured, with
an ear chewed and rent to ribbons, cried and whimpered throughout the night.
At daybreak they limped warily back to camp, to find the marauders gone and the
two men in bad tempers.
Fully half their grub supply was gone. The huskies had chewed through the 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 frien's," he said softly, "mebbe it mek you mad dog, dose many bites.
Mebbe all mad dog, sacredam!
Wot you t'ink, 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 foot-gear 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, heartbreaking 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
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
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's lash descended, and Buck had the satisfaction of watching Spitz
receive the worst whipping as yet administered to any of the teams.
"One devil, dat Spitz," remarked Perrault.
"Some dam day heem keel dat Buck." "Dat Buck two devils," was Francois's
rejoinder. "All de tam I watch dat Buck I know for
Lissen: some dam fine day heem get mad lak hell an' den heem chew dat Spitz all up an'
spit heem 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.
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.
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 uncontent.
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