°×ÑÀ£¨WHITE FANG£©
Author: Jack London
PART I
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PART ¢ó
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PART ¢õ
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¡¡¡¡ PART ONE.
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¡¡¡¡CHAPTER ONE. The Trail of the Meat.
¡¡¡¡DARK SPRUCE FOREST frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The
trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of
the frost, and they seemed to lean toward each other, black and
ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land.
The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so
lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness.
There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible
than any sadness- a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the
Sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness
of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of
eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It
was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.
¡¡¡¡But there was life, abroad in the land and defiant. Down the
frozen waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs. Their bristly fur was
rimed with frost. Their breath froze in the air as it left their
mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapor that settled upon the hair
of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost. Leather harness was
on the dogs, and leather traces attached them to a sled which
dragged along behind. The sled was without runners. It was made of
stout birch-bark, and its full surface rested on the snow. The front
end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll in order to force down
and under the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it.
On the sled, securely lashed, was a long and narrow oblong box.
There were other things on the sled-blankets, an axe, and a coffee-pot
and frying-pan; but prominent, occupying most of the space, was the
long and narrow oblong box.
¡¡¡¡In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man. At the rear
of the sled toiled a second man. On the sled, in the box, lay a
third man whose toil was over- a man whom the Wild had conquered and
beaten down until he would never move nor struggle again. It is not
the way of the Wild to like movement. Life is an offense to it, for
life is movement; and the Wild aims always to destroy movement. It
freezes the water to prevent it running to the sea; it drives the
sap out of the trees till they are frozen to their mighty hearts;
and most ferociously and terribly of all does the Wild harry and crush
into submission man- man, who is the most restless of life, ever in
revolt against the dictum that all movement must in the end come to
the cessation of movement.
¡¡¡¡But at front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men
who were not yet dead. Their bodies were covered with fur and
soft-tanned leather. Eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated with
the crystals from their frozen breath that their faces were not
discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly masques,
undertakers in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But
under it all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and
mockery and silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure,
pitting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien
and pulseless as the abysses of space.
¡¡¡¡They traveled on without speech, saving their breath for the work of
their bodies. On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with a
tangible presence. It affected their minds as the many atmospheres
of deep water affect the body of the diver. It crushed them with the
weight of unending vastness and unalterable decree. It crushed them
into the remotest recesses of their own minds, pressing out of them,
like juices from the grape, all the false ardors and exaltations and
undue self-values of the human soul, until they perceived themselves
finite and small, specks and motes, moving with weak cunning and
little wisdom amidst the play and interplay of the great blind
elements and forces.
¡¡¡¡An hour went by, and a second hour. The pale light of the short
sunless day was beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the
still air. It soared upward with a swift rush, till it reached its
topmost note, where it persisted, palpitant and tense, and then slowly
died away. It might have been a lost soul wailing, had it not been
invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness. The front
man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man behind. And
then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other.
¡¡¡¡A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needlelike shrillness.
Both men located the sound. It was to the rear, somewhere in the
snow expanse they had just traversed. A third and answering cry arose,
also to the rear and to the left of the second cry.
¡¡¡¡'They're after us, Bill,' said the man at the front.
¡¡¡¡His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent
effort.
¡¡¡¡'Meat is scarce,' answered his comrade. 'I ain't seen a rabbit
sign for days.'
¡¡¡¡Thereafter they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the
hunting-cries that continued to rise behind them.
¡¡¡¡At the fall of darkness they swung the dogs into a cluster of spruce
trees on the edge of the waterway and made a camp. The coffin, at
the side of the fire, served for seat and table. The wolf-dogs,
clustered on the far side of the fire, snarled and bickered among
themselves, but evinced no inclination to stray off into the darkness.
¡¡¡¡'Seems to me, Henry, they're stayin' remarkable close to camp,' Bill
commented.
¡¡¡¡Henry, squatting over the fire and settling the pot of coffee with a
piece of ice, nodded. Nor did he speak till he had taken his seat on
the coffin and begun to eat.
¡¡¡¡'They know where their hides is safe,' he said. 'They'd sooner eat
grub than be grub. They're pretty wise, them dogs.'
¡¡¡¡Bill shook his head. 'Oh, I don't know.'
¡¡¡¡His comrade looked at him curiously. 'First time I ever heard you
say anythin' about their not bein' wise.'
¡¡¡¡'Henry,' said the other, munching with deliberation the beans he was
eating, 'did you happen to notice the way them dogs kicked up when I
was a-feedin' 'em?'
¡¡¡¡'They did cut up more'n usual,' Henry acknowledged.
¡¡¡¡'How many dogs've we got, Henry?'
¡¡¡¡'Six.'
¡¡¡¡'Well, Henry...' Bill stopped for a moment, in order that his
words might gain greater significance. 'As I was sayin', Henry,
we've got six dogs. I took six fish out of the bag. I gave one fish to
each dog, an', Henry, I was one fish short.'
¡¡¡¡'You counted wrong.'
¡¡¡¡'We've got six dogs,' the other reiterated dispassionately. 'I
took out six fish. One Ear didn't get no fish. I come back to the
bag afterward an' got 'm his fish.'
¡¡¡¡'We've only got six dogs,' Henry said.
¡¡¡¡'Henry,' Bill went on, 'I won't say they was all dogs, but there was
seven of 'm that got fish.'
¡¡¡¡Henry stopped eating to glance across the fire and count the dogs.
¡¡¡¡'There's only six now,' he said.
¡¡¡¡'I saw the other one run off across the snow,' Bill announced with
cool positiveness. 'I saw seven.'
¡¡¡¡His comrade looked at him commiseratingly, and said, 'I'll be
almightly glad when this trip's over.'
¡¡¡¡'What d'ye mean by that?' Bill demanded.
¡¡¡¡'I mean that this load of ourn is gettin' on your nerves, an' that
you're beginnin' to see things.'
¡¡¡¡'I thought of that,' Bill answered gravely. 'An' so, when I saw it
run off across the snow, I looked in the snow an' saw its tracks. Then
I counted the dogs an' there was still six of 'em. The tracks is there
in the snow now. D'ye want to look at 'em? I'll show 'm to you.'
¡¡¡¡Henry did not reply, but munched on in silence, until, the meal
finished, he topped it with a final cup of coffee. He wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand and said:
¡¡¡¡'Then you're thinkin' as it was-'
¡¡¡¡A long wailing cry, fiercely sad, from somewhere in the darkness,
had interrupted him. He stopped to listen to it, then he finished
his sentence with a wave of his hand toward the sound of the cry, '-
one of them?'
¡¡¡¡Bill nodded. 'I'd a blame sight sooner think that than anything
else. You noticed yourself the row the dogs made.'
¡¡¡¡Cry after cry, and answering cries, were turning the silence into
a bedlam. From every side the cries arose, and the dogs betrayed their
fear by huddling together and so close to the fire that their hair was
scorched by the heat. Bill threw on more wood, before lighting his
pipe.
¡¡¡¡'I'm thinkin' you're down in the mouth some,' Henry said.
¡¡¡¡'Henry...' He sucked meditatively at his pipe for some time before
he went on. 'Henry, I was a-thinkin' what a blame sight luckier he
is than you an' me'll ever be.'
¡¡¡¡He indicated the third person by a downward thrust of the thumb to
the box on which they sat.
¡¡¡¡'You an' me Henry, when we die, we'll be lucky if we get enough
stones over our carcasses to keep the dogs off of us.'
¡¡¡¡'But we ain't got people an' money an' all the rest, like him,'
Henry rejoined. 'Long-distance funerals is somethin' you an' me
can't exactly afford.'
¡¡¡¡'What gets me, Henry, is what a chap like this, that's a lord or
something in his own country, and that's never had to bother about
grub nor blankets, why he comes a-buttin' round the God-forsaken
ends of the earth- that's what I can't exactly see.'
¡¡¡¡'He might have lived to a ripe old age if he'd stayed to home,'
Henry agreed.
¡¡¡¡Bill opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. Instead, he
pointed toward the wall of darkness that pressed about them from every
side. There was no suggestion of form in the utter blackness; only
could be seen a pair of eyes gleaming like live coals. Henry indicated
with his head a second pair, and a third. Now and again a pair of eyes
moved, or disappeared to appear again a moment later.
¡¡¡¡The unrest of the dogs had been increasing, and they stampeded, in a
surge of sudden fear, to the near side of the fire, cringing and
crawling about the legs of the men. In the scramble one of the dogs
had been overturned on the edge of the fire, and it had yelped with
pain and fright as the smell of its singed coat possessed the air. The
commotion caused the circle of eyes to shift restlessly for a moment
and even to withdraw a bit, but it settled down again as the dogs
became quiet.
¡¡¡¡'Henry, it's a blame misfortune to be out of ammunition.'
¡¡¡¡Bill had finished his pipe, and was helping his companion spread the
bed of fur and blanket upon the spruce boughs which he had laid over
the snow before supper. Henry grunted, and began unlacing his
moccasins.
¡¡¡¡'How many cartridges did you say you had left?' he asked.
¡¡¡¡'Three,' came the answer. 'An' I wisht 'twas three hundred. Then I'd
show 'em what for, damn 'em!'
¡¡¡¡He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely
to prop his moccasins before the fire.
¡¡¡¡'An' I wisht this cold snap'd break,' he went on. 'It's been fifty
below for two weeks now. An' I wisht I'd never started on this trip,
Henry. I don't like the looks of it. I don't feel right, somehow.
An' while I'm wishin', I wisht the trip was over an' done with, an'
you an' me a-sittin' by the fire in Fort McGurry just about now an'
playin' cribbage- that's what I wisht.'
¡¡¡¡Henry grunted and crawled into bed. As he dozed off he was aroused
by his comrade's voice.
¡¡¡¡'Say, Henry, that other one that come in an' got a fish- why
didn't the dogs pitch into it? That's what's botherin' me.'
¡¡¡¡'You're botherin' too much, Bill,' came the sleepy response. 'You
was never like this before. You jes' shut up now, an' go to sleep, an'
you'll be all hunky-dory in the mornin'. Your stomach's sour, that's
what's botherin' you.'
¡¡¡¡The men slept, breathing heavily, side by side, under the one
covering. The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer the
circle they had flung about the camp. The dogs clustered together in
fear, now and again snarling menacingly as a pair of eyes drew
close. Once their uproar became so loud that Bill woke up. He got
out of bed carefully, so as not to disturb the sleep of his comrade,
and threw more wood on the fire. As it began to flame up, the circle
of eyes drew farther back. He glanced casually at the huddling dogs.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at them more sharply. Then he crawled
back into the blankets.
¡¡¡¡'Henry,' he said. 'Oh, Henry.'
¡¡¡¡Henry groaned as he passed from sleep to waking, and demanded,
'What's wrong now?'
¡¡¡¡'Nothin',' came the answer; 'only there's seven of 'em again. I just
counted.'
¡¡¡¡Henry acknowledged receipt of the information with a grunt that slid
into a snore as he drifted back into sleep.
¡¡¡¡In the morning it was Henry who awoke first and routed his companion
out of bed. Daylight was yet three hours away, though it was already
six o'clock; and in the darkness Henry went about preparing breakfast,
while Bill rolled the blankets and made the sled ready for lashing.
¡¡¡¡'Say, Henry,' he asked suddenly, 'how many dogs did you say we had?'
¡¡¡¡'Six.'
¡¡¡¡'Wrong,' Bill proclaimed triumphantly.
¡¡¡¡'Seven again?' Henry queried.
¡¡¡¡'No, five; one's gone.'
¡¡¡¡'The hell!' Henry cried in wrath, leaving the cooking to come and
count the dogs.
¡¡¡¡'You're right, Bill,' he concluded. 'Fatty's gone.'
¡¡¡¡'An' he went like greased lightnin' once he got started. Couldn't
've seen 'm for smoke.'
¡¡¡¡'No chance at all,' Henry concluded. 'They jes' swallowed 'm
alive. I bet he was yelpin' as he went down their throats, damn 'em!'
¡¡¡¡'He always was a fool dog,' said Bill.
¡¡¡¡'But no fool dog ought to be fool enough to go off an' commit
suicide that way.' He looked over the remainder of the team with a
speculative eye that summed up instantly the salient traits of each
animal. 'I bet none of the others would do it.'
¡¡¡¡'Couldn't drive 'em away from the fire with a club,' Bill agreed. 'I
always did think there was somethin' wrong with Fatty, anyway.'
¡¡¡¡And this was the epitaph of a dead dog on the Northland trail-
less scant than the epitaph of many another dog, of many a man.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER TWO. The She-wolf.
¡¡¡¡BREAKFAST EATEN AND the slim camp-outfit lashed to the sled, the men
turned their backs on the cheery fire and launched out into the
darkness. At once began to rise the cries that were fiercely sad-
cries that called through the darkness and cold to one another and
answered back. Conversation ceased. Daylight came at nine o'clock.
At midday the sky to the south warmed to a rose-color, and marked
where the bulge of the earth intervened between the meridian sun and
the northern world. But the rose-color swiftly faded. The gray light
of day that remained lasted until three o'clock, when it, too,
faded, and the pall of the Arctic night descended upon the lone and
silent land.
¡¡¡¡As darkness came on, the hunting-cries to right and left and rear
drew closer- so close that more than once they sent surges of fear
through the toiling dogs, throwing them into short-lived panics.
¡¡¡¡At the conclusion of one such panic, when he and Henry had got the
dogs back in the traces, Bill said:
¡¡¡¡'I wisht they'd strike game somewheres, an' go away an' leave us
alone.'
¡¡¡¡'They do get on the nerves horrible,' Henry sympathized.
¡¡¡¡They spoke no more until camp was made.
¡¡¡¡Henry was bending over and adding ice to the bubbling pot of beans
when he was startled by the sound of a blow, and exclamation from
Bill, and a sharp snarling cry of pain from among the dogs. He
straightened up in time to see a dim form disappearing across the snow
into the shelter of the dark. Then he saw Bill, standing amid the
dogs, half triumphant, half crestfallen, in one hand a stout club,
in the other the tail and part of the body of a sun-cured salmon.
¡¡¡¡'It got half of it,' he announced; 'but I got a whack at it jes' the
same. D'ye hear it squeal?'
¡¡¡¡'What'd it look like?' Henry asked.
¡¡¡¡'Couldn't see. But it had four legs an' a mouth an' hair an'
looked like any dog.'
¡¡¡¡'Must be a tame wolf, I reckon.'
¡¡¡¡'It's damned tame, whatever it is, comin' in here at feedin' time
an' gettin' its whack of fish.'
¡¡¡¡That night, when supper was finished and they sat on the oblong
box and pulled at their pipes, the circle of gleaming eyes drew in
even closer than before.
¡¡¡¡'I wisht they'd spring up a bunch of moose or somethin', an' go away
an' leave us alone,' Bill said.
¡¡¡¡Henry grunted with an intonation that was not all sympathy and for a
quarter of an hour they sat on in silence, Henry staring at the
fire, and Bill at the circle of eyes that burned in the darkness
just beyond the firelight.
¡¡¡¡'I wisht we were pullin' into McGurry right now,' he began again.
¡¡¡¡'Shut up your wishin' an' your croakin', Henry burst out angrily.
'Your stomach's sour. That's what's ailin' you. Swallow a spoonful
of sody, an' you'll sweeten up wonderful an' be more pleasant
company.'
¡¡¡¡In the morning, Henry was aroused by fervid blasphemy that proceeded
from the mouth of Bill. Henry propped himself up on an elbow and
looked to see his comrade standing among the dogs beside the
replenished fire, his arms raised in objurgation, his face distorted
with passion.
¡¡¡¡'Hello!' Henry called. 'What's up now?'
¡¡¡¡'Frog's gone,' came the answer.
¡¡¡¡'No.'
¡¡¡¡'I tell you yes.'
¡¡¡¡Henry leaped out of the blankets and to the dogs. He counted them
with care, and then joined his partner in cursing the powers of the
Wild that had robbed them of another dog.
¡¡¡¡'Frog was the strongest of the bunch,' Bill pronounced finally.
¡¡¡¡'An' he was no fool dog neither,' Henry added.
¡¡¡¡And so was recorded the second epitaph in two days.
¡¡¡¡A gloomy breakfast was eaten, and the four remaining dogs were
harnessed to the sled. The day was a repetition of the days that had
gone before. The men toiled without speech across the face of the
frozen world. The silence was unbroken save by the cries of their
pursuers, that, unseen, hung upon their rear. With the coming of night
in the mid-afternoon, the cries sounded closer as the pursuers drew in
according to their custom; and the dogs grew excited and frightened,
and were guilty of panics that tangled the traces and further
depressed the two men.
¡¡¡¡'There, that'll fix you fool critters,' Bill said with
satisfaction that night, standing erect at completion of his task.
¡¡¡¡Henry left his cooking to come and see. Not only had his partner
tied the dogs up, but he had tied them, after the Indian fashion, with
sticks. About the neck of each dog he had fastened the leather
thong. To this, and so close to the neck that the dog could not get
his teeth to it, he had tied a stout stick four or five feet in
length. The other end of the stick, in turn, was made fast to a
stake in the ground by means of a leather thong. The dog was unable to
gnaw through the leather at his own end of the stick. The stick
prevented him from getting at the leather that fastened the other end.
¡¡¡¡Henry nodded his head approvingly.
¡¡¡¡'It's the only contraption that'll ever hold One Ear,' he said.
'He can gnaw through leather as clean as a knife an' jes' about half
as quick. They all 'll be here in the mornin' hunky-dory.'
¡¡¡¡'You jes' bet they will,' Bill affirmed. 'If one of 'em turns up
missin', I'll go without my coffee.'
¡¡¡¡'They jes' know we ain't loaded to kill,' Henry remarked at bedtime,
indicating the gleaming circle that hemmed them in. 'If we could put a
couple of shot into 'em, they'd be more respectful. They come closer
every night. Get the firelight out of your eyes an' look hard-
there! Did you see that one?'
¡¡¡¡For some time the two men amused themselves with watching the
movement of vague forms on the edge of the firelight. By looking
closely and steadily at where a pair of eyes burned in the darkness,
the form of the animal would slowly take shape. They could even see
these forms move at times.
¡¡¡¡A sound among the dogs attracted the men's attention. One Ear was
uttering quick, eager whines, lunging at the length of his stick
toward the darkness, and desisting now and again in order to make
frantic attacks on the stick with his teeth.
¡¡¡¡'Look at that, Bill,' Henry whispered.
¡¡¡¡Full into the firelight, with a stealthy, sidelong movement,
glided a doglike animal. It moved with commingled mistrust and daring,
cautiously observing the men, its attention fixed on the dogs. One Ear
strained the full length of the stick toward the intruder and whined
with eagerness.
¡¡¡¡'That fool One Ear don't seem scairt much,' Bill said in a low tone.
¡¡¡¡'It's a she-wolf,' Henry whispered back, 'an' that accounts for
Fatty an' Frog. She's the decoy for the pack. She draws out the dog
an' then all the rest pitches in an' eats 'm up.'
¡¡¡¡The fire crackled. A log fell apart with a loud spluttering noise.
At the sound of it the strange animal leaped back into the darkness.
¡¡¡¡'Henry, I'm a-thinkin',' Bill announced.
¡¡¡¡'Thinkin' what?'
¡¡¡¡'I'm a-thinkin' that was the one I lambasted with the club.'
¡¡¡¡'Ain't the slightest doubt in the world,' was Henry's response.
¡¡¡¡'An' right here I want to remark,' Bill went on, 'that that animal's
familyarity with campfires is suspicious an' immoral.'
¡¡¡¡'It knows for certain more'n a self-respectin' wolf ought to
know,' Henry agreed. 'A wolf that knows enough to come in with the
dogs at feedin' time has had experiences.'
¡¡¡¡'Ol' Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves,' Bill
cogitated aloud. 'I ought to know. I shot it out of the pack in a
moose pasture over on Little Stick. An' Ol' Villan cried like a
baby. Hadn't seen it for three years, he said. Ben with the wolves all
that time.'
¡¡¡¡'I reckon you've called the turn, Bill. That wolf's a dog, an'
it's eaten fish many's the time from the hand of man.'
¡¡¡¡'An' if I get a chance at it, that wolf that's a dog'll be jes'
meat,' Bill declared. 'We can't afford to lose no more animals.'
¡¡¡¡'But you've only got three cartridges,' Henry objected.
¡¡¡¡'I'll wait for a dead sure shot,' was the reply.
¡¡¡¡In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to the
accompaniment of his partner's snoring.
¡¡¡¡'You was sleepin' jes' too comfortable for anythin',' Henry told
him, as he routed him out for breakfast. 'I hadn't the heart to
rouse you.'
¡¡¡¡Bill began to eat sleepily. He noticed that his cup was empty and
started to reach for the pot. But the pot was beyond arm's length
and beside Henry.
¡¡¡¡'Say, Henry,' he chided gently, 'ain't you forgot somethin'?'
¡¡¡¡Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. Bill
held up the empty cup.
¡¡¡¡'You don't get no coffee,' Henry announced.
¡¡¡¡'Ain't run out?' Bill asked anxiously.
¡¡¡¡'Nope.'
¡¡¡¡'Ain't thinkin' it'll hurt my digestion?'
¡¡¡¡'Nope.'
¡¡¡¡A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill's face.
¡¡¡¡'Then it's jes' warm an' anxious I am to be hearin' you explain
yourself,' he said.
¡¡¡¡'Spanker's gone,' Henry answered.
¡¡¡¡Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune, Bill
turned his head, and from where he sat counted the dogs.
¡¡¡¡'How'd it happen?' he asked apathetically.
¡¡¡¡Henry shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't know. Unless One Ear gnawed
'm loose. He couldn't a-done it himself, that's sure.'
¡¡¡¡'The darned cuss.' Bill spoke gravely and slowly, with no hint of
the anger that was raging within. 'Jes' because he couldn't chew
himself loose, he chews Spanker loose.'
¡¡¡¡'Well, Spanker's troubles is over, anyway; I guess he's digested
by this time an' cavortin' over the landscape in the bellies of twenty
different wolves,' was Henry's epitaph on this, the latest lost dog.
'Have some coffee, Bill.'
¡¡¡¡But Bill shook his head.
¡¡¡¡'Go on,' Henry pleaded, elevating the pot.
¡¡¡¡Bill shoved his cup aside. 'I'll be ding-dong-danged if I do. I said
I wouldn't if any dog turned up missin', an' I won't.'
¡¡¡¡'It's darn good coffee,' Henry said enticingly.
¡¡¡¡But Bill was stubborn, and he ate a dry breakfast, washed down
with mumbled curses at One Ear for the trick he had played.
¡¡¡¡'I'll tie 'em up out of reach of each other tonight,' Bill said,
as they took the trail.
¡¡¡¡They had traveled little more than a hundred yards, when Henry,
who was in front, bent down and picked up something with which his
snowshoe had collided. It was dark, and he could not see it, but he
recognized it by the touch. He flung it back, so that it struck the
sled and bounced along until it fetched up on Bill's snowshoes.
¡¡¡¡'Mebbee you'll need that in your business,' Henry said.
¡¡¡¡Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker-
the stick with which he had been tied.
¡¡¡¡'They ate 'm hide an' all,' Bill announced. 'The stick's as clean as
a whistle. They've ate the leather offen both ends. They're damn
hungry, Henry, an' they'll have you an' me guessin' before his
trip's over.'
¡¡¡¡Henry laughed defiantly. 'I ain't been trailed this way by wolves
before, but I've gone through a whole lot worse an' kept my health.
Takes more'n a handful of them pesky critters to do for yours truly,
Bill, my son.'
¡¡¡¡'I don't know, I don't know,' Bill muttered ominously.
¡¡¡¡'Well, you'll know all right when we pull into McGurry.'
¡¡¡¡'I ain't feelin' special enthusiastic,' Bill persisted.
¡¡¡¡'You're off color, that's what's the matter with you,' Henry
dogmatized. 'What you need is quinine, an' I'm goin' to dose you up
stiff as soon as we make McGurry.'
¡¡¡¡Bill grunted his disagreement with the diagnosis, and lapsed into
silence. The day was like all the days. Light came at nine o'clock. At
twelve o'clock the southern horizon was warmed by the unseen sun;
and then began the cold gray of afternoon that would merge, three
hours later, into night.
¡¡¡¡It was just after the sun's futile effort to appear that Bill
slipped the rifle from under the sled-lashings and said:
¡¡¡¡'You keep right on, Henry, I'm goin' to see what I can see.'
¡¡¡¡'You'd better stick by the sled,' his partner protested. 'You've
only got three cartridges, an' there's no tellin' what might happen.'
¡¡¡¡'Who's croakin' now?' Bill demanded triumphantly.
¡¡¡¡Henry made no reply, and plodded on alone, though often he cast
anxious glances back into the gray solitude where his partner had
disappeared. An hour later, taking advantage of the cut-offs around
which the sled had to go, Bill arrived.
¡¡¡¡'They're scattered an' rangin' along wide,' he said; 'keepin' up
with us an' lookin' for game at the same time. You see, they're sure
of us, only they know they've got to wait to get us. In the meantime
they're willin' to pick up anythin' eatable that comes handy.'
¡¡¡¡'You mean they think they're sure of us,' Henry objected pointedly.
¡¡¡¡But Bill ignored him. 'I seen some of them. They're pretty thin.
They ain't had a bit in weeks, I reckon, outside of Fatty an' Frog an'
Spanker; an' there's so many of 'em that that didn't go far. They're
remarkable thin. Their ribs is like washboards, an' their stomachs
is right up against their backbones. They're pretty desperate, I can
tell you. They'll be goin' mad, yet, an' then watch out.'
¡¡¡¡A few minutes later, Henry, who was now traveling behind the sled,
emitted a low, warning whistle. Bill turned and looked, then quietly
stopped the dogs. To the rear, from around the last bend and plainly
into view, on the very trail they had just covered, trotted a furry,
slinking form. Its nose was to the trail, and it trotted with a
peculiar, sliding, effortless gait. When they halted, it halted,
throwing up its head and regarding them steadily with nostrils that
twitched as it caught and studied the scent of them.
¡¡¡¡'It's the she-wolf,' Bill whispered.
¡¡¡¡The dogs had lain down in the snow, and he walked past them to
join his partner at the sled. Together they watched the strange animal
that had pursued them for days and that had already accomplished the
destruction of half their dog-team.
¡¡¡¡After a searching scrutiny, the animal trotted forward a few
steps. This it repeated several times, till it was a short hundred
yards away. It paused, head up, close by a clump of spruce trees,
and with sight and scent studied the outfit of the watching men. It
looked at them in a strangely wistful way, after the manner of a
dog; but in its wistfulness there was none of the dog affection. It
was a wistfulness bred of hunger, as cruel as its own fangs, as
merciless as the frost itself.
¡¡¡¡It was large for a wolf, its gaunt frame advertising the lines of an
animal that was among the largest of its kind.
¡¡¡¡'Stands pretty close to two feet an' a half at the shoulders,' Henry
commented. 'An' I'll bet it ain't far from five feet long.'
¡¡¡¡'Kind of strange color for a wolf,' was Bill's criticism. 'I never
seen a red wolf before. Looks almost cinnamon to me.'
¡¡¡¡The animal was certainly not cinnamon-colored. Its coat was the true
wolf-coat. The dominant color was gray, and yet there was to it a
faint reddish hue- a hue that was baffling, that appeared and
disappeared, that was more like an illusion of the vision, now gray,
distinctly gray, and again giving hints and glints of a vague
redness of color not classifiable in terms of ordinary experience.
¡¡¡¡'Looks for all the world like a big husky sled-dog,' Bill said. 'I
wouldn't be s'prised to see it wag its tail.'
¡¡¡¡'Hello, you husky!' he called. 'Come here, you
whatever-your-name-is.'
¡¡¡¡'Ain't a bit scairt of you,' Henry laughed.
¡¡¡¡Bill waved his hand at it threateningly and shouted loudly; but
the animal betrayed no fear. The only change in it that they could
notice was an accession of alertness. It still regarded them with
the merciless wistfulness of hunger. They were meat and it was hungry;
and it would like to go in and eat them if it dared.
¡¡¡¡'Look here, Henry,' Bill said, unconsciously lowering his voice to a
whisper because of what he meditated. 'We've got three cartridges. But
it's a dead shot. Couldn't miss it. It's got away with three of our
dogs, an' we oughter put a stop to it. What d'ye say?'
¡¡¡¡Henry nodded his consent. Bill cautiously slipped the gun from under
the sled-lashing. The gun was on the way to his shoulder but it
never got there. For in that instant the she-wolf leaped sidewise from
the trail into the clump of spruce trees and disappeared.
¡¡¡¡The two men looked at each other. Henry whistled long and
comprehendingly.
¡¡¡¡'I might have knowed it,' Bill chided himself aloud, as he
replaced the gun. 'Of course a wolf that knows enough to come in
with the dogs at feedin' time, 'd know all about shooting-irons. I
tell you right now, Henry, that critter's the cause of all our
trouble. We'd have six dogs at the present time, 'stead of three, if
it wasn't for her. An' I tell you right now, Henry, I'm goin' to get
her. She's too smart to be shot in the open. But I'm goin' to lay
for her. I'll bushwhack her as sure as my name is Bill.'
¡¡¡¡'You needn't stray off too far in doin' it,' his partner admonished.
'If that pack ever starts to jump you, them three cartridges 'd be
wuth no more'n three whoops in hell. Them animals is damn hungry,
an' once they start in, they'll sure get you, Bill.'
¡¡¡¡They camped early that night. Three dogs could not drag the sled
so fast nor for so long hours as could six, and they were showing
unmistakable signs of playing out. And the men went early to bed, Bill
first seeing to it that the dogs were tied out of gnawing-reach of one
another.
¡¡¡¡But the wolves were growing bolder, and the men were aroused more
than once from their sleep. So near did the wolves approach, that
the dogs became frantic with terror, and it was necessary to replenish
the fire from time to time in order to keep the adventurous
marauders at safer distance.
¡¡¡¡'I've hearn sailors talk of sharks followin' a ship,' Bill remarked,
as he crawled back into the blankets after one such replenishing of
the fire. 'Well, them wolves is land sharks. They know their
business bettern'n we do, an' they ain't a-holdin' our trail this
way for their health. They're goin' to get us. They're sure goin' to
get us, Henry.'
¡¡¡¡'They've half got you a'ready, a-talkin' like that,' Henry
retorted sharply. 'A man's half licked when he says he is. An'
you're half eaten from the way you're goin' on about it.'
¡¡¡¡'They've got away with better men than you an' me,' Bill answered.
¡¡¡¡'Oh, shet up your croakin'. You make me all-fired tired.'
¡¡¡¡Henry rolled over angrily on his side, but was surprised that Bill
made no similar display of temper. This was not Bill's way, for he was
easily angered by sharp words. Henry thought long over it before he
went to sleep, and as his eyelids fluttered down and he dozed off, the
thought in his mind was: 'There's no mistakin' it, Bill's almighty
blue. I'll have to cheer him up tomorrow.'
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER THREE. The Hunger Cry.
¡¡¡¡THE DAY BEGAN AUSPICIOUSLY. They had lost no dogs during the
night, and they swung out upon the trail and into the silence, the
darkness, and the cold with spirits that were fairly light. Bill
seemed to have forgotten his forebodings of the previous night, and
even waxed facetious with the dogs when, at midday, they overturned
the sled on a bad piece of trail.
¡¡¡¡It was an awkward mix-up. The sled was upside down and jammed
between a tree-trunk and a huge rock, and they were forced to
unharness the dogs in order to straighten out the tangle. The two
men were bent over the sled and trying to right it, when Henry
observed One Ear sidling away.
¡¡¡¡'Here, you, One Ear!' he cried, straightening up and turning
around on the dog.
¡¡¡¡But One Ear broke into a run across the snow, his traces trailing
behind him. And there, out in the snow on their back track, was the
she-wolf waiting for him. As he neared her, he became suddenly
cautious. He slowed down to an alert and mincing walk and then
stopped. He regarded her carefully and dubiously, yet desirefully. She
seemed to smile at him, showing her teeth in an ingratiating rather
than a menacing way. She moved towards him a few steps, playfully, and
then halted. One Ear drew near to her, still alert and cautious, his
tail and ears in the air, his head held high.
¡¡¡¡He tried to sniff noses with her, she retreated playfully and coyly.
Every advance on his part was accompanied by a corresponding retreat
on her part. Step by step she was luring him away from the security of
his human companionship. Once, as though a warning had in vague ways
flitted through his intelligence, he turned his head and looked back
at the overturned sled, at his team-mates, and at the two men who were
calling to him.
¡¡¡¡But whatever idea was forming in his mind, was dissipated by the
she-wolf, who advanced upon him, sniffed noses with him for a fleeting
instant, and then resumed her coy retreat before his renewed advances.
¡¡¡¡In the meantime, Bill had bethought himself of the rifle. But it was
jammed beneath the overturned sled, and by the time Henry had helped
him to right the load, One Ear and the she-wolf were too close
together and the distance too great to risk a shot.
¡¡¡¡Too late, One Ear learned his mistake. Before they saw the cause,
the two men saw him turn and start to run back toward them. Then,
approaching at right angles to the trail and cutting off his
retreat, they saw a dozen wolves, lean and gray, bounding across the
snow. On the instant, the she-wolf's coyness and playfulness
disappeared. With a snarl she sprang upon One Ear. He thrust her off
with his shoulder, and, his retreat cut off and still intent on
regaining the sled, he altered his course in an attempt to circle
around to it. More wolves were appearing every moment and joining in
the chase. The she-wolf was one leap behind One Ear and holding her
own.
¡¡¡¡'Where are you goin'?' Henry suddenly demanded, laying his hands
on his partner's arm.
¡¡¡¡Bill shook it off. 'I won't stand it,' he said. 'They ain't
a-goin' to get any more of our dogs if I can help it.'
¡¡¡¡Gun in hand he plunged into the underbrush that lined the side of
the trail. His intention was apparent enough. Taking the sled as the
center of the circle that One Ear was making, Bill planned to tap that
circle at a point in advance of the pursuit. With his rifle, in the
broad daylight, it might be possible for him to awe the wolves and
save the dog.
¡¡¡¡'Say, Bill!' Henry called after him. 'Be careful! Don't take no
chances!'
¡¡¡¡Henry sat down on the sled and watched. There was nothing else for
him to do. Bill had already gone from sight; but now and again,
appearing and disappearing amongst the underbrush and the scattered
clumps of spruce, could be seen One Ear. Henry judged his case to be
hopeless. The dog was thoroughly alive to its danger, but it was
running on the outer circle while the wolf-pack was running on the
inner and shorter circle. It was vain to think of One Ear so
outdistancing his pursuers as to be able to cut across their circle in
advance of them and to regain the sled.
¡¡¡¡The different lines were rapidly approaching a point. Somewhere
out there in the snow, screened from his sight by trees and
thickets, Henry knew that the wolf-pack, One Ear, and Bill were coming
together. All too quickly, far more quickly than he had expected, it
happened. He heard a shot, then two shots in rapid succession, and
he knew that Bill's ammunition was gone. Then he heard a great
outcry of snarls and yelps. He recognized One Ear's yell of pain and
terror and he heard a wolf-cry that bespoke a stricken animal. And
that was all. The snarls ceased. The yelping died away. Silence
settled down again over the lonely land.
¡¡¡¡He sat for a long while upon the sled. There was no need for him
to go and see what had happened. He knew it as though it had taken
place before his eyes. Once, he roused with a start and hastily got
the axe out from underneath the lashings. But for some time longer
he sat and brooded, the two remaining dogs crouching and trembling
at his feet.
¡¡¡¡At last he arose in a weary manner, as though all the resilience had
gone out of his body, and proceeded to fasten the dogs to the sled. He
passed a rope over his shoulder, a man-trace, and pulled with the
dogs. He did not go far. At the first hint of darkness he hastened
to make a camp, and he saw to it that he had a generous supply of
firewood. He fed the dogs, cooked and ate his supper, and made his bed
close to the fire.
¡¡¡¡But he was not destined to enjoy that bed. Before his eyes closed
the wolves had drawn too near for safety. It no longer required an
effort of the vision to see them. They were all about him and the
fire, in a narrow circle, and he could see them plainly in the
firelight, lying down, sitting up, crawling forward on their
bellies, or slinking back and forth. They even slept. Here and there
he could see one curled up in the snow like a dog taking the sleep
that was now denied himself.
¡¡¡¡He kept the fire brightly blazing, for he knew that it alone
intervened between the flesh of his body and their hungry fangs. His
two dogs stayed close to him, one on either side, leaning against
him for protection, crying and whimpering, and at times snarling
desperately when a wolf approached a little closer than usual. At such
moments, when his dogs snarled, the whole circle would be agitated,
the wolves coming to their feet and pressing tentatively forward, a
chorus of snarls and eager yelps rising about him. Then the circle
would lie down again, and here and there a wolf would resume its
broken nap.
¡¡¡¡But this circle had a continuous tendency to draw in upon him. Bit
by bit, an inch at a time, with here a wolf bellying forward, and
there a wolf bellying forward, the circle would narrow until the
brutes were almost within springing distance. Then he would seize
brands from the fire and hurl them into the pack. A hasty drawing back
always resulted, accompanied by angry yelps and frightened snarls when
a well-aimed brand struck and scorched a too daring animal.
¡¡¡¡Morning found the man haggard and worn, wide-eyed from want of
sleep. He cooked breakfast in the darkness, and at nine o'clock, when,
with the coming of daylight, the wolf-pack drew back, he set about the
task he had planned through the long hours of the night. Chopping down
young saplings, he made them cross-bars of a scaffold by lashing
them high up to the trunks of standing trees. Using the
sled-lashings for a heaving rope, and with the aid of the dogs, he
hoisted the coffin to the top of the scaffold.
¡¡¡¡'They got Bill, an' they may get me, but they'll never sure get you,
young man,' he said, addressing the dead body in its tree-sepulchre.
¡¡¡¡Then he took the trail, the lightened sled bounding along behind the
willing dogs; for they, too, knew that safety lay only in the
gaining of Fort McGurry. The wolves were now more open in their
pursuit, trotting sedately behind and ranging along on either side,
their red tongues lolling out, their lean sides showing the undulating
ribs with every movement. They were very lean, mere skin-bags
stretched over bony frames, with strings for muscles- so lean that
Henry found it in his mind to marvel that they still kept their feet
and did not collapse forthright in the snow.
¡¡¡¡He did not dare travel until dark. At midday, not only did the sun
warm the southern horizon, but it even thrust its upper rim, pale
and golden, above the skyline. He received it as a sign. The days were
growing longer. The sun was returning. But scarcely had the cheer of
its light departed, than he went into camp. There were still several
hours of gray daylight and sombre twilight, and he utilized them in
chopping an enormous supply of firewood.
¡¡¡¡With night came horror. Not only were the starving wolves growing
bolder, but lack of sleep was telling upon Henry. He dozed despite
himself, crouching by the fire, the blankets about his shoulders,
the axe between his knees, and on either side a dog pressing close
against him. He awoke once and saw in front of him, not a dozen feet
away, a big gray wolf, one of the largest of the pack. And even as
he looked, the brute deliberately stretched himself after the manner
of a lazy dog, yawning full in his face and looking upon him with a
possessive eye, as if, in truth, he were merely a delayed meal that
was soon to be eaten.
¡¡¡¡This certitude was shown by the whole pack. Fully a score he could
count, staring hungrily at him or calmly sleeping in the snow. They
reminded him of children gathered about a spread table and awaiting
permission to begin to eat. And he was the food they were to eat! He
wondered how and when the meal would begin.
¡¡¡¡As he piled wood on the fire he discovered an appreciation of his
own body which he had never felt before. He watched his moving muscles
and was interested in the cunning mechanism of his fingers. By the
light of the fire he crooked his fingers slowly and repeatedly, now
one at a time, now all together, spreading them wide or making quick
gripping movements. He studied the nail-formation, and prodded the
fingertips, now sharply, and again softly, gauging the while the
nerve-sensations produced. It fascinated him, and he grew suddenly
fond of this subtle flesh of his that worked so beautifully and
smoothly and delicately. Then he would cast a glance of fear at the
wolf-circle drawn expectantly about him, and like a blow the
realization would strike him that this wonderful body of his, this
living flesh, was no more than so much meat, a quest of ravenous
animals, to be torn and slashed by their hungry fangs, to be
sustenance to them as the moose and the rabbit had often been
sustenance to him.
¡¡¡¡He came out of a doze that was half nightmare, to see the red-hued
she-wolf before him. She was not more than half a dozen feet away,
sitting in the snow and wistfully regarding him. The two dogs were
whimpering and snarling at his feet, but she took no notice of them.
She was looking at the man, and for some time he returned her look.
There was nothing threatening about her. She looked at him merely with
a great wistfulness, but he knew it to be the wistfulness of an
equally great hunger. He was the food, and the sight of him excited in
her the gustatory sensations. Her mouth opened, the saliva drooled
forth, and she licked her chops with the pleasure of anticipation.
¡¡¡¡A spasm of fear went through him. He reached hastily for a brand
to throw at her. But even as he reached, and before his fingers had
closed on the missile, she sprang back into safety; and he knew that
she was used to having things thrown at her. She had snarled as she
sprang away, baring her white fangs to their roots, all her
wistfulness vanishing, being replaced by a carnivorous malignity
that made him shudder. He glanced at the hand that held the brand,
noticing the cunning delicacy of the fingers that gripped it, how they
adjusted themselves to all the inequalities of the surface, curling
over and under and about the rough wood, and one little finger, too
close to the burning portion of the brand, sensitively and
automatically writhing back from the hurtful heat to a cooler
gripping-place; and in the same instant he seemed to see a vision of
those same sensitive and delicate fingers being crushed and torn by
the white teeth of the she-wolf. Never had he been so fond of this
body of his as now when his tenure of it was so precarious.
¡¡¡¡All night, with burning brands, he fought off the hungry pack.
When he dozed despite himself, the whimpering and snarling of the dogs
aroused him. Morning came, but for the first time the light of day
failed to scatter the wolves. The man waited in vain for them to go.
They remained in a circle about him and his fire, displaying an
arrogance of possession that shook his courage born of the morning
light.
¡¡¡¡He made one desperate attempt to pull out on the trail. But the
moment he left the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped for
him, but leaped short. He saved himself by springing back, the jaws
snapping together a scant six inches from his thigh. The rest of the
pack was now up and surging upon him, and a throwing of firebrands
right and left was necessary to drive them back to a respectful
distance.
¡¡¡¡Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh
wood. Twenty feet away towered a huge dead spruce. He spent half the
day extending his campfire to the tree, at any moment a half dozen
burning fagots ready at hand to fling at his enemies. Once at the
tree, he studied the surrounding forest in order to fell the tree in
the direction of the most firewood.
¡¡¡¡The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need
for sleep was becoming overpowering. The snarling of his dogs was
losing its efficacy. Besides, they were snarling all the time, and his
benumbed and drowsy senses no longer took note of changing pitch and
intensity. He awoke with a start. The she-wolf was less than a yard
from him. Mechanically, at short range, without letting go of it, he
thrust a brand full into her open and snarling mouth. She sprang away,
yelling with pain, and while he took delight in the smell of burning
flesh and hair, he watched her shaking her head and growling
wrathfully a score of feet away.
¡¡¡¡But this time, before he dozed again, he tied a burning pine-knot to
his right hand. His eyes were closed but a few minutes when the burn
of the flame on his flesh awakened him. For several hours he adhered
to this program. Every time he was thus awakened he drove back the
wolves with flying brands, replenished the fire, and rearranged the
pine-knot on his hand. All worked well, but there came a time when
he fastened the pine-knot insecurely. As his eyes closed it fell
away from his hand.
¡¡¡¡He dreamed. It seemed to him that he was in Fort McGurry. It was
warm and comfortable, and he was playing cribbage with the Factor.
Also, it seemed to him that the fort was besieged by wolves. They were
howling at the very gates, and sometimes he and the Factor paused from
the game to listen and laugh at the futile efforts of the wolves to
get in. And then, so strange was the dream, there was a crash. The
door burst open. He could see the wolves flooding into the big
living-room of the fort. They were leaping straight for him and the
Factor. With the bursting open of the door, the noise of their howling
had increased tremendously. This howling now bothered him. His dream
was merging into something else- he knew not what; but through it all,
following him, persisted the howling.
¡¡¡¡And then he awoke to find the howling real. There was a great
snarling and yelping. The wolves were rushing him. They were all about
him and upon him. The teeth of one had closed upon his arm.
Instinctively he leaped into the fire, and as he leaped, he felt the
sharp slash of teeth that tore through the flesh of his leg. Then
began a fire fight. His stout mittens temporarily protected his hands,
and he scooped live coals into the air in all directions, until the
campfire took on the semblance of a volcano.
¡¡¡¡But it could not last long. His face was blistering in the heat, his
eyebrows and lashes were singed off, and the heat was becoming
unbearable to his feet. With a flaming brand in each hand, he sprang
to the edge of the fire. The wolves had been driven back. On every
side, wherever the live coals had fallen, the snow was sizzling, and
every little while a retiring wolf, with wild leap and snort and
snarl, announced that one such live coal had been stepped upon.
¡¡¡¡Flinging his brands at the nearest of his enemies. the man thrust
his smouldering mittens into the snow and stamped about to cool his
feet. His two dogs were missing, and he well knew that they had served
as a course in the protracted meal which had begun days before with
Fatty, the last course of which would likely be himself in the days to
follow.
¡¡¡¡'You ain't got me yet!' he cried, savagely shaking his fist at the
hungry beasts; and at the sound of his voice the whole circle was
agitated, there was a general snarl, and the she-wolf slid up close to
him across the snow and watched him with hungry wistfulness.
¡¡¡¡He set to work to carry out a new idea that had come to him. He
extended the fire into a large circle. Inside this circle he crouched,
his sleeping outfit under him as a protection against the melting
snow. When he had thus disappeared within his shelter of flame, the
whole pack came curiously to the rim of the fire to see what had
become of him. Hitherto they had been denied access to the fire, and
they now settled down in a close-drawn circle, like so many dogs,
blinking and yawning and stretching their lean bodies in the
unaccustomed warmth. Then the she-wolf sat down, pointed her nose at a
star, and began to howl. One by one the wolves joined her, till the
whole pack, on haunches, with noses pointed skyward, was howling its
hunger cry.
¡¡¡¡Dawn came, and daylight. The fire was burning low. The fuel had
run out, and there was need to get more. The man attempted to step out
of his circle of flame, but the wolves surged to meet him. Burning
brands made them spring aside, but they no longer sprang back. In vain
he strove to drive them back. As he gave up and stumbled inside his
circle, a wolf leaped for him, missed, and landed with all four feet
in the coals. It cried out with terror, at the same time snarling, and
scrambled back to cool its paws in the snow.
¡¡¡¡The man sat down on his blankets in a crouching position. His body
leaned forward from the hips. His shoulders, relaxed and drooping, and
his head on his knees advertised that he had given up the struggle.
Now and again he raised his head to note the dying down of the fire.
The circle of flame and coals was breaking into segments with openings
in between. These openings grew in size, the segments diminished.
¡¡¡¡'I guess you can come an' get me any time,' he mumbled. 'Anyway, I'm
goin' to sleep.'
¡¡¡¡Once he wakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in
front of him, he saw the she-wolf gazing at him. Again he awakened,
a little later, though it seemed hours to him. A mysterious change had
taken place- so mysterious a change that he was shocked wider awake.
Something had happened. He could not understand at first. Then he
discovered it. The wolves were gone. Remained only the trampled snow
to show how closely they had pressed him. Sleep was welling up and
gripping him again, his head was sinking down upon his knees, when
he roused with a sudden start.
¡¡¡¡There were cries of men, the churn of sleds, the creaking of
harnesses, and the eager whimpering of straining dogs. Four sleds
pulled in from the river bed to the camp among the trees. Half a dozen
men were about the man who crouched in the center of the dying fire.
They were shaking and prodding him into consciousness. He looked at
them like a drunken man and maundered in strange, sleepy speech:
¡¡¡¡'Red she-wolf... Come in with the dogs at feedin' time... First
she ate the dog-food... Then she ate the dogs... An' after that she
ate Bill...'
¡¡¡¡'Where's Lord Alfred?' one of the men bellowed in his ear, shaking
him roughly.
¡¡¡¡He shook his head slowly. 'No, she didn't eat him... He's roostin'
in a tree at the last camp.'
¡¡¡¡'Dead?' the man shouted.
¡¡¡¡'An' in a box,' Henry answered. He jerked his shoulder petulantly
away from the grip of his questioner. 'Say, you lemme alone. I'm jes
plumb tuckered out... Good night, everybody.'
¡¡¡¡His eyes fluttered and went shut. His chin fell forward on his
chest. And even as they eased him down upon the blankets his snores
were rising on the frosty air.
¡¡¡¡But there was another sound. Far and faint it was, in the remote
distance, the cry of the hungry wolf-pack as it took the trail of
other meat than the man it had just missed.
¡¡¡¡ PART TWO.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER ONE. The Battle of the Fangs.
¡¡¡¡IT WAS THE SHE-WOLF who had first caught the sound of men's voices
and the whining of the sled-dogs; and it was the she-wolf who was
first to spring away from the cornered man in his circle of dying
flame. The pack had been loath to forego the kill it had hunted
down, and it lingered for several minutes, making sure of the
sounds; and then it, too, sprang away on the trail made by the
she-wolf.
¡¡¡¡Running at the forefront of the pack was a large gray wolf- one of
its several leaders. It was he who directed the pack's course on the
heels of the she-wolf. It was he who snarled warningly at the
younger members of the pack or slashed at them with his fangs when
they ambitiously tried to pass him. And it was he who increased the
pace when he sighted the she-wolf, now trotting slowly across the
snow.
¡¡¡¡She dropped in alongside by him, as though it were her appointed
position, and took the pace of the pack. He did not snarl at her,
nor show his teeth, when any leap of hers chanced to put her in
advance of him. On the contrary, he seemed kindly disposed toward her-
too kindly to suit her, for he was prone to run near to her, and
when he ran too near it was she who snarled and showed her teeth.
Nor was she above slashing his shoulder sharply on occasion. At such
times he betrayed no anger. He merely sprang to the side and ran
stiffly ahead for several awkward leaps, in carriage and conduct
resembling an abashed country swain.
¡¡¡¡This was his one trouble in the running of the pack; but she had
other troubles. On her other side ran a gaunt old wolf, grizzled and
marked with the scars of many battles. He ran always on her right
side. The fact that he had but one eye, and that the left eye, might
account for this. He, also, was addicted to crowding her, to veering
toward her till his scarred muzzle touched her body, or shoulder, or
neck. As with the running mate on the left, she repelled these
attentions with her teeth; but when both bestowed their attentions
at the same time she was roughly jostled, being compelled, with
quick snaps to either side, to drive both lovers away and at the
same time to maintain her forward leap with the pack and see the way
of her feet before her. At such times her running mates flashed
their teeth and growled threateningly across at each other. They might
have fought, but even wooing and its rivalry waited upon the more
pressing hunger-need of the pack.
¡¡¡¡After each repulse, when the old wolf sheered abruptly away from the
sharp-toothed object of his desire, he shouldered against a young
three-year-old that ran on his blind right side. This young wolf had
attained his full size; and, considering the weak and famished
condition of the pack, he possessed more than the average vigor and
spirit. Nevertheless, he ran with his head even with the shoulder of
his one-eyed elder. When he ventured to run abreast of the older
wolf (which was seldom), a snarl and a snap sent him back even with
the shoulder again. Sometimes, however, he dropped cautiously and
slowly behind and edged in between the old leader and the she-wolf-
This was doubly resented, even triply resented. When she snarled her
displeasure, the old leader would whirl on the three-year-old.
Sometimes she whirled with him. And sometimes the young leader on
the left whirled, too.
¡¡¡¡At such times, confronted by three sets of savage teeth, the young
wolf stopped precipitately, throwing himself back on his haunches,
with forelegs stiff, mouth menacing, and mane bristling. This
confusion in the front of the moving pack always caused confusion in
the rear. The wolves behind collided with the young wolf and expressed
their displeasure by administering sharp nips on his hind-legs and
flanks. He was laying up trouble for himself, for lack of food and
short tempers went together; but with the boundless faith of youth
he persisted in repeating the maneuver every little while, though it
never succeeded in gaining anything for him but discomfiture.
¡¡¡¡Had there been food, love-making and fighting would have gone on
apace, and the pack-formation would have been broken up. But the
situation of the pack was desperate. It was lean with long-standing
hunger. It ran below its ordinary speed. At the rear limped the weak
members, the very young and the very old. At the front were the
strongest. Yet all were more like skeletons than full-bodied wolves.
Nevertheless, with the exception of the ones that limped, the
movements of the animals were effortless and tireless. Their stringy
muscles seemed founts of inexhaustible energy. Behind every steel-like
contraction of a muscle lay another steel-like contraction, and
another, apparently without end.
¡¡¡¡They ran many miles that day. They ran through the night. And the
next day found them still running. They were running over the
surface of a world frozen and dead. No life stirred. They alone
moved through the vast inertness. They alone were alive, and they
sought for other things that were alive in order that they might
devour them and continue to live.
¡¡¡¡They crossed low divides and ranged a dozen small streams in a
lower-lying country before their quest was rewarded. Then they came
upon moose. It was a big bull they first found. Here was meat and
life, and it was guarded by no mysterious fires nor flying missiles of
flame. Splay hoofs and palmated antlers they knew, and they flung
their customary patience and caution to the wind. It was a brief fight
and fierce. The big bull was beset on every side. He ripped them
open or split their skulls with shrewdly driven blows of his great
hoofs. He crushed them and broke them on his large horns. He stamped
them into the snow under him in the wallowing struggle. But he was
foredoomed, and he went down with the she-wolf tearing savagely at his
throat, and with other teeth fixed everywhere upon him, devouring
him alive, before ever his last struggles ceased or his last damage
had been wrought.
¡¡¡¡There was food in plenty. The bull weighed over eight hundred
pounds- fully twenty pounds of meat per mouth for the forty-odd wolves
of the pack. But if they could fast prodigiously, they could feed
prodigiously, and soon a few scattered bones were all that remained of
the splendid live brute that had faced the pack a few hours before.
¡¡¡¡There was now much resting and sleeping. With full stomachs,
bickering and quarreling began among the younger males, and this
continued through the few days that followed before the breaking-up of
the pack. The famine was over. The wolves were now in the country of
game, and though they still hunted in pack, they hunted more
cautiously, cutting out heavy cows or crippled old bulls from the
small moose-herds they ran across.
¡¡¡¡There came a day, in this land of plenty, when the wolf-pack split
in half and went in different directions. The she-wolf, the young
leader on her left, and the one-eyed elder on her right, led their
half of the pack down to the Mackenzie River and across into the
lake country to the east. Each day this remnant of the pack
dwindled. Two by two, male and female, the wolves were deserting.
Occasionally a solitary male was driven out by the sharp teeth of
his rivals. In the end there remained only four: the she-wolf, the
young leader, the one-eyed one, and the ambitious three-year-old.
¡¡¡¡The she-wolf had by now developed a ferocious temper. Her three
suitors all bore the marks of her teeth. Yet they never replied in
kind, never defended themselves against her. They turned their
shoulders to her most savage slashes, and with wagging tails and
mincing steps strove to placate her wrath. But if they were all
mildness toward her, they were all fierceness toward one another.
The three-year-old grew too ambitious in his fierceness. He caught the
one-eyed elder on his blind side and ripped his ear into ribbons.
Though the grizzled old fellow could see only on one side, against the
youth and vigor of the other he brought into play the wisdom of long
years of experience. His lost eye and his scarred muzzle bore evidence
to the nature of his experience. He had survived too many battles to
be in doubt for a moment about what to do.
¡¡¡¡The battle began fairly, but it did not end fairly. There was no
telling what the outcome would have been, for the third wolf joined
the elder, and together, old leader and young leader, they attacked
the ambitious three-year-old and proceeded to destroy him. He was
beset on either side by the merciless fangs of his erstwhile comrades.
Forgotten were the days they had hunted together, the game they had
pulled down, the famine they had suffered. That business was a thing
of the past. The business of love was at hand- even a sterner and
crueler business than that of food-getting.
¡¡¡¡And in the meanwhile, the she-wolf, the cause of it all, sat down
contentedly on her haunches and watched. She was even pleased. This
was her day- and it came not often- when manes bristled, and fang
smote fang or ripped and tore the yielding flesh, all for the
possession of her.
¡¡¡¡And in the business of love the three-year-old who had made this his
first adventure upon it yielded up his life. On either side of his
body stood his two rivals. They were gazing at the she-wolf, who sat
smiling in the snow. But the elder leader was wise, very wise, in love
even as in battle. The younger leader turned his head to lick a
wound on his shoulder. The curve of his neck was turned toward his
rival. With his one eye the elder saw the opportunity. He darted in
low and closed with his fangs. It was a long, ripping slash, and
deep as well. His teeth, in passing, burst the wall of the great
vein of the throat. Then he leaped clear.
¡¡¡¡The young leader snarled terribly, but his snarl broke midmost
into a tickling cough. Bleeding and coughing, already stricken, he
sprang at the elder and fought while life faded from him, his legs
going weak beneath him, the light of day dulling on his eyes, his
blows and springs falling shorter and shorter.
¡¡¡¡And all the while the she-wolf sat on her haunches and smiled. She
was made glad in vague ways by the battle, for this was the
love-making of the Wild, the sex-tragedy of the natural world that was
tragedy only to those that died. To those that survived it was not
tragedy, but realization and achievement.
¡¡¡¡When the young leader lay in the snow and moved no more, One Eye
stalked over to the she-wolf. His carriage was one of mingled
triumph and caution. He was plainly expectant of a rebuff, and he
was just as plainly surprised when her teeth did not flash out at
him in anger. For the first time she met him with a kindly manner. She
sniffed noses with him, and even condescended to leap about and
frisk and play with him in quite puppyish fashion. And he, for all his
gray years and sage experience, behaved quite as puppyishly and even a
little more foolishly.
¡¡¡¡Forgotten already were the vanquished rivals and the love-tale
red-written on the snow. Forgotten, save once, when old One Eye
stopped for a moment to lick his stiffening wounds. Then it was that
his lips half writhed into a snarl, and the hair of his neck and
shoulders involuntarily bristled, while he half crouched for a spring,
his claws spasmodically clutching into the snow-surface for firmer
footing. But it was all forgotten the next moment, as he sprang
after the she-wolf, who was coyly leading him a chase through the
woods.
¡¡¡¡After that they ran side by side, like good friends who have come to
an understanding. The days passed by, and they kept together,
hunting their meat and killing and eating it in common. After a time
the she-wolf began to grow restless. She seemed to be searching for
something that she could not find. The hollows under fallen trees
seemed to attract her, and she spent much time nosing about among
the larger snow-piled crevices in the rocks and in the caves of
overhanging banks. Old One Eye was not interested at all, but he
followed her good-naturedly in her quest, and when her
investigations in particular places were unusually protracted, he
would lie down and wait until she was ready to go on.
¡¡¡¡They did not remain in one place, but traveled across country
until they regained the Mackenzie River, down which they slowly
went, leaving it often to hunt game along the small streams that
entered it, but always returning to it again. Sometimes they chanced
upon other wolves, usually in pairs; but there was no friendliness
of intercourse displayed on either side, no gladness at meeting, no
desire to return to the pack-formation. Several times they encountered
solitary wolves. These were always males, and they were pressingly
insistent on joining with One Eye and his mate. This he resented,
and when she stood shoulder to shoulder with him, bristling and
showing her teeth, the aspiring solitary ones would back off, turn
tail, and continue on their lonely way.
¡¡¡¡One moonlight night, running through the quiet forest, One Eye
suddenly halted. His muzzle went up, his tail stiffened, and his
nostrils dilated as he scented the air. One foot also he held up,
after the manner of a dog. He was not satisfied, and he continued to
smell the air, striving to understand the message borne upon it to
him. One careless sniff had satisfied his mate, and she trotted on
to reassure him. Though he followed her, he was still dubious, and
he could not forbear an occasional halt in order more carefully to
study the warning.
¡¡¡¡She crept out cautiously on the edge of a large open space in the
midst of the trees. For some time she stood alone. Then One Eye,
creeping and crawling, every sense on the alert, every hair
radiating infinite suspicion, joined her. They stood side by side,
watching and listening and smelling.
¡¡¡¡To their ears came the sounds of dogs wrangling and scuffling, the
guttural cries of men, the sharper voices of scolding women, and
once the shrill and plaintive cry of a child. With the exception of
the huge bulks of the skin lodges, little could be seen save the
flames of the fire, broken by the movements of intervening bodies, and
the smoke rising slowly on the quiet air. But to their nostrils came
the myriad smells of an Indian camp, carrying a story that was largely
incomprehensible to One Eye, but every detail of which the she-wolf
knew.
¡¡¡¡She was strangely stirred, and sniffed and sniffed with an
increasing delight. But old One Eye was doubtful. He betrayed his
apprehension, and started tentatively to go. She turned and touched
his neck with her muzzle in a reassuring way, then regarded the camp
again. A new wistfulness was in her face, but it was not the
wistfulness of hunger. She was thrilling to a desire that urged her to
go forward, to be in closer to that fire, to be squabbling with the
dogs, and to be avoiding and dodging the stumbling feet of men.
¡¡¡¡One Eye moved impatiently beside her; her unrest came back upon her,
and she knew again her pressing need to find the thing for which she
searched. She turned and trotted back into the forest, to the great
relief of One Eye, who trotted a little to the fore until they were
well within the shelter of the trees.
¡¡¡¡As they slid along, noiseless as shadows, in the moonlight, they
came upon a runway. Both noses went down to the footprints in the
snow. These footprints were very fresh. One Eye ran ahead
cautiously, his mate at his heels. The broad pads of their feet were
spread wide and in contact with the snow were like velvet. One Eye
caught sight of a dim movement of white in the midst of the white. His
sliding gait had been deceptively swift, but it was as nothing to
the speed at which he now ran. Before him was bounding the faint patch
of white he had discovered.
¡¡¡¡They were running along a narrow alley flanked on either side by a
growth of young spruce. Through the trees, the mouth of the alley
could be seen, opening out on a moonlight glade. Old One Eye was
rapidly overhauling the fleeing shape of white. Bound by bound he
gained. Now he was upon it. One leap more and his teeth would be
sinking into it. But that leap was never made. High in the air, and
straight up, soared the shape of white, now a struggling snowshoe
rabbit that leaped and bounded, executing a fantastic dance there
above him in the air and never once returning to earth.
¡¡¡¡One Eye sprang back with a sort of sudden fright, then shrank down
to the snow and crouched, snarling threats at this thing of fear he
did not understand. But the she-wolf coolly thrust past him. She
poised for a moment, then sprang for the dancing rabbit. She, too,
soared high, but not so high as the quarry, and her teeth clipped
emptily together with a metallic snap. She made another leap, and
another.
¡¡¡¡Her mate had slowly relaxed from his crouch and was watching her. He
now evinced displeasure at her repeated failures, and himself made a
mighty spring upward. His teeth closed upon the rabbit, and he bore it
back to earth with him. But at the same time there was a suspicious
crackling movement beside him, and his astonished eyes saw a young
spruce sapling bending down above him to strike him. His jaws let go
their grip, and he leaped backward to escape this strange danger,
his lips drawn back from his fangs, his throat snarling, every hair
bristling with rage and fright. And in that moment the sapling
reared its slender length upright and the rabbit soared dancing in the
air again.
¡¡¡¡The she-wolf was angry. She sank her fangs into her mate's
shoulder in reproof; and he, frightened, unaware of what constituted
this new onslaught, struck back ferociously and in still greater
fright, ripping down the side of the she-wolf's muzzle. For him to
resent such reproof was equally unexpected to her, and she sprang upon
him in snarling indignation. Then he discovered his mistake and
tried to placate her. But she proceeded to punish him roundly, until
he gave over all attempts at placation, and whirled in a circle, his
head away from her, his shoulders receiving the punishment of her
teeth.
¡¡¡¡In the meantime the rabbit danced above them in the air. The
she-wolf sat down in the snow, and old One Eye, now more in fear of
his mate than of the mysterious sapling, again sprang for the
rabbit. As he sank back with it between his teeth, he kept his eye
on the sapling. As before, it followed him back to earth. He
crouched down under the impending blow, his hair bristling, but his
teeth still keeping tight hold of the rabbit. But the blow did not
fall. The sapling remained bent above him. When he moved it moved, and
he growled at it through his clenched jaws; when he remained still, it
remained still, and he concluded it was safer to continue remaining
still. Yet the warm blood of the rabbit tasted good in his mouth.
¡¡¡¡It was his mate who relieved him from the quandary in which he found
himself. She took the rabbit from him, and while the sapling swayed
and teetered threateningly above her she calmly gnawed off the
rabbit's head. At once the sapling shot up, and after that gave no
more trouble, remaining in the decorous and perpendicular position
in which nature had intended it to grow. Then, between them, the
she-wolf and One Eye devoured the game which the mysterious sapling
had caught for them.
¡¡¡¡There were other runways and alleys where rabbits were hanging in
the air, and the wolf-pair prospected them all, the she-wolf leading
the way, old One Eye following and observant, learning the method of
robbing snares- a knowledge destined to stand him in good stead in the
days to come.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER TWO. The Lair.
¡¡¡¡FOR TWO DAYS THE SHE-WOLF and One Eye hung about the Indian camp. He
was worried and apprehensive, yet the camp lured his mate and she
was loath to depart. But when, one morning, the air was rent with
the report of a rifle close at hand, and a bullet smashed against a
tree trunk several inches from One Eye's head, they hesitated no more,
but went off on a long, swinging lope that put quick miles between
them and the danger.
¡¡¡¡They did not go far- a couple of days' journey. The she-wolf's
need to find the thing for which she searched had now become
imperative. She was getting very heavy, and could run but slowly.
Once, in the pursuit of a rabbit, which she ordinarily would have
caught with ease, she gave over and lay down and rested. One Eye
came to her; but when he touched her neck gently with his muzzle she
snapped at him with such quick fierceness that he tumbled over
backward and cut a ridiculous figure in his effort to escape her
teeth. Her temper was now shorter than ever; but he had become more
patient than ever and more solicitous.
¡¡¡¡And then she found the thing for which she sought. It was a few
miles up a small stream that in the summer time flowed into the
Mackenzie, but that then was frozen over and frozen down to its
rocky bottom- a dead stream of solid white from source to mouth. The
she-wolf was trotting wearily along, her mate well in advance, when
she came upon the overhanging, high clay-bank. She turned aside and
trotted over to it. The wear and tear of spring storms and melting
snows had under-washed the bank and in one place had made a small cave
out of a narrow fissure.
¡¡¡¡She paused at the mouth of the cave and looked the wall over
carefully. Then, on one side and the other, she ran along the base
of the wall to where its abrupt bulk merged from the softer-lined
landscape. Returning to the cave, she entered its narrow mouth. For
a short three feet she was compelled to crouch, then the walls widened
and rose higher in a little round chamber nearly six feet in diameter.
The roof barely cleared her head. It was dry and cosy. She inspected
it with painstaking care, while One Eye, who had returned, stood in
the entrance and patiently watched her. She dropped her head, with her
nose to the ground and directed toward a point near to her closely
bunched feet, and around this point she circled several times; then,
with a tired sigh that was almost a grunt, she curled her body in,
relaxed her legs, and dropped down, her head toward the entrance.
One Eye, with pointed, interested ears, laughed at her, and beyond,
outlined against the white light, she could see the brush of his
tail waving good-naturedly. Her own ears, with a snuggling movement,
laid their sharp points backward and down against the head for a
moment, while her mouth opened and her tongue lolled peaceably out,
and in this way she expressed that she was pleased and satisfied.
¡¡¡¡One Eye was hungry. Though he lay down in the entrance and slept,
his sleep was fitful. He kept awaking and cocking his ears at the
bright world without, where the April sun was blazing across the snow.
When he dozed, upon his ears would steal the faint whispers of
hidden trickles of running water, and he would rouse and listen
intently. The sun had come back, and all the awakening Northland world
was calling to him. Life was stirring. The feel of spring was in the
air, the feel of growing life under the snow, of sap ascending in
the trees, of buds bursting the shackles of the frost.
¡¡¡¡He cast anxious glances at his mate, but she showed no desire to get
up. He looked outside, and half a dozen snowbirds fluttered across his
field of vision. He started to get up, then looked back to his mate
again, and settled down and dozed. A shrill and minute singing stole
upon his hearing. Once, and twice, he sleepily brushed his nose with
his paw. Then he woke up. There, buzzing in the air at the tip of
his nose, was a lone mosquito. It was a full-grown mosquito, one
that had lain frozen in a dry log all winter and that had now been
thawed out by the sun. He could resist the call of the world no
longer. Besides, he was hungry.
¡¡¡¡He crawled over to his mate and tried to persuade her to get up. But
she only snarled at him, and he walked out alone into the bright
sunshine to find the snow-surface soft underfoot and the traveling
difficult. He went up the frozen bed of the stream, where the snow,
shaded by the trees, was yet hard and crystalline. He was gone eight
hours, and he came back through the darkness hungrier than when he had
started. He had found game, but he had not caught it. He had broken
through the melting snow-crust, and wallowed, while the snowshoe
rabbits had skimmed along on top lightly as ever.
¡¡¡¡He paused at the mouth of the cave with a sudden shock of suspicion.
Faint, strange sounds came from within. They were sounds not made by
his mate, and yet they were remotely familiar. He bellied cautiously
inside and was met by a warning snarl from the she-wolf. This he
received without perturbation, though he obeyed it by keeping his
distance; but he remained interested in the other sounds- faint,
muffled sobbings and slubberings.
¡¡¡¡His mate warned him irritably away, and he curled up and slept in
the entrance. When morning came and a dim light pervaded the lair,
he again sought after the source of the remotely familiar sounds.
There was a new note in his mate's warning snarl. It was a jealous
note, and he was very careful in keeping a respectful distance.
Nevertheless, he made out, sheltering between her legs against the
length of her body, five strange little bundles of life, very
feeble, very helpless, making tiny whimpering noises, with eyes that
did not open to the light. He was surprised. It was not the first time
in his long and successful life that this thing had happened. It had
happened many times, yet each time it was as fresh a surprise as
ever to him.
¡¡¡¡His mate looked at him anxiously. Every little while she emitted a
low growl, and at times, when it seemed to her he approached too near,
the growl shot up in her throat to a sharp snarl. Of her own
experience she had no memory of the thing happening; but in her
instinct, which was the experience of all the mothers of wolves, there
lurked a memory of fathers that had eaten their newborn, and
helpless progeny. It manifested itself as a fear strong within her,
that made her prevent One Eye from more closely inspecting the cubs he
had fathered.
¡¡¡¡But there was no danger. Old One Eye was feeling the urge of an
impulse, that was, in turn, an instinct that had come down to him from
all the fathers of wolves. He did not question it, nor puzzle over it.
It was there, in the fibre of his being; and it was the most natural
thing in the world that he should obey it by turning his back on his
newborn family and by trotting out and away on the meat-trail
whereby he lived.
¡¡¡¡Five or six miles from the lair, the stream divided, its forks going
off among the mountains at a right angle. Here, leading up the left
fork, he came upon a fresh track. He smelled it and found it so recent
that he crouched swiftly, and looked into the direction in which it
disappeared. Then he turned deliberately and took the right fork.
The footprint was much larger than the one his own feet made, and he
knew that in the wake of such a trail there was little meat for him.
¡¡¡¡Half a mile up the right fork, his quick ears caught the sound of
gnawing teeth. He stalked the quarry and found it to be a porcupine,
standing upright against a tree and trying his teeth on the bark.
One Eye approached carefully but hopelessly. He knew the breed, though
he had never met it so far north before; and never in his long life
had porcupine served him for a meal. But he had long since learned
that there was such a thing as Chance, or Opportunity, and he
continued to draw near. There was never any telling what might happen,
for with live things events were somehow always happening differently.
¡¡¡¡The porcupine rolled itself into a ball, radiating long, sharp
needles in all directions that defied attack. In his youth One Eye had
once sniffed too near a similar, apparently inert ball of quills,
and had the tail flick out suddenly in his face. One quill he had
carried away in his muzzle, where it had remained for weeks, a
rankling flame, until it finally worked out. So he lay down, in a
comfortable crouching position, his nose fully a foot away, and out of
the line of the tail. Thus he waited, keeping perfectly quiet. There
was no telling. Something might happen. The porcupine might unroll.
There might be opportunity for a deft and ripping thrust of paw into
the tender, unguarded belly.
¡¡¡¡But at the end of half an hour he arose, growled wrathfully at the
motionless ball, and trotted on. He had waited too often and
futilely in the past for porcupines to unroll, to waste any more time.
He continued up the right fork. The day wore long, and nothing
rewarded his hunt.
¡¡¡¡The urge of his awakened instinct of fatherhood was strong upon him.
He must find meat. In the afternoon he blundered upon a ptarmigan.
He came out of a thicket and found himself face to face with the
slow-witted bird. It was sitting on a log, not a foot beyond the end
of his nose. Each saw the other. The bird made a startled rise, but he
struck it with his paw, and smashed it down to earth, then pounced
upon it, and caught it in his teeth as it scuttled across the snow
trying to rise in the air again. As his teeth crunched through the
tender flesh and fragile bones, he began naturally to eat. Then he
remembered, and, turning on the back-track, started for home, carrying
the ptarmigan in his mouth.
¡¡¡¡A mile above the forks, running velvet-footed as was his custom, a
gliding shadow that cautiously prospected each new vista of the trail,
he came upon later imprints of the large tracks he had discovered in
the early morning. As the track led his way, he followed, prepared
to meet the maker of it at every turn of the stream.
¡¡¡¡He slid his head around a corner of rock, where began an unusually
large bend in the stream, and his quick eyes made out something that
sent him crouching swiftly down. It was the maker of the track, a
large female lynx. She was crouching as he had crouched once that day,
in front of her the tight-rolled ball of quills. If he had been a
gliding shadow before, he now became the ghost of such a shadow, as he
crept and circled around, and came up well to leeward of the silent,
motionless pair.
¡¡¡¡He lay down in the snow, depositing the ptarmigan beside him, and
with eyes peering through the needles of a low-growing spruce he
watched the play of life before him- the waiting lynx and the
waiting porcupine, each intent on life; and, such was the
curiousness of the game, the way of life for one lay in the eating
of the other, and the way of life for the other lay in being not
eaten. While old One Eye, the wolf, crouching in the covert, played
his part, too, in the game, waiting for some strange freak of
Chance, that might help him on the meat-trail which was his way of
life.
¡¡¡¡Half an hour passed, an hour; and nothing happened. The ball of
quills might have been a stone for all it moved; the lynx might have
been frozen to marble; and old One Eye might have been dead, yet all
three animals were keyed to a tenseness of living that was almost
painful, and scarcely ever would it come to them to be more alive than
they were then in their seeming petrifaction.
¡¡¡¡One Eye moved slightly and peered forth with increased eagerness.
Something was happening. The porcupine had at last decided that its
enemy had gone away. Slowly, cautiously, it was unrolling its ball
of impregnable armor. It was agitated by no tremor of anticipation.
Slowly, slowly, the bristling ball straightened out and lengthened.
One Eye, watching, felt a sudden moistness in his mouth and a drooling
of saliva, involuntary, excited by the living meat that was
spreading itself like a repast before him.
¡¡¡¡Not quite entirely had the porcupine unrolled when it discovered its
enemy. In that instant the lynx struck. The blow was like a flash of
light. The paw, with rigid claws curving like talons, shot under the
tender belly and came back with a swift ripping movement. Had the
porcupine been entirely unrolled, or had it not discovered its enemy a
fraction of a second before the blow was struck, the paw would have
escaped unscathed; but a side-flick of the tail sank sharp quills into
it as it was withdrawn.
¡¡¡¡Everything had happened at once- the blow, the counter-blow, the
squeal of agony from the porcupine, the big cat's squall of sudden
hurt and astonishment. One Eye half arose in his excitement, his
ears up, his tail straight out and quivering behind him. The lynx's
bad temper got the best of her. She sprang savagely at the thing
that had hurt her. But the porcupine, squealing and grunting, with
disrupted anatomy trying feebly to roll up into its ball-protection,
flicked out its tail again, and again the big cat squalled with hurt
and astonishment. Then she fell to backing away and sneezing, her nose
bristling with quills like a monstrous pin-cushion. She brushed her
nose with her paws, trying to dislodge the fiery darts, thrust it into
the snow, and rubbed it against twigs and branches, all the time
leaping about, ahead, sidewise, up and down, in a frenzy of pain and
fright.
¡¡¡¡She sneezed continually, and her stub of a tail was doing its best
toward lashing about by giving quick, violent jerks. She quit her
antics, and quieted down for a long minute. One Eye watched. And
even he could not repress a start and an involuntary bristling of hair
along his back when she suddenly leaped, without warning, straight
up in the air, at the same time emitting a long and most terrible
squall. Then she sprang away, up the trail, squalling with every
leap she made.
¡¡¡¡It was not until her racket had faded away in the distance and
died out that One Eye ventured forth. He walked as delicately as
though all the snow were carpeted with porcupine quills, erect and
ready to pierce the soft pads of his feet. The porcupine met his
approach with a furious squealing and a clashing of its long teeth. It
had managed to roll up in a ball again, but it was not quite the old
compact ball; its muscles were too much torn for that. It had been
ripped almost in half, and was still bleeding profusely.
¡¡¡¡One Eye scooped out mouthfuls of the blood-soaked snow, and chewed
and tasted and swallowed. This served as a relish, and his hunger
increased mightily; but he was too old in the world to forget his
caution. He waited. He lay down and waited, while the porcupine grated
its teeth and uttered grunts and sobs and occasional sharp little
squeals. In a little while, One Eye noticed that the quills were
drooping and that a great quivering had set up. The quivering came
to an end suddenly. There was a final clash of the long teeth. Then
all the quills drooped quite down, and the body relaxed and moved no
more.
¡¡¡¡With a nervous, shrinking paw, One Eye stretched out the porcupine
to its full length and turned it over on its back. Nothing had
happened. It was surely dead. He studied it intently for a moment,
then took a careful grip with his teeth and started off down the
stream, partly carrying, partly dragging the porcupine, with head
turned to the side so as to avoid stepping on the prickly mass. He
recollected something, dropped the burden, and trotted back to where
he had left the ptarmigan. He did not hesitate a moment. He knew
clearly what was to be done, and this he did by promptly eating the
ptarmigan. Then he returned and took up his burden.
¡¡¡¡When he dragged the result of his day's hunt into the cave, the
she-wolf inspected it, turned her muzzle to him, and lightly licked
him on the neck. But the next instant she was warning him away from
the cubs with a snarl that was less harsh than usual and that was more
apologetic than menacing. Her instinctive fear of the father of her
progeny was toning down. He was behaving as a wolf father should,
and manifesting no unholy desire to devour the young lives she had
brought into the world.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER THREE. The Gray Cub.
¡¡¡¡HE WAS DIFFERENT FROM his brothers and sisters. Their hair already
betrayed the reddish hue inherited from their mother, the she-wolf;
while he alone, in this particular, took after his father. He was
the one little gray cub of the litter. He had bred true to the
straight wolf-stock- in fact, he had bred true, physically, to old One
Eye himself, with but a single exception, and that was that he had two
eyes to his father's one.
¡¡¡¡The gray cub's eyes had not been open long, yet already he could see
with steady clearness. And while his eyes were still closed, he had
felt, tasted, and smelled. He knew his two brothers and his two
sisters very well. He had begun to romp with them in a feeble, awkward
way, and even to squabble, his little throat vibrating with a queer
rasping noise (the forerunner of the growl), as he worked himself into
a passion. And long before his eyes had opened, he had learned by
touch, taste, and smell to know his mother- a fount of warmth and
liquid food and tenderness. She possessed a gentle, caressing tongue
that soothed him when it passed over his soft little body, and that
impelled him to snuggle close against her and to doze off to sleep.
¡¡¡¡Most of the first month of his life had been passed thus in
sleeping; but now he could see quite well, and he stayed awake for
longer periods of time, and he was coming to learn his world quite
well. His world was gloomy; but he did not know that, for he knew no
other world. It was dim-lighted; but his eyes had never had to
adjust themselves to any other light. His world was very small. Its
limits were the walls of the lair; but as he had no knowledge of the
wide world outside, he was never oppressed by the narrow confines of
his existence.
¡¡¡¡But he had early discovered that one wall of his world was different
from the rest. This was the mouth of the cave and the source of light.
He had discovered that it was different from the other walls long
before he had any thoughts of his own, any conscious volitions. It had
been an irresistible attraction before even his eyes opened and looked
upon it. The light from it had beat upon his sealed lids, and the eyes
and the optic nerves had pulsated to little, spark-like flashes,
warm-colored and strangely pleasing. The life of his body, and of
every fibre of his body, the life that was the very substance of his
body and that was apart from his own personal life, had yearned toward
this light and urged his body toward it in the same way that the
cunning chemistry of a plant urges it toward the sun.
¡¡¡¡Always, in the beginning, before his conscious life dawned, he had
crawled toward the mouth of the cave. And in this his brothers and
sisters were one with him. Never, in that period, did any of them
crawl toward the dark corners of the backwall. The light drew them
as if they were plants; the chemistry of the life that composed them
demanded the light as a necessity of being; and their little
puppet-bodies crawled blindly and chemically, like the tendrils of a
vine. Later on, when each developed individuality and became
personally conscious of impulsions and desires, the attraction of
the light increased. They were always crawling and sprawling toward
it, and being driven back from it by their mother.
¡¡¡¡It was in this way that the gray cub learned other attributes of his
mother than the soft, soothing tongue. In his insistent crawling
toward the light, he discovered in her a nose that with a sharp
nudge administered rebuke, and later, a paw, that crushed him down
or rolled him over and over with swift, calculating stroke. Thus he
learned hurt; and on top of it he learned to avoid hurt, first, by not
incurring the risk of it; and second, when he had incurred the risk,
by dodging and by retreating. These were conscious actions, and were
the results of his first generalizations upon the world. Before that
he had recoiled automatically from hurt, as he had crawled
automatically toward the light. After that he recoiled from hurt
because he knew that it was hurt.
¡¡¡¡He was a fierce little cub. So were his brothers and sisters. It was
to be expected. He was a carnivorous animal. He came of a breed of
meat-killers and meat-eaters. His father and mother lived wholly
upon meat. The milk he had sucked with his first flickering life was
milk transformed directly from meat, and now, at a month old, when his
eyes had been open for but a week, he was beginning himself to eat
meat- meat half-digested by the she-wolf and disgorged for the five
growing cubs that already made too great demand upon her breast.
¡¡¡¡But he was, further, the fiercest of the litter. He could make a
louder rasping growl than any of them. His tiny rages were much more
terrible than theirs. It was he that first learned the trick of
rolling a fellow-cub over with a cunning paw-stroke. And it was he
that first gripped another cub by the ear and pulled and tugged and
growled through jaws tight-clenched. And certainly it was he that
caused the mother the most trouble in keeping her litter from the
mouth of the cave.
¡¡¡¡The fascination of the light for the gray cub increased from day
to day. He was perpetually departing on yard-long adventures toward
the cave's entrance, and was perpetually being driven back. Only he
did not know it for an entrance. He did not know anything about
entrances- passages whereby one goes from one place to another
place. He did not know any other place, much less of a way to get
there. So to him the entrance of the cave was a wall- a wall of light.
As the sun was to the outside dweller, this wall was to him the sun of
his world. It attracted him as a candle attracts a moth. He was always
striving to attain it. The life that was so swiftly expanding within
him, urged him continually toward the wall of light. The life that was
within him knew that it was the one way out, the way he was
predestined to tread. But he himself did not know anything about it.
He did not know there was any outside at all.
¡¡¡¡There was one strange thing about this wall of light. His father (he
had already come to recognize his father as the one other dweller in
the world, a creature like his mother, who slept near the light and
was a bringer of meat)- his father had a way of walking right into the
white far wall and disappearing. The gray cub could not understand
this. Though never permitted by his mother to approach that wall, he
had approached the other walls, and encountered hard obstruction on
the end of his tender nose. This hurt. And after several such
adventures, he left the walls alone. Without thinking about it, he
accepted this disappearing into the wall as a peculiarity of his
father, as milk and half-digested meat were peculiarities of his
mother.
¡¡¡¡In fact, the gray cub was not given to thinking- at least, to the
kind of thinking customary of men. His brain worked in dim ways. Yet
his conclusions were as sharp and distinct as those achieved by men.
He had a method of accepting things, without questioning the why and
wherefore. In reality, this was the act of classification. He was
never disturbed over why a thing happened. How it happened was
sufficient for him. Thus, when he had bumped his nose on the
backwall a few times he accepted that he would not disappear into
walls. In the same way he accepted that his father could disappear
into walls. But he was not in the least disturbed by desire to find
out the reason for the difference between his father and himself.
Logic and physics were no part of his mental make-up.
¡¡¡¡Like most creatures of the Wild, he early experienced famine.
There came a time when not only did the meat-supply cease, but the
milk no longer came from his mother's breast. At first, the cubs
whimpered and cried, but for the most part they slept. It was not long
before they were reduced to a coma of hunger. There were no more spats
and squabbles, no more tiny rages nor attempts at growling; while
the adventures toward the far white wall ceased altogether. The cubs
slept, while the life that was in them flickered and died down.
¡¡¡¡One Eye was desperate. He ranged far and wide, and slept but
little in the lair that had now become cheerless and miserable. The
she-wolf, too, left her litter and went out in search of meat. In
the first days after the birth of the cubs, One Eye had journeyed
several times back to the Indian camp and robbed the rabbit snares;
but, with the melting of the snow and the opening of the streams,
the Indian camp had moved away, and that source of supply was closed
to him.
¡¡¡¡When the gray cub came back to life and again took interest in the
far white wall, he found that the population of his world had been
reduced. Only one sister remained to him. The rest were gone. As he
grew stronger, he found himself compelled to play alone, for the
sister no longer lifted her head nor moved about. His little body
rounded out with the meat he now ate; but the food had come too late
for her. She slept continuously, a tiny skeleton flung round with skin
in which the flame flickered lower and lower and at last went out.
¡¡¡¡Then there came a time when the gray cub no longer saw his father
appearing and disappearing in the wall nor lying down asleep in the
entrance. This had happened at the end of a second and less severe
famine. The she-wolf knew why One Eye never came back, but there was
no way by which she could tell what she had seen to the gray cub.
Hunting herself for meat, up the left fork of the stream where lived
the lynx, she had followed a day-old trail of One Eye. And she had
found him, or what remained of him, at the end of the trail. There
were many signs of the battle that had been fought, and of the
lynx's withdrawal to her lair after having won the victory. Before she
went away, the she-wolf had found this lair, but the signs told her
that the lynx was inside, and she had not dared to venture in.
¡¡¡¡After that, the she-wolf in her hunting avoided the left fork. For
she knew that in the lynx's lair was a litter of kittens, and she knew
the lynx for a fierce, bad-tempered creature and a terrible fighter.
It was all very well for half a dozen wolves to drive a lynx, spitting
and bristling, up a tree; but it was quite a different matter for a
lone wolf to encounter a lynx- especially when the lynx was known to
have a litter of hungry kittens at her back.
¡¡¡¡But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times
fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it; and the time was
to come when the she-wolf, for her gray cub's sake, would venture
the left fork, and the lair in the rocks, and the lynx's wrath.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER FOUR. The Wall of the World.
¡¡¡¡BY THE TIME HIS MOTHER began leaving the cave on hunting
expeditions, the cub had learned well the law that forbade his
approaching the entrance. Not only had this law been forcibly and many
times impressed on him by his mother's nose and paw, but in him the
instinct of fear was developing. Never, in his brief cave-life, had he
encountered anything of which to be afraid. Yet fear was in him. It
had come down to him from a remote ancestry through a thousand
thousand lives. It was a heritage he had received directly from One
Eye and the she-wolf; but to them, in turn, it had been passed down
through all the generations of wolves that had gone before. Fear!-
that legacy of the Wild which no animal may escape nor exchange for
pottage.
¡¡¡¡So the gray cub knew fear, though he knew not the stuff of which
fear was made. Possibly he accepted it as one of the restrictions of
life. For he had already learned that there were such restrictions.
Hunger he had known; and when he could not appease his hunger he had
felt restriction. The hard obstruction of the cave-wall, the sharp
nudge of his mother's nose, the smashing stroke of her paw, the hunger
unappeased of several famines, had borne in upon him that all was
not freedom in the world, that to life there were limitations and
restraints. These limitations and restraints were law. To be
obedient to them was to escape hurt and make for happiness.
¡¡¡¡He did not reason the question out in this man-fashion. He merely
classified the things that hurt and the things that did not hurt.
And after such classification he avoided the things that hurt, the
restrictions and restraints, in order to enjoy the satisfactions and
the remunerations of life.
¡¡¡¡Thus it was that in obedience to the law laid down by his mother,
and in obedience to the law of that unknown and nameless thing,
fear, he kept away from the mouth of the cave. It remained to him a
white wall of light. When his mother was absent, he slept most of
the time, while during the intervals that he was awake he kept very
quiet, suppressing the whimpering cries that tickled in his throat and
strove for noise.
¡¡¡¡Once, lying awake, he heard a strange sound in the white wall. He
did not know that it was a wolverine, standing outside, all
a-tremble with its own daring, and cautiously scenting out the
contents of the cave. The cub knew only that the sniff was strange,
a something unclassified, therefore unknown and terrible- for the
unknown was one of the chief elements that went into the making of
fear.
¡¡¡¡The hair bristled up on the gray cub's back, but it bristled
silently. How was he to know that this thing that sniffed was a
thing at which to bristle? It was not born of any knowledge of his,
yet it was the visible expression of the fear that was in him, and for
which, in his own life, there was no accounting. But fear was
accompanied by another instinct- that of concealment. The cub was in a
frenzy of terror, yet he lay without movement or sound, frozen,
petrified into immobility, to all appearances dead. His mother, coming
home, growled as she smelt the wolverine's track, and bounded into the
cave and licked and nozzled him with undue vehemence of affection. And
the cub felt that somehow he had escaped a great hurt.
¡¡¡¡But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of
which was growth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. But
growth demanded disobedience. His mother and fear impelled him to keep
away from the white wall. Growth is life, and life is forever destined
to make for light. So there was no damming up the tide of life that
was rising within him- rising with every mouthful of meat he
swallowed, with every breath he drew. In the end, one day, fear and
obedience were swept away by the rush of life, and the cub straddled
and sprawled toward the entrance.
¡¡¡¡Unlike any other wall with which he had had experience, this wall
seemed to recede from him as he approached. No hard surface collided
with the tender little nose he thrust out tentatively before him.
The substance of the wall seemed as permeable and yielding as light.
And as condition, in his eyes, had the seeming of form, so he
entered into what had been wall to him and bathed in the substance
that composed it.
¡¡¡¡It was bewildering. He was sprawling through solidity. And ever
the light grew brighter. Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove
him on. Suddenly he found himself at the mouth of the cave. The
wall, inside which he had thought himself, as suddenly leaped back
before him to an immeasurable distance. The light had become painfully
bright. He was dazzled by it. Likewise he was made dizzy by this
abrupt and tremendous extension of space. Automatically, his eyes were
adjusting themselves to the brightness, focusing themselves to meet
the increased distance of objects. At first, the wall had leaped
beyond his vision. He now saw it again; but it had taken upon itself a
remarkable remoteness. Also, its appearance had changed. It was now
a variegated wall, composed of the trees that fringed the stream,
the opposing mountain that towered above the trees, and the sky that
out-towered the mountain.
¡¡¡¡A great fear came upon him. This was more of the terrible unknown.
He crouched down on the lip of the cave and gazed out on the world. He
was very much afraid. Because it was unknown, it was hostile to him.
Therefore the hair stood up on end along his back and his lips
wrinkled weakly in an attempt at a ferocious and intimidating snarl.
Out of his puniness and fright he challenged and menaced the whole
wide world.
¡¡¡¡Nothing happened. He continued to gaze, and in his interest he
forgot to snarl. Also, he forgot to be afraid. For the time, fear
had been routed by growth, while growth had assumed the guise of
curiosity. He began to notice near objects- an open portion of the
stream that flashed in the sun, the blasted pine tree that stood at
the base of the slope, and the slope itself, that ran right up to
him and ceased two feet beneath the lip of the cave on which he
crouched.
¡¡¡¡Now the gray cub had lived all his days on a level floor. He had
never experienced the hurt of a fall. He did not know what a fall was.
So he stepped boldly out upon the air. His hind-legs still rested on
the cave-lip, so he fell forward head downward. The earth struck him a
harsh blow on the nose that made him yelp. Then he began rolling
down the slope, over and over. He was in a panic of terror. The
unknown had caught him at last. It had gripped savagely hold of him
and was about to wreak upon him some terrific hurt. Growth was now
routed by fear, and he ki-yi'd like any frightened puppy.
¡¡¡¡The unknown bore him on he knew not to what frightful hurt, and he
yelped and ki-yi'd unceasingly. This was a different proposition
from crouching in frozen fear while the unknown lurked just alongside.
Now the unknown had caught tight hold of him. Silence would do no
good. Besides, it was not fear, but terror, that convulsed him.
¡¡¡¡But the slope grew more gradual, and its base was grass-covered.
Here the cub lost momentum. When at last he came to a stop, he gave
one last agonized yelp and then a long, whimpering wail. Also, and
quite as a matter of course, as though in his life he had already made
a thousand toilets, he proceeded to lick away that dry clay that
soiled him.
¡¡¡¡After that he sat up and gazed about him, as might the first man
of the earth who landed upon Mars. The cub had broken through the wall
of the world, the unknown had let go its hold of him, and here he
was without hurt. But the first man on Mars would have experienced
less unfamiliarity that did he. Without any antecedent knowledge,
without any warning whatever that such existed, he found himself an
explorer in a totally new world.
¡¡¡¡Now that the terrible unknown had let go of him, he forgot that
the unknown had any terrors. He was aware only of curiosity in all the
things about him. He inspected the grass beneath him, the mossberry
plant just beyond, and the dead trunk of the blasted pine that stood
on the edge of an open space among the trees. A squirrel, running
around the base of the trunk, came full upon him, and gave him a great
fright. He cowered down and snarled. But the squirrel was as badly
scared. It ran up the tree, and from a point of safety chattered
back savagely.
¡¡¡¡This helped the cub's courage, and though the woodpecker he next
encountered gave him a start, he proceeded confidently on his way.
Such was his confidence, that when a moose-bird impudently hopped up
to him, he reached out at it with a playful paw. The result was a
sharp peck on the end of his nose that made him cower down and
ki-yi. The noise he made was too much for the moose-bird, who sought
safety in flight.
¡¡¡¡But the cub was learning. His misty little mind had already made
an unconscious classification. There were live things and things not
alive. Also, he must watch out for the live things. The things not
alive remained always in one place; but the live things moved about,
and there was no telling what they might do. The thing to expect of
them was the unexpected, and for this he must be prepared.
¡¡¡¡He traveled very clumsily. He ran into sticks and things. A twig
that he thought a long way off would the next instant hit him on the
nose or rake along his ribs. There were inequalities of surface.
Sometimes he overstepped and stubbed his nose. Quite as often he
under-stepped and stubbed his feet. Then there were pebbles and stones
that turned under him when he trod upon them; and from them he came to
know that the things not alive were not all in the same state of
stable equilibrium as was his cave; also, that small things not
alive were more liable than large things to fall down or turn over.
But with every mishap he was learning. The longer he walked, the
better he walked. He was adjusting himself. He was learning to
calculate his own muscular movements, to know his physical
limitations, to measure distances between objects, and between objects
and himself.
¡¡¡¡His was the luck of the beginner. Born to be a hunter of meat
(though he did not know it), he blundered upon meat just outside his
own cave-door on his first foray into the world. It was by sheer
blundering that he chanced upon the shrewdly hidden ptarmigan nest. He
fell into it. He had essayed to walk along the trunk of a fallen pine.
The rotten bark gave way under his feet, and with a despairing yelp he
pitched down the rounded descent, smashed through the leafage and
stalks of a small bush, and in the heart of the bush, on the ground,
fetched up amongst seven ptarmigan chicks.
¡¡¡¡They made noises, and at first he was frightened at them. Then he
perceived that they were very little, and he became bolder. They
moved. He placed his paw on one, and its movements were accelerated.
This was a source of enjoyment to him. He smelled it. He picked it
up in his mouth. It struggled and tickled his tongue. At the same time
he was made aware of a sensation of hunger. His jaws closed
together. There was a crunching of fragile bones, and warm blood ran
in his mouth. The taste of it was good. This was meat, the same as his
mother gave him, only it was alive between his teeth and therefore
better. So he ate the ptarmigan. Nor did he stop till he had
devoured the whole brood. Then he licked his chops in quite the same
way his mother did, and began to crawl out of the bush.
¡¡¡¡He encountered a feathered whirlwind. He was confused and blinded by
the rush of it and the beat of angry wings. He hid his head between
his paws and yelped. The blows increased. The mother-ptarmigan was
in a fury. Then he became angry. He rose up, snarling, striking out
with his paws. He sank his tiny teeth into one of the wings and pulled
and tugged sturdily. The ptarmigan struggled against him, showering
blows upon him with her free wing. It was his first battle. He was
elated. He forgot all about the unknown. He no longer was afraid of
anything. He was fighting, tearing at a living thing that was striking
at him. Also, this live thing was meat. The lust to kill was on him.
He had just destroyed little live things. He would now destroy a big
live thing. He was too busy and happy to know that he was happy. He
was thrilling and exulting in ways new to him and greater to him
than any he had known before.
¡¡¡¡He held on to the wing and growled between his tight-clenched teeth.
The ptarmigan dragged him out of the bush. When she turned and tried
to drag him back into the bush's shelter, he pulled her away from it
and on into the open. And all the time she was making outcry and
striking with her wing, while feathers were flying like a snowfall.
The pitch to which he was aroused was tremendous. All the fighting
blood of his breed was up in him and surging through him. This was
living, though he did not know it. He was realizing his own meaning in
the world; he was doing that for which he was made- killing meat and
battling to kill it. He was justifying his existence, than which
life can do no greater; for life achieves its summit when it does to
the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.
¡¡¡¡After a time, the ptarmigan ceased her struggling. He still held her
by the wing, and they lay on the ground and looked at each other. He
tried to growl threateningly, ferociously. She pecked on his nose,
which by now, what of previous adventures, was sore. He winced but
held on. She pecked him again and again. From wincing he went to
whimpering. He tried to back away from her, oblivious of the fact that
by his hold on her he dragged her after him. A rain of pecks fell on
his ill-used nose. The flood of fight ebbed down in him, and,
releasing his prey, he turned tail and scampered off across the open
in inglorious retreat.
¡¡¡¡He lay down to rest on the other side of the open, near the edge
of the bushes, his tongue lolling out, his chest heaving and
panting, his nose still hurting him and causing him to continue his
whimper. But as he lay there, suddenly there came to him a feeling
as of something terrible impending. The unknown with all its terrors
rushed upon him, and he shrank back instinctively into the shelter
of the bush. As he did so, a draught of air fanned him, and a large,
winged body swept ominously and silently past. A hawk, driving down
out of the blue, had barely missed him.
¡¡¡¡While he lay in the bush, recovering from this fright and peering
fearfully out, the mother-ptarmigan on the other side of the open
space fluttered out of the ravaged nest. It was because of her loss
that she paid no attention to the winged bolt of the sky. But the
cub saw, and it was a warning and a lesson to him- the swift
downward swoop of the hawk, the short skim of its body just above
the ground, the strike of its talons in the body of the ptarmigan, the
ptarmigan's squawk of agony and fright, and the hawk's rush upward
into the blue, carrying the ptarmigan away with it.
¡¡¡¡It was a long time before the cub left his shelter. He had learned
much. Live things were meat. They were good to eat. Also, live
things when they were large enough, could give hurt. It was better
to eat small live things like ptarmigan chicks, and to let alone
live things like ptarmigan hens. Nevertheless he felt a little prick
of ambition, a sneaking desire to have another battle with that
ptarmigan hen- only the hawk had carried her away. Maybe there were
other ptarmigan hens. He would go and see.
¡¡¡¡He came down a shelving bank to the stream. He had never seen
water before. The footing looked good. There were no inequalities of
surface. He stepped boldly out on it; and went down, crying with fear,
into the embrace of the unknown. It was cold, and he gasped, breathing
quickly. The water rushed into his lungs instead of the air that had
always accompanied his act of breathing. The suffocation he
experienced was like the pang of death. To him it signified death.
He had no conscious knowledge of death, but like every animal of the
Wild, he possessed the instinct of death. To him it stood as the
greatest of hurts. It was the very essence of the unknown; it was
the sum of the terrors of the unknown, the one culminating and
unthinkable catastrophe that could happen to him, about which he
knew nothing and about which he feared everything.
¡¡¡¡He came to the surface, and the sweet air rushed into his open
mouth. He did not go down again. Quite as though it had been a
long-established custom of his, he struck out with all his legs and
began to swim. The near bank was a yard away; but he had come up
with his back to it, and the first thing his eyes rested upon was
the opposite bank, toward which he immediately began to swim. The
stream was a small one, but in the pool it widened out to a score of
feet.
¡¡¡¡Midway in the passage, the current picked up the cub and swept him
downstream. He was caught in the miniature rapid at the bottom of
the pool. Here was little chance for swimming. The quiet water had
become suddenly angry. Sometimes he was under, sometimes on top. At
all times he was in violent motion, now being turned over or around,
and again, being smashed against a rock. And with every rock he
struck, he yelped. His progress was a series of yelps, from which
might had been adduced the number of rocks he encountered.
¡¡¡¡Below the rapid was a second pool, and here, captured by the eddy,
he was gently borne to the bank and as gently deposited on a bed of
gravel. He crawled frantically clear of the water and lay down. He had
learned some more about the world. Water was not alive. Yet it
moved. Also, it looked as solid as the earth, but was without any
solidity at all. His conclusion was that things were not always what
they appeared to be. The cub's fear of the unknown was an inherited
distrust, and it had now been strengthened by experience. Thenceforth,
in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust of
appearances. He would have to learn the reality of a thing before he
could put his faith into it.
¡¡¡¡One other adventure was destined for him that day. He had
recollected that there was such a thing in the world as his mother.
And then there came to him a feeling that he wanted her more than
all the rest of the things in the world. Not only was his body tired
with the adventures it had undergone, but his little brain was equally
tired. In all the days he had lived it had not worked so hard as on
this one day. Furthermore, he was sleepy. So he started out to look
for the cave and his mother, feeling at the same time an
overwhelming rush of loneliness and helplessness.
¡¡¡¡He was sprawling along between some bushes, when he heard a sharp,
intimidating cry. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes. He
saw a weasel leaping swiftly away from him. It was a small thing,
and he had no fear. Then, before him, at his feet, he saw an extremely
small live thing, only several inches long- a young weasel, that, like
himself, had disobediently gone out adventuring. It tried to retreat
before him. He turned it over with his paw. It made a queer, grating
noise. The next moment the flash of yellow reappeared before his eyes.
He heard again the intimidating cry, and at the same instant
received a severe blow on the side of the neck and felt the sharp
teeth of the mother-weasel cut into his flesh.
¡¡¡¡While he yelped and ki-yi'd and scrambled backward, he saw the
mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into the
neighboring thicket. The cut of her teeth in his neck still hurt,
but his feelings were hurt more grievously, and he sat down and weakly
whimpered. This mother-weasel was so small and so savage! He was yet
to learn that for size and weight, the weasel was the most
ferocious, vindictive, and terrible of all the killers of the Wild.
But a portion of this knowledge was quickly to be his.
¡¡¡¡He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. She did
not rush him, now that her young one was safe. She approached more
cautiously, and the cub had full opportunity to observe her lean,
snakelike body, and her head, erect, eager, and snakelike itself.
Her sharp, menacing cry sent the hair bristling along his back, and he
snarled warningly at her. She came closer and closer. There was a
leap, swifter than his unpracticed sight, and the lean, yellow body
disappeared for a moment out of the field of his vision. The next
moment she was at his throat, her teeth buried in his hair and flesh.
¡¡¡¡At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young, and
this was only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a
whimper, his fight a struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed
her hold. She hung on, striving to press down with her teeth to the
great vein where his life-blood bubbled. The weasel was a drinker of
blood, and it was ever her preference to drink from the throat of life
itself.
¡¡¡¡The gray cub would have died, and there would have been no story
to write about him, had not the she-wolf come bounding through the
bushes. The weasel let go the cub and flashed at the she-wolf's
throat, missing, but getting a hold on the jaw instead. Then the
she-wolf flirted her head like the snap of a whip, breaking the
weasel's hold and flinging it high in the air. And, still in the
air, the she-wolf's jaws closed on the lean, yellow body, and the
weasel knew death between the crunching teeth.
¡¡¡¡The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of his
mother. Her joy at finding him seemed greater even than his joy at
being found. She nozzled him and caressed him and licked the cuts made
in him by the weasel's teeth. Then, between them, mother and cub, they
ate the blood-drinker, and after that went back to the cave and slept.
¡¡¡¡
¡¡¡¡CHAPTER FIVE. The Law of Meat.
¡¡¡¡THE CUB'S DEVELOPMENT was rapid. He rested for two days, and then
ventured forth from the cave again. It was on this adventure that he
found the young weasel whose mother he had helped to eat, and he saw
to it that the young weasel went the way of its mother. But on this
trip he did not get lost. When he grew tired, he found his way back to
the cave and slept. And every day thereafter found him out and ranging
a wider area.
¡¡¡¡He began to get an accurate measurement of his strength and his
weakness, and to know when to be bold and when to be cautious. He
found it expedient to be cautious all the time, except for the rare
moments, when, assured of his own intrepidity, he abandoned himself to
petty rages and lusts.
¡¡¡¡He was always a little demon of fury when he chanced upon a stray
ptarmigan. Never did he fail to respond savagely to the clatter of the
squirrel he had first met on the blasted pine. While the sight of a
moose-bird almost invariably put him into the wildest of rages; for he
never forgot the peck on the nose he had received from the first of
that ilk he encountered.
¡¡¡¡But there were times when even a moose-bird failed to affect him,
and those were times when he felt himself to be in danger from some
other prowling meat-hunter. He never forgot the hawk, and its moving
shadow always sent him crouching into the nearest thicket. He no
longer sprawled and straddled, and already he was developing the
gait of his mother, slinking and furtive, apparently without exertion,
yet sliding along with a swiftness that was as deceptive as it was
imperceptible.
¡¡¡¡In the matter of meat, his luck had been all in the beginning. The
seven ptarmigan chicks and the baby weasel represented the sum of
his killings. His desire to kill strengthened with the days, and he
cherished hungry ambitions for the squirrel that chattered so
volubly and always informed all wild creatures that the wolf-cub was
approaching. But as birds flew in the air, squirrels could climb
trees, and the cub could only try to crawl unobserved upon the
squirrel when it was on the ground.
¡¡¡¡The cub entertained a great respect for his mother. She could get
meat, and she never failed to bring him his share. Further, she was
unafraid of things. It did not occur to him that this fearlessness was
founded upon experience and knowledge. Its effect on him was that of
an impression of power. His mother represented power; and as he grew
older he felt this power in the sharper admonition of her paw; while
the reproving nudge of her nose gave place to the slash of her
fangs. For this, likewise, he respected his mother. She compelled
obedience from him, and the older he grew the shorter grew her temper.
¡¡¡¡Famine came again, and the cub with clearer