Buck's first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare. Every hour was
filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly jerked from the
heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial.
No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with nothing to do but loaf and be
bored. Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a moment's safety. All
was confusion and action, and every moment life and limb were in peril.
There was imperative need to be constantly alert; for these dogs and men
were not town dogs and men. They were savages, all of them, who knew no
law but the law of club and fang.
He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his
first experience taught him an unforgetable lesson. It is true, it was
a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived to profit by it.
Curly was the victim. They were camped near the log store, where she, in
her friendly way, made advances to a husky dog the size of a full-grown
wolf, though not half so large as she. There was no warning, only a leap
in like a flash, a metallic clip of teeth, a leap out equally swift, and
Curly's face was ripped open from eye to jaw.
It was the wolf manner of fighting, to strike and leap away; but there
was more to it than this. Thirty or forty huskies ran to the spot and
surrounded the combatants in an intent and silent circle. Buck did not
comprehend that silent intentness, nor the eager way with which they
were licking their chops. Curly rushed her antagonist, who struck again
and leaped aside. He met her next rush with his chest, in a peculiar
fashion that tumbled her off her feet. She never regained them, This
was what the onlooking huskies had waited for. They closed in upon her,
snarling and yelping, and she was buried, screaming with agony, beneath
the bristling mass of bodies.
So sudden was it, and so unexpected, that Buck was taken aback. He saw
Spitz run out his scarlet tongue in a way he had of laughing; and he saw
Francois, swinging an axe, spring into the mess of dogs. Three men
with clubs were helping him to scatter them. It did not take long. Two
minutes from the time Curly went down, the last of her assailants were
clubbed off. But she lay there limp and lifeless in the bloody, trampled
snow, almost literally torn to pieces, the swart half-breed standing
over her and cursing horribly. The scene often came back to Buck to
trouble him in his sleep. So that was the way. No fair play. Once down,
that was the end of you. Well, he would see to it that he never went
down. Spitz ran out his tongue and laughed again, and from that moment
Buck hated him with a bitter and deathless hatred.
Before he had recovered from the shock caused by the tragic passing
of Curly, he received another shock. Francois fastened upon him an
arrangement of straps and buckles. It was a harness, such as he had seen
the grooms put on the horses at home. And as he had seen horses work,
so he was set to work, hauling Francois on a sled to the forest that
fringed the valley, and returning with a load of firewood. Though his
dignity was sorely hurt by thus being made a draught animal, he was too
wise to rebel. He buckled down with a will and did his best, though
it was all new and strange. Francois was stern, demanding instant
obedience, and by virtue of his whip receiving instant obedience;
while Dave, who was an experienced wheeler, nipped Buck's hind quarters
whenever he was in error. Spitz was the leader, likewise experienced,
and while he could not always get at Buck, he growled sharp reproof now
and again, or cunningly threw his weight in the traces to jerk Buck
into the way he should go. Buck learned easily, and under the combined
tuition of his two mates and Francois made remarkable progress. Ere they
returned to camp he knew enough to stop at "ho," to go ahead at "mush,"
to swing wide on the bends, and to keep clear of the wheeler when the
loaded sled shot downhill at their heels.
"T'ree vair' good dogs," Francois told Perrault. "Dat Buck, heem pool
lak hell. I tich heem queek as anyt'ing."
By afternoon, Perrault, who was in a hurry to be on the trail with his
despatches, returned with two more dogs. "Billee" and "Joe" he called
them, two brothers, and true huskies both. Sons of the one mother though
they were, they were as different as day and night. Billee's one fault
was his excessive good nature, while Joe was the very opposite, sour and
introspective, with a perpetual snarl and a malignant eye. Buck received
them in comradely fashion, Dave ignored them, while Spitz proceeded to
thrash first one and then the other. Billee wagged his tail appeasingly,
turned to run when he saw that appeasement was of no avail, and cried
(still appeasingly) when Spitz's sharp teeth scored his flank. But no
matter how Spitz circled, Joe whirled around on his heels to face
him, mane bristling, ears laid back, lips writhing and snarling, jaws
clipping together as fast as he could snap, and eyes diabolically
gleaming--the incarnation of belligerent fear. So terrible was his
appearance that Spitz was forced to forego disciplining him; but to
cover his own discomfiture he turned upon the inoffensive and wailing
Billee and drove him to the confines of the camp.
By evening Perrault secured another dog, an old husky, long and lean
and gaunt, with a battle-scarred face and a single eye which flashed a
warning of prowess that commanded respect. He was called Sol-leks, which
means the Angry One. Like Dave, he asked nothing, gave nothing, expected
nothing; and when he marched slowly and deliberately into their midst,
even Spitz left him alone. He had one peculiarity which Buck was unlucky
enough to discover. He did not like to be approached on his blind side.
Of this offence Buck was unwittingly guilty, and the first knowledge he
had of his indiscretion was when Sol-leks whirled upon him and slashed
his shoulder to the bone for three inches up and down. Forever after
Buck avoided his blind side, and to the last of their comradeship had
no more trouble. His only apparent ambition, like Dave's, was to be left
alone; though, as Buck was afterward to learn, each of them possessed
one other and even more vital ambition.
That night Buck faced the great problem of sleeping. The tent, illumined
by a candle, glowed warmly in the midst of the white plain; and when he,
as a matter of course, entered it, both Perrault and Francois bombarded
him with curses and cooking utensils, till he recovered from his
consternation and fled ignominiously into the outer cold. A chill wind
was blowing that nipped him sharply and bit with especial venom into his
wounded shoulder. He lay down on the snow and attempted to sleep,
but the frost soon drove him shivering to his feet. Miserable and
disconsolate, he wandered about among the many tents, only to find that
one place was as cold as another. Here and there savage dogs rushed
upon him, but he bristled his neck-hair and snarled (for he was learning
fast), and they let him go his way unmolested.
Finally an idea came to him. He would return and see how his own
team-mates were making out. To his astonishment, they had disappeared.
Again he wandered about through the great camp, looking for them, and
again he returned. Were they in the tent? No, that could not be, else he
would not have been driven out. Then where could they possibly be? With
drooping tail and shivering body, very forlorn indeed, he aimlessly
circled the tent. Suddenly the snow gave way beneath his fore legs
and he sank down. Something wriggled under his feet. He sprang back,
bristling and snarling, fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a
friendly little yelp reassured him, and he went back to investigate. A
whiff of warm air ascended to his nostrils, and there, curled up under
the snow in a snug ball, lay Billee. He whined placatingly, squirmed and
wriggled to show his good will and intentions, and even ventured, as a
bribe for peace, to lick Buck's face with his warm wet tongue.
Another lesson. So that was the way they did it, eh? Buck confidently
selected a spot, and with much fuss and waste effort proceeded to dig a
hole for himself. In a trice the heat from his body filled the confined
space and he was asleep. The day had been long and arduous, and he slept
soundly and comfortably, though he growled and barked and wrestled with
bad dreams.
Nor did he open his eyes till roused by the noises of the waking camp.
At first he did not know where he was. It had snowed during the night
and he was completely buried. The snow walls pressed him on every side,
and a great surge of fear swept through him--the fear of the wild thing
for the trap. It was a token that he was harking back through his own
life to the lives of his forebears; for he was a civilized dog, an
unduly civilized dog, and of his own experience knew no trap and so
could not of himself fear it. The muscles of his whole body contracted
spasmodically and instinctively, the hair on his neck and shoulders
stood on end, and with a ferocious snarl he bounded straight up into
the blinding day, the snow flying about him in a flashing cloud. Ere he
landed on his feet, he saw the white camp spread out before him and knew
where he was and remembered all that had passed from the time he went
for a stroll with Manuel to the hole he had dug for himself the night
before.
A shout from Francois hailed his appearance. "Wot I say?" the dog-driver
cried to Perrault. "Dat Buck for sure learn queek as anyt'ing."
Perrault nodded gravely. As courier for the Canadian Government, bearing
important despatches, he was anxious to secure the best dogs, and he was
particularly gladdened by the possession of Buck.
Three more huskies were added to the team inside an hour, making a total
of nine, and before another quarter of an hour had passed they were in
harness and swinging up the trail toward the Dyea Canon. Buck was
glad to be gone, and though the work was hard he found he did not
particularly despise it. He was surprised at the eagerness which
animated the whole team and which was communicated to him; but still
more surprising was the change wrought in Dave and Sol-leks. They
were new dogs, utterly transformed by the harness. All passiveness and
unconcern had dropped from them. They were alert and active, anxious
that the work should go well, and fiercely irritable with whatever, by
delay or confusion, retarded that work. The toil of the traces seemed
the supreme expression of their being, and all that they lived for and
the only thing in which they took delight.
Dave was wheeler or sled dog, pulling in front of him was Buck, then
came Sol-leks; the rest of the team was strung out ahead, single file,
to the leader, which position was filled by Spitz.
Buck had been purposely placed between Dave and Sol-leks so that he
might receive instruction. Apt scholar that he was, they were equally
apt teachers, never allowing him to linger long in error, and enforcing
their teaching with their sharp teeth. Dave was fair and very wise. He
never nipped Buck without cause, and he never failed to nip him when he
stood in need of it. As Francois's whip backed him up, Buck found it
to be cheaper to mend his ways than to retaliate. Once, during a brief
halt, when he got tangled in the traces and delayed the start, both
Dave and Solleks flew at him and administered a sound trouncing. The
resulting tangle was even worse, but Buck took good care to keep the
traces clear thereafter; and ere the day was done, so well had he
mastered his work, his mates about ceased nagging him. Francois's whip
snapped less frequently, and Perrault even honored Buck by lifting up
his feet and carefully examining them.
It was a hard day's run, up the Canon, through Sheep Camp, past the
Scales and the timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts hundreds of
feet deep, and over the great Chilcoot Divide, which stands between
the salt water and the fresh and guards forbiddingly the sad and lonely
North. They made good time down the chain of lakes which fills the
craters of extinct volcanoes, and late that night pulled into the huge
camp at the head of Lake Bennett, where thousands of goldseekers were
building boats against the break-up of the ice in the spring. Buck made
his hole in the snow and slept the sleep of the exhausted just, but all
too early was routed out in the cold darkness and harnessed with his
mates to the sled.
That day they made forty miles, the trail being packed; but the next
day, and for many days to follow, they broke their own trail, worked
harder, and made poorer time. As a rule, Perrault travelled ahead of
the team, packing the snow with webbed shoes to make it easier for them.
Francois, guiding the sled at the gee-pole, sometimes exchanged places
with him, but not often. Perrault was in a hurry, and he prided himself
on his knowledge of ice, which knowledge was indispensable, for the fall
ice was very thin, and where there was swift water, there was no ice at
all.
Day after day, for days unending, Buck toiled in the traces. Always,
they broke camp in the dark, and the first gray of dawn found them
hitting the trail with fresh miles reeled off behind them. And always
they pitched camp after dark, eating their bit of fish, and crawling
to sleep into the snow. Buck was ravenous. The pound and a half of
sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for each day, seemed to go
nowhere. He never had enough, and suffered from perpetual hunger pangs.
Yet the other dogs, because they weighed less and were born to the life,
received a pound only of the fish and managed to keep in good condition.
He swiftly lost the fastidiousness which had characterized his old life.
A dainty eater, he found that his mates, finishing first, robbed him of
his unfinished ration. There was no defending it. While he was fighting
off two or three, it was disappearing down the throats of the others. To
remedy this, he ate as fast as they; and, so greatly did hunger compel
him, he was not above taking what did not belong to him. He watched and
learned. When he saw Pike, one of the new dogs, a clever malingerer and
thief, slyly steal a slice of bacon when Perrault's back was turned,
he duplicated the performance the following day, getting away with the
whole chunk. A great uproar was raised, but he was unsuspected; while
Dub, an awkward blunderer who was always getting caught, was punished
for Buck's misdeed.
This first theft marked Buck as fit to survive in the hostile Northland
environment. It marked his adaptability, his capacity to adjust himself
to changing conditions, the lack of which would have meant swift and
terrible death. It marked, further, the decay or going to pieces of his
moral nature, a vain thing and a handicap in the ruthless struggle for
existence. It was all well enough in the Southland, under the law of
love and fellowship, to respect private property and personal feelings;
but in the Northland, under the law of club and fang, whoso took such
things into account was a fool, and in so far as he observed them he
would fail to prosper.
Not that Buck reasoned it out. He was fit, that was all, and
unconsciously he accommodated himself to the new mode of life. All his
days, no matter what the odds, he had never run from a fight. But
the club of the man in the red sweater had beaten into him a more
fundamental and primitive code. Civilized, he could have died for a
moral consideration, say the defence of Judge Miller's riding-whip; but
the completeness of his decivilization was now evidenced by his ability
to flee from the defence of a moral consideration and so save his
hide. He did not steal for joy of it, but because of the clamor of his
stomach. He did not rob openly, but stole secretly and cunningly, out of
respect for club and fang. In short, the things he did were done because
it was easier to do them than not to do them.
His development (or retrogression) was rapid. His muscles became hard as
iron, and he grew callous to all ordinary pain. He achieved an internal
as well as external economy. He could eat anything, no matter how
loathsome or indigestible; and, once eaten, the juices of his stomach
extracted the last least particle of nutriment; and his blood carried it
to the farthest reaches of his body, building it into the toughest and
stoutest of tissues. Sight and scent became remarkably keen, while his
hearing developed such acuteness that in his sleep he heard the faintest
sound and knew whether it heralded peace or peril. He learned to bite
the ice out with his teeth when it collected between his toes; and when
he was thirsty and there was a thick scum of ice over the water hole, he
would break it by rearing and striking it with stiff fore legs. His most
conspicuous trait was an ability to scent the wind and forecast it a
night in advance. No matter how breathless the air when he dug his
nest by tree or bank, the wind that later blew inevitably found him to
leeward, sheltered and snug.
And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became
alive again. The domesticated generations fell from him. In vague ways
he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild dogs
ranged in packs through the primeval forest and killed their meat as
they ran it down. It was no task for him to learn to fight with cut
and slash and the quick wolf snap. In this manner had fought forgotten
ancestors. They quickened the old life within him, and the old tricks
which they had stamped into the heredity of the breed were his tricks.
They came to him without effort or discovery, as though they had been
his always. And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a
star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust,
pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through
him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced
their woe and what to them was the meaning of the stiffness, and the
cold, and dark.
Thus, as token of what a puppet thing life is, the ancient song surged
through him and he came into his own again; and he came because men had
found a yellow metal in the North, and because Manuel was a gardener's
helper whose wages did not lap over the needs of his wife and divers
small copies of himself.
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