Call of the Wild: Chapter 5-6

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information on hat a volunteer,
please visit LibriVox dot Blogsam dot com. My name is
gen O'Sullivan. The book The Call of the Wild by
Jack London, and this is chapters five and six. Chapter

(00:22):
five The Toil of Trace and Trail. Thirty days from
the time it left Dawson, the Salt Water Mail with
Buck and his mates at the fore arrived at Skagway.
They were in a wretched state, worn out and worn down.
Buck's one hundred and forty pounds had dwindled to one
hundred and fifteen. The rest of his mates, though lighter dogs,

(00:45):
had relatively lost more weight than he. Pike, the malingerer,
who in his lifetime of deceit had often successfully feigned
a hurt leg, was now limping in earnest. Sol Leks
was limping, and Dub was suffering from a wrench shoulder blade.
They were all terribly footsore. No spring or rebound was

(01:06):
left in them. Their feet fell heavily on the trail,
jarring their bodies and doubling the fatigue of a day's travel.
There was nothing the matter with them, except that they
were dead tired. It was not the dead tiredness that
comes through brief and excessive effort, from which recovery is
a matter of hours. But it was the dead tiredness

(01:26):
that comes through the slow and prolonged strength drainage of
months of toil. There was no power of recuperation left,
no reserve strength to call upon. It had all been used,
the last least bit of it. Every muscle, every fiber,
every cell was tired, dead tired, and there was reason

(01:49):
for it. In less than five months, they had traveled
twenty five hundred miles during the last eighteen hundred of
which they had had but five days rest. When they
arrived at Skagway, they were apparently on their last legs.
They could barely keep the traces taut, and on the
downgrades just managed to keep out of the way of
the sled mashan poor sore feats, the driver encouraged them

(02:16):
as they tottered down the main street of Skagway. This
is the las. Then we get one long ress, if
for sure one bully long rests. The drivers confidently expected
a long stopover themselves. They had covered twelve hundred miles
with just two days rest, and in the nature of
reason and common justice, they deserved an interval of loafing.

(02:40):
But so many were the men who had rushed into
the Klondike, and so many were the sweethearts, wives and
kin that had not rushed in that the congested male
was taking on alpine proportions. Also there were official orders
fresh batches of Hudson Bay dogs were to take the
places of those worthless for the trail. The worthless ones

(03:01):
were to be got rid of, and since dogs count
for little against dollars, they were to be sold. Three
days passed, by which time Buck and his mates found
how really tired and weak they were. Then, on the
morning of the fourth day, two men from the States
came along and bought them harness and all for a song.

(03:21):
The men addressed each other as Hal and Charles. Charles
was a middle aged, lightish colored man with weak and
watery eyes and a mustache that twisted fiercely and vigorously up,
giving the lie to the limply drooping lip it concealed.
Hal was a youngster of nineteen or twenty, with a
big Colt's revolver and a hunting knife strapped about him.

(03:43):
On the belt that fairly bristled with cartridges. This belt
was the most salient thing about him. It advertised his callowness,
a callowness, sheer and unutterable. Both men were manifestly out
of place, and why such as they should adventure north
is part of a mystery of things that passes understanding.

(04:04):
Buck heard the chaffering, saw the money pass between the
man and the government agent, and knew that the Scotch
half breed and the mail train drivers were passing out
of his life on the heels of Perrault and Francois
and the others who had gone before. When driven with
his mates to the new owner's camp, Buck saw a
slip shod and slovenly affair tent, half stretched, dishes, unwashed,

(04:27):
everything in disorder. Also, he saw a woman, Mercedes. The
men called her. She was Charles's wife and Hal's sister,
a nice family party. Buck watched them apprehensively as they
proceeded to take down the tent and load the sled.
There was a great deal of effort about their manner,
but no businesslike method. The tent was rolled into an

(04:49):
awkward bundle three times as large as it should have been.
The tin dishes were packed away unwashed. Mercedes continually fluttered
in the way of her men and kept up an
unbroken chattering of remonstrance and advice. When they put a
clothes sack on the front of the sled, she suggested
it should go on the back, And when they had
put it on the back and covered it over with
a couple of other bundles, she discovered overlooked articles which

(05:13):
could abide nowhere else but in that very sack. And
they unloaded again. Three men from a neighboring tent came
out and looked on, grinning and winking at one another.
You've got a right smart load, as it is, said
one of them. And it's not me should tell you your business.
But I wouldn't tote that tent along if I was you.
I'm dreamed of, cried Mercedes, throwing her hands in a

(05:35):
dainty dismay. However in the world would I manage without
a tent. It's springtime and you won't get any more
cold weather, the man replied. She shook her head decidedly,
and charles and half with the last odds and ends
on top of the mountainous load. Think it'll ride one
of the men asked, why shouldn't it, Charles demanded rather shortly,

(05:58):
Oh that's all right, that's all right. The man hastened
meekly to say, I was just a wonderin that is all.
It seemed a mite top heavy. Charles turned his back
and drew the lashings down as well as he could,
which was not in the least well. And of course
the dogs can hike along all day with that contraption

(06:18):
behind them, affirmed the second of the men certainly, said,
Hal with freezing politeness, taking hold of the g pole
with one hand and swinging his whip from the other.
Mush He shouted, mush on there. The dogs sprang against
the breast band, strained hard for a few moments, then relaxed.
They were unable to move the sled lazy brutes. I'll

(06:41):
show them, he cried, preparing to lash out at the
inn with the whip, but Mercedes interfered, crying, oh, Hal,
you mustn't, as she caught a hold of the whip
and wrenched it from him. The poor DearS. Now you
must promise you won't be harsh with them for the
rest of the trip, or I won't go a step.
Precious lot you know about dogs. Her brothers sneered, and

(07:03):
I wish you'd leave me alone. They're lazy, I tell you,
and you've got to whip them to get anything out
of em. That's their way. You ask any one, ask
one of those men. Mercedes looked at them imploringly, untold
repugnance at sight of pain written in her pretty face.

(07:24):
They're weak as water, if you want to know, came
the reply from one of the men, Plum tuckered out.
That's what's the matter. They need a rest. Rest be blanked,
said Hal, with his beardless lips, and Mercedes said, oh,
in a pain and sorrow at the oath. But she
was a clannish creature, and rushed at once to the

(07:46):
defense of her brother. Never mind that man, she said, pointedly.
You're driving our dogs, and you do what you think
is best with them. Again, Hal's whip fell upon the dogs.
They threw themselves against their breast bands, dug their feet
into the packed snow, got down low to it, and
put forth all their strength. The sled held as though

(08:07):
it were an anchor. After two efforts, they stood still, panting.
The whip was whistling savagely. When once more Mercedes interfered.
She dropped on her knees before Buck, with tears in
her eyes, and put her arms around his neck. You poor,
poor DearS, she cried sympathetically. Why don't you pull hard,

(08:30):
then you wouldn't be whipped. Buck did not like her,
but he was feeling too miserable to resist her, taking
it as part of the day's miserable work. One of
the onlookers, who had been clenching his teeth to suppress
hot speech, now spoke up. It's not that I care
a whip of what becomes of you, but for the

(08:51):
dog's sakes, I just want to tell you you can
help them a mighty lot by breaking out that sled.
The runners are froze fast, throw your weight against the
gee pole right and left and break it out. A
third time the attempt was made, but this time, following
the advice Hal broke out the runners, which had been
frozen to the snow. The overloaded and unwieldy sled forged ahead,

(09:14):
Buck and his mates, struggling frantically under the rain of blows.
A hundred yards ahead, the path turned and sloped steeply
into the main street. It would have required an experienced
man to keep the top heavy sled upright, and Hal
was not such a man. As they swung on the turn,
the sled went over, spilling half its load through the

(09:36):
loose lashings. The dogs never stopped. The lightened sled bounced
on its side behind them. They were angry because of
the ill treatment they had received and the unjust load.
Buck was raging. He broke into a run. The team
following his lead. Hal cried whoa, whoa, but they gave
no heed. He tripped and was pulled off his feet.

(09:57):
The capsized sled ground over him, and the dogs dashed
on up the street, adding to the gaiety of Skagway.
As they scattered the remainder of the outfit along its
cheap thoroughfare. Kind hearted citizens caught the dogs and gathered
up the scattered belongings. Also, they gave advice. Half the
load and twice the dogs if they ever expected to

(10:17):
reach Dawson was what they said. Hal and his sister
and brother in law listened unwillingly, pitched tent and overhauled
the outfit. Canned goods were turned out that made men laugh.
For canned goods on the long trail is a thing
to dream about blankets for a hotel, quoth one of
the men who laughed and helped half as many is

(10:40):
too much. Get rid of them, Throw away that tent
and all those dishes. Who's going to wash them anyway?
Good lord, do you think you're traveling on a pullman?
And so it went the inexorable elimination of the superfluous.
Mercedes cried when her clothes bags were dumped on the ground,
and article after article was thrown out. She cried in general,

(11:04):
and she cried in particular over each discarded thing. She
clasped hands about knees, rocking back and forth broken heartedly.
She averred that she would not go an inch, not
for a dozen Charleses. She appealed to everybody and to everything,
finally wiping her eyes and proceeding to cast out even
articles of apparel that were imperative necessaries, and in her zeal.

(11:29):
When she had finished with her own, she attacked the
belongings of her men and went through them like a tornado.
This accomplished the outfit, though cut in half, was still
a formidable bulk. Charles and Hal went out in the
evening and bought six outside dogs. These added to the
six of the original team and Teek and Kuna. The

(11:51):
huskies obtained at the Rink Rapids on the record trip
brought the team up to fourteen. But the outside dogs
though particularly broken in since their landing did not amount
to much. These were short haired pointers. One was a
Newfoundland and the other two were mongrels of indeterminate breed.
They did not seem to know anything these newcomers. Buck

(12:14):
and his comrades looked upon them with disgust, and though
he speedily taught them their places and what not to do,
he could not teach them what to do. They did
not take kindly to trace and trail. With the exception
of the two mongrels. They were bewildered and spirit broken
by the strange, savage environment in which they found themselves

(12:36):
and by the ill treatment they had received. The two
mongrels were without spirit at all. Bones were the only
things breakable about them. With the newcomers hopeless and forlorn,
and the old team worn out by twenty five hundred
miles of continuous trail, the outlook was anything but bright.
The two men, however, were quite cheerful, and they were

(12:59):
proud two. They were doing the thing in style. With
fourteen dogs. They had seen other sleds depart over the
pass for Dawson or come in from Dawson, but never
had they seen a sled with so many as fourteen dogs.
In the nature of Arctic travel, there was a reason
why fourteen dogs should not drag one sled, and that

(13:22):
was that one sled could not carry the food for
fourteen dogs. But Charles and Hal did not know this.
They had worked the trip out with a pencil, so
much to a dog, so many dogs, so many days.
Q e. D. Mercedes looked over their shoulders and nodded comprehensively.
It was all so very simple. Late next morning, Buck

(13:45):
led the long team up the street. There was nothing
lively about it, no snap or go in him and
his fellows. They were starting dead, weary. Four times he
had covered the distance between Salt Water and Dawson, and
the knowledge that, jaded and tired, he was facing the
same trail once more made him bitter. His heart was

(14:09):
not in the work, nor was the heart of any dog.
The outsides were timid and frightened, the insides without confidence
in their masters. Buck felt vaguely that there was no
depending upon these two men, and the woman. They did
not know how to do anything, and as the days
went by it became apparent that they could not learn.

(14:31):
They were slack in all things, without order or discipline.
It took them half the night to pitch a slovenly camp,
and half the morning to break that camp and get
the sled loaded in a fashion so slovenly that for
the rest of the day they were occupied in stopping
and re arranging the load. Some days they did not
make ten miles, on other days they were unable to

(14:52):
get started at all, and on no day did they
succeed in making more than half the distance used by
the men as a basis in their dog food computation.
It was inevitable that they should go short on dog food,
but they hastened it by overfeeding, bringing the day nearer
when the underfeeding would commence. The outside dogs, whose digestions

(15:15):
had not been trained by chronic famine to make the
most of little, had voracious appetites. And when in addition
to this the worn out huskies pulled weakly, hal decided
that the orthodox ration was too small. He doubled it,
and to cap it all. When Mercedes, with tears in
her pretty eyes, and a quaver in her throat could

(15:35):
not cajole him into giving the dogs still more. She
stole from the fish sacks and fed them slyly. But
it was not food that Buck and the huskies needed
but rest, and though they were making poor time, the
heavy load they dragged sapped their strength severely. Then came

(15:55):
the under feeding Hall awoke one day to the fact
that his dog food was half lawn and the distance
only a quarter covered. Further that, for love or money,
no additional dog food was to be obtained, so he
cut down even the orthodox ration and tried to increase
the day's travel. His sister and brother in law seconded him,

(16:16):
but they were frustrated by their heavy outfit and their
own incompetence. It was a simple matter to give the
dogs less food, but it was impossible to make the
dogs travel faster, while their own inability to get under
way earlier in the morning prevented them from traveling longer hours.
Not only did they not know how to work dogs,

(16:37):
but they did not know how to work themselves. The
first to go was dub, poor blundering thief that he
was always getting caught and punished. He had none the
less been a faithful worker. His wrenched shoulder blade, untreated
and unrested, went from bad to worse, till finally hal
shot him with the big Colt's revolver. It is a

(16:59):
saying of the country that an outside dog starves to
death on the ration of the husky. So the six
outside dogs under Buck would do no less than die
on half the ration of the husky. The Newfoundland went first,
followed by the three short haired Pointers and the two Mongrels,
hanging more grittily on to life, but going in the end.

(17:22):
By this time all the amenities and gentleness of the
Southland had fallen away from the three people. Shorn of
its glamor and romance, Arctic travel became to them a
reality too harsh for their manhood and womanhood. Mercedes ceased
weeping over the dogs, being too occupied with weeping over
herself and with quarreling with her husband and brother. To

(17:44):
quarrel was the one thing they were never too weary
to do. Their irritability arose out of their misery, increased
with it, doubled upon it, out distanced it. The wonderful
patience of the trail which comes to men who toil
hard and suffer sore and remained sweet of speech, and
kindly did not come to these two men and the woman.

(18:06):
They had no inkling of such patience. They were stiff
and in pain, their muscles ached, their bones ached, their
very hearts ached. And because of this they became sharp
of speech, and hard words were first on their lips
in the morning and last at night. Charles and Hal
wrangled whenever Mercedes gave them a chance. It was the

(18:28):
cherished belief of each that he did more than his
share of the work, and neither forbore to speak this
belief at every opportunity. Sometimes Mercedes sided with her husband,
sometimes with her brother. The result was a beautiful and
unending family quarrel, starting from a dispute as to which
should chop a few sticks for the fire, a dispute

(18:49):
which concerned only Charles and Hal presently, would be lugged
in the rest of the family fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
people thousands of miles away, and some of them dead.
That Hal's views on art or the sort of society
plays his mother's brother wrote, would have anything to do
with chopping a few sticks of firewood passes comprehension. Nevertheless,

(19:12):
the quarrel was as likely to tend in that direction
as in the direction of Charles' political prejudices, and that
Charles's sister's tale bearing tongue should be relevant to the
building of a Yukon fire was apparent only to Mercedes,
who disburdened herself of copious opinions upon that topic, and
incidentally upon a few other traits unpleasantly peculiar to her

(19:34):
husband's family. In the meantime, the fire remained unbuilt, the
camp half pitched, and the dogs unfed. Mercedes nursed a
special grievance, a grievance of sex. She was pretty and
soft and had been chivalrously treated all her days, but
the present treatment by her husband and brother was everything

(19:57):
save chivalrous. It was her custom to helpless. They complained
upon which impeachment of what to her was her most
essential sex prerogative. She made their lives unendurable. She no
longer considered the dogs, and because she was sore and tired,
she persisted in riding on the sled. She was pretty

(20:17):
and soft, but she weighed one hundred and twenty pounds,
a lusty last straw to the load dragged by the
weak and starving animals, She rode for days till they
fell in the traces and the sledge stood still. Charles
and Hal begged her to get off and walk, pleaded
with her, entreated the while she wept and importuned Heaven

(20:40):
with the recital of their brutality. On one occasion they
took her off the sled by main strength. They never
did it again. She let her legs go limp like
a spoiled child, and sat down on the trail. They
went on their way, but she did not move. After
they had traveled three miles, they unloaded the sled, came
back for her, and by main strength, put her on

(21:03):
the sled again. In the excess of their own misery,
they were callous to the suffering of their animals. Hal's theory,
which he practiced on others, was that one mustn't get hardened.
He had started out preaching it to his sister and
brother in law. Failing there, he hammered it into the
dogs with a club at the five fingers. The dog

(21:25):
food gave out, and a toothless old squaw offered to
trade them a few pounds of frozen horse hide for
the Colt's revolver that kept the big hunting knife company
at Hal's hip. A poor substitute for the food was
this hide, just as it had been stripped from the
starved horses of the cattleman six months back. In its
frozen state, it was more like strips of galvanized iron,

(21:49):
And when a dog wrestled it into his stomach, it
thawed into thin and innutritious leathery strings, and into mass
of short hair, irritating and indigestible. And through it all
Buck staggered along at the head of the team as
in a nightmare. He pulled when he could. When he
could no longer pull, he fell down and remained down

(22:11):
till blows from whip or a club drove him to
his feet again. All the stiffness and gloss had gone
out of his beautiful furry coat. The hair hung down,
limp and draggled or matted with dried blood. Where Hal's
club had bruised him, his muscles had wasted away to
knotty strings, and the flesh pads had disappeared, so that

(22:31):
each rib and every bone in his frame were outlined
cleanly through the loose hide that was wrinkled in folds
of emptiness. It was heart breaking. Only Buck's heart was unbreakable.
The man in the red sweater had proved that, as
it was with Buck, so it was with his mates.
They were perambulating skeletons. There were seven altogether, including him.

(22:56):
In their very great misery, they had become insensible to
the bite of the lash or the bruise of the club.
The pain of the beating was dull and distant, just
as the things their eyes saw and their ears heard
seemed dull and distant. They were not half living or
quarter living. They were simply so many bags of bones

(23:17):
in which sparks of life fluttered faintly. When a halt
was made, they dropped down in the traces like dead dogs,
and the spark dimmed and paled and seemed to go out.
But when the club or whip fell upon them, the
spark fluttered feebly up, and they tottered to their feet
and staggered on. There came a day when Billy, the

(23:38):
good natured fell and could not rise. Hal had traded
off his revolver, so he took the axe and knocked
Billy on the head as he lay in the traces,
then cut the carcass out of the harness and dragged
it to one side. Buck saw, and his mates saw,
and they knew that this thing was very close to them.
And on the next day Kuna went, and but five

(24:01):
of them remained. Joe too far gone to be malignant,
Pike crimped and limping, only half conscious and not conscious
enough longer to malinger. Sol Les, the one eyed, still
faithful to the toil and trace and trail, and mournful
in that he had so little strength with which to
pull Teek, who had not traveled so far that winter,

(24:25):
and who was now beaten more than the others because
he was fresher. And Buck still at the head of
the team, but no longer enforcing discipline or striving to
enforce it, blind with weakness half the time, in keeping
the trail by the loom of it and by the
dim feel of his feet. It was beautiful spring weather,

(24:45):
but neither dogs nor humans were aware of it. Each day,
the sun rose earlier and set later. It was dawned
by three in the morning, and twilight lingered till nine
at night. The whole long day was a blaze of sunshine.
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great
spring murmur of awakening life. This murmur arose from all

(25:07):
the land front with the joy of living. It came
from the things that lived and moved again, things which
had been dead and which had not moved during the
long months of frost. The sap was rising in the pines.
The willows and aspens were bursting out in young buds.
Shrubs and vines were putting on fresh garbs of green.

(25:28):
Crickets sang in the nights and in the days, all
manner of creeping, crawling things rustled forth into the sun.
Partridges and woodpeckers were booming and knocking in the forest.
Squirrels were chattering, birds singing, and overhead honked the wild
fowl driving up from the south in cunning wedges that
split the air. From every hill slope came the trickle

(25:50):
of running water, the music of unseen fountains. All things
were thawing, bending, snapping. The yukon was straining to break
loose the ice that had been down. It ate away
from beneath the sun, ate from above. Air Holes formed, fissures,
sprang and spread apart, while thin sections of ice fell
through bodily into the river and amid all this bursting, rending,

(26:15):
throbbing of awakening life under the blazing sun and through
the soft, sighing breezes, like wayfarers to death. Staggered the
two men, the woman and the huskies, With the dogs falling,
Mercedes weeping and riding, hal swearing innocuously, and Charles's eyes

(26:35):
wistfully watering, they staggered into John Thornton's camp at the
mouth of White River. When they halted, the dogs dropped down,
as though they had all been struck dead. Mercedes dried
her eyes and looked at John Thornton. Charles sat down
on a log to rest. He sat down, very slowly
and painstakingly. What of his great stiffness hal did the talking?

(27:00):
John Thornton was whittling the last touches on an axe
handle he had made from a stick of birch. He
whittled and listened and gave monosyllabic replies, and when it
was asked terse advice. He knew the breed, and he
gave his advice in the certainty that it would not
be followed. They told us up above that the bottom

(27:20):
was dropping out of the trail, and that the best
thing for us to do is lay over, Hal said,
in response to Thornton's warning to take no more chances
on the rotten ice. They told us we couldn't make
White River, and here we are, this last with a
sneering ring of triumph in it. And they told you true.
John Thornton answered, The bottom's likely to drop out at

(27:42):
any moment. Only fools with the blind luck of fools
could have made it. I tell you straight, I wouldn't
risk my carcass on that ice for all the gold
in Alaska. That's because you're not a fool, I suppose,
said Hal. All the same, we'll go on to Dawson.
He uncoiled his whip. Get up there, back ahe get
up there, mush on. Thornton went on, whitling. It was

(28:04):
idle he knew to get between a fool and his folly,
while two or three fools more or less would not
alter the scheme of things. But the team did not
get up at the command. It had long since passed
into the stage where blows were required to rouse it.
The whip flashed out here and there on its merciless errands.
John Thornton compressed his lips. Sol Leks was the first

(28:26):
to crawl to his feet. Teek followed. Joe came next,
yelping with pain. Pike made painful efforts. Twice he fell
over when half up, and on the third attempt he
managed to rise. Buck made no effort. He lay quietly
where he had fallen. The lash bit into him again
and again, but he neither whined nor struggled. Several times

(28:51):
Thornton started as though to speak, but changed his mind.
A moisture came into his eyes, and as the whipping continued,
he arose and walked irresolutely up and down. This was
the first time Buck had failed, in itself, a sufficient
reason to drive Hal into a rage. He exchanged the

(29:11):
whip for the customary club. Buck refused to move under
the rain of heavier blows, which now fell upon him.
Like his mates, he barely able to get up, But
unlike them, he had made up his mind not to
get up. He had a vague feeling of impending doom.
This had been strong upon him when he pulled into
the bank, and it had not departed from him. What

(29:34):
of the thin and rotten ice he had felt under
his feet all day, It seemed that he sensed disaster
close at hand. Out there ahead on the ice, where
his master was trying to drive him. He refused to stir.
So greatly had he suffered, and so far gone was
he that the blows did not hurt much, and they
continued to fall upon him. The spark of life within

(29:57):
flickered and went down. It was nearly out. He felt
strangely numb, as though from a great distance he was
aware that he was being beaten. The last sensations of
pain left him. He no longer felt anything, though very
faintly he could hear the impact of the club upon

(30:17):
his body, but it was no longer his body. It
seemed so far away. And then, suddenly, without warning, uttering
a cry that was inarticulate and more like the cry
of an animal, John Thornton sprang upon the man who
wielded the club. Hal was hurled backward as though struck

(30:38):
by a failing tree. Mercedes screamed. Charles looked on wistfully,
wiped his watery eyes, but did not get up because
of his stiffness. John Thornton stood over Buck, struggling to
control himself, too convulsed with rage to speak. If you
strike that dog again, I'll kill you. He at last

(30:58):
managed to say in a choking voice, it's my dog.
Hal replied, wiping the blood from his mouth as he
came back. Get out of my way, or I'll fix you.
I'm going to Dawson. Thornton stood between him and Buck,
and evinced no intention of getting out of the way.
Hal drew his long hunting knife. Mercedes screamed, cried, laughed,

(31:19):
and manifested the chaotic abandonment of hy area. Thornton rapped
Hal's knuckles with the axe handle, knocking the knife to
the ground. He wrapped his knuckles again as he tried
to pick it up. Then he stooped, picked it up himself,
and with two strokes, cut Buck's traces. Hal had no
fight left in him, besides, his hands were full with
his sister or his arms rather, while Buck was too

(31:41):
near dead to be of further use in hauling the sled.
A few minutes later they pulled out from the bank
and down the river. Buck heard them go and raised
his head to see Pike was leading, sol Leks was
at the wheel, and between were Joe Antique. They were
limping and staggering. Mercedes was the loaded sledge, Hal guided

(32:02):
at the gee pole and Charles stumbled along in the
rear as Buck watched them. Thornton knelt beside him and
with rough, kindly hands searched for broken bones. By the
time his search had disclosed nothing more than many bruises
in a state of terrible starvation. The sled was a
quarter of a mile away. Dog and man watched it

(32:24):
crawling along over the ice. Suddenly they saw its back
end drop down as into a rut, and the g pole,
with hal clinging to it, jerk into the air. Mercedes's
scream came to their ears. They saw Charles turn and
make one step to run back, and then a whole
section of ice give way, and the dogs and humans disappear.

(32:48):
A yawning hole was all that was to be seen.
The bottom had dropped out of the trail. John Thornton
and Buck looked at each other, You poor devil, said
John Thornton, and Buck licked his hand. Chapter six, For
the Love of a Man. When John Thornton froze his

(33:10):
feet in the previous December, his partners had made him
comfortable and left him to get well, going on themselves
up the river to get out a raft of saw
logs for Dawson He was still limping slightly at the
time he rescued Buck, but with the continued warm weather,
even the slight limp left him. And here, lying by
the river bank through the long spring days, watching the

(33:33):
running water, listening lazily to the songs of birds and
the hum of nature, Buck slowly won back his strength.
A rest comes very good after one has traveled three
thousand miles, And it must be confessed that Buck waxed
lazy as his wounds healed, his muscles swelled out, and
the flesh came back to cover his bones. For that matter,

(33:56):
they were all loafing Buck, John Thornton, and Skeet and Nig,
waiting for the raft to come that was to carry
them down to Dawson. Skeit was a little Irish setter
who early made friends with Buck, who, in a dying condition,
was unable to resent her first advances. She had the
doctor trait which some dogs possess, and as a mother

(34:16):
cat washes her kittens, so she washed and cleansed Buck's
wounds regularly each morning after he had finished his breakfast.
She performed her self appointed task until he came to
look for her ministrations. As much as he did for
Thornton's nig. Equally friendly, though less demonstrative, was a huge
black dog, half bloodhound and half deer hound, with eyes

(34:40):
that laughed and a boundless good nature. To Buck's surprise,
these dogs manifested no jealousy toward him. They seemed to
share the kindliness and largeness of John Thornton. As Buck
grew stronger, they enticed him into all sorts of ridiculous
games in which Thornton himself could not forbear to join.
And in this fashion Buck romped through his convalescence and

(35:03):
into a new existence. Love, genuine, passionate love was his
for the first time. This he had never experienced. At
Judge Miller's down in the Son Kissed Santa Clara Valley,
with the Judge's sons hunting and tramping, it had been
a working partnership with the judge's grandsons a sort of
pompous guardianship, and with the judge himself a stately and

(35:27):
dignified friendship. But love that was feverish and burning, That
was adoration, That was madness. It had taken John Thornton
to arouse. This man had saved his life, which was something.
But further he was the ideal master. Other men saw
to the welfare of their dogs from a sense of

(35:47):
duty and business expediency. He saw to the welfare of
his as if they were his own children, because he
could not help it. And he saw further, he never
forgot a kindly greeting or a cheering word, and to
sit down for a long talk with them, gas, as
he called it, was as much his delight as theirs.

(36:09):
He had a way of taking Buck's head roughly between
his hands and resting his own head upon Buck's, of
shaking him back and forth, the while calling him ill
names that tobuc were love names. Buck knew no greater
joy than that rough embrace and the sound of murmured oaths.
And in each jerk back and forth, it seemed that
his heart would be shaken out of his body, so

(36:31):
great was its ecstasy. And when released, he sprang to
his feet, his mouth laughing, his eyes eloquent, his throat
vibrant with unuttered sound, and in that fashion remained without movement.
John Thornton would reverently exclaim, God, you can all but speak.
Buck had a trick of love expression that was akin

(36:54):
to hurt. He would often seize Thornton's hand in his
mouth and close so fiercely that the flesh or the
impress of his teeth for some time afterward. And Buck
understood the oaths to be love words, so the man
understood this feigned bite for a caress. For the most part, however,
Buck's love was expressed in adoration, while he went wild

(37:16):
with happiness when Thornton touched him or spoke to him.
He did not seek these tokens. Unlike Skeete, who was
wont to shove her nose under Thornton's hand and nudge
and nudge until petted, or Nig who would stalk up
and rest his great head on Thornton's knee, Buck was
content to adore at a distance. He would lie by

(37:37):
the hour, eager alert, at Thornton's feet, looking up into
his face, dwelling upon it, studying it, following it with
keenest interest, each fleeting expression, every movement or change of feature,
or as chance might have it, he would lie farther
away to the side or rear, watching the outlines of

(37:58):
the man in the occasional movie of his body. And
often such was the communion in which they lived. The
strength of Buck's gaze would draw John Thornton's head around,
and he would return the gaze without speech, his heart
shining out of his eyes as Buck's heart shone out.
For a long time after his rescue, Buck did not

(38:19):
like Thornton to get out of his sight. From the
moment he left the tent to when he entered it again,
Buck would follow at his heels. His transient masters. Since
he had come into the Northland had bred in him
a fear that no master could be permanent. He was
afraid that Thornton would pass out of his life as
Pierrot and Francois and the Scotch half breed had passed out.

(38:40):
Even in the night in his dreams. He was haunted
by this fear. At such times he would shake off
sleep and creep through the chill of the flap of
the tent, where he could stand and listen to the
sound of his master's breathing. But in spite of this
great love he bore John Thornton, which seemed to bespeak
the soft civilizing inflows. The strain of the primitive which

(39:02):
the Northland had aroused in him, remained alive and active,
faithfulness and devotion, things born of fire, and roof were his,
yet he retained his wildness and wiliness. He was a
thing of the wild, come in from the wild to
sit by John Thornton's fire, rather than a dog of
the soft Southland, stamped with the marks of generations of civilization.

(39:26):
Because of his very great love, he could not steal
from this man, but from any other man in any
other camp. He did not hesitate an instant. While the
cunning with which he stole enabled him to escape detection.
His face and body were scored by the teeth of
many dogs, and he fought as fiercely as ever and
more shrewdly. Skeat and nig were too good natured for quarreling. Besides,

(39:50):
they belonged to John Thornton. But the strange dog, no
matter what the breed or valor, swiftly acknowledged Buck's supremacy
or found himself struggling for life with a terrible antagonist.
And Buck was merciless. He had learned well the law
of club and fang, and he never forewent an advantage
or drew back from a foe he had started on

(40:12):
the way to death. He had lessened from spits and
from the chief fighting dogs of the police and mail,
and he knew there was no middle course. He must
master or be mastered. While to show mercy was a weakness.
Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was
misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death. Kill

(40:34):
or be killed, eat or be eaten was the law,
and this mandate down out of the depths of time,
he obeyed. He was older than the days he had
seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the
past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed
through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed
as the tides and seasons swayed. He sat by John

(40:58):
Thornton's fire, a broad breasted dog, white fanged and long furred.
But behind him were the shades of all manner of dogs,
half wolves and wild wolves, urgent and prompting, tasting the
savor of the meat he ate, thirsting for the water
he drank, scenting the wind with him, listening with him

(41:18):
and telling him the sounds made by the wild life
in the forest, dictating his moods, directing his actions, lying
down to sleep with him when he lay down, and
dreaming with him beyond him and becoming themselves the stuff
of his dreams. So peremptorily did these shades beckon him
that each day mankind and the claims of mankind slipped

(41:42):
farther from him. Deep in the forest, a call was sounding,
And as often as he heard this call, mysteriously thrilling
and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back upon
the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to
plunge into the forest. And on and on. He knew
not where or why, nor did he wonder where or

(42:04):
why the call sounding imperiously deep in the forest. But
as often as he gained the soft, unbroken earth and
the green shade, the love for John Thornton drew him
back to the fire again. Thornton alone held him. The
rest of mankind was as nothing. Chance travelers might praise

(42:25):
or pet him, but he was cold under it all,
and from a too demonstrative man, he would get up
and walk away. When Thornton's partners, Hans and Pete, arrived
on the long expected raft, Buck refused to notice them
until he learned they were close to Thornton. After that
he tolerated them in a passive sort of way, accepting
favors from them, as though he favored them by accepting

(42:49):
they were of the same large type as Thornton, living
close to the earth, thinking simply and seeing clearly. And
ere they swung the raft into the big Eddy by
the sawmill at Dawson. They understood Buck and his ways
and did not insist upon an intimacy such as obtained
with Skeet and Nig. For Thornton, however, his love seemed

(43:09):
to grow and grow. He alone among men could put
a pack upon Buck's back. In the summer traveling. Nothing
was too great for Buck to do. When Thornton commanded.
One day, they had grub staked themselves from the proceeds
of the raft and left Dawson for the head waters
of the Tanana. The men and dogs were sitting on

(43:30):
the crest of a cliff which fell away straight down
to naked bed rock three hundred feet below. John Thornton
was sitting near the edge, Buck at his shoulder. A
thoughtless whim seized Thornton, and he drew the attention of
Hans and Pete to the experiment he had in mind.
Jump Buck. He commanded, sweeping his arm out over the chasm,

(43:52):
the next instant, he was grappling with Buck on the
extreme edge, while Hans and Pete were dragging them back
into safety. It's uncanny, Pete said, after it was over
and they had caught their speech. Thornton shook his head. No,
it is splendid, and it is terrible too. Do you
know it sometimes makes me afraid. I'm not hankering to
be the man that lays hands on you while he's around,

(44:14):
Pete announced conclusively, nodding his head toward Buck. Pi Jingo
was hans contribution, not mine self either. It was at
Circle City ere the year was out that Pete's apprehensions
were realized. Black Burton, a man evil tempered and malicious,
had been picking a quarrel with the Tenderfoot at the
bar when Thornton stepped good naturedly between Buck, as was

(44:38):
his custom, was lying in a corner, head on pause,
watching his master's every action. Burton struck out without warning,
straight from the shoulder. Thornton was sent spinning and saved
himself from falling only by clutching the rail of the bar.
Those who were looking on heard what was neither a
bark nor a yelp, but something which is best to

(44:59):
say described as a roar, and they saw Buck's body
rise up in the air as he left the floor
for Burton's throat. The man saved his life by instinctively
throwing out his arm, but was hurled backward to the
floor with Buck on top of him. Buck loosed his
teeth from the flesh of the arm and drove again
for the throat. This time the man succeeded only in
partly blocking, and his throat was torn open. Then the

(45:22):
crowd was upon Buck and he was driven off, but
while a surgeon checked the bleeding, he prowled up and down,
growling furiously, attempting to rush in and being forced back
by an array of hostile clubs. A miner's meeting called
on the spot decided that the dog had sufficient provocation,
and Buck was discharged. But his reputation was made, and

(45:44):
from that day his name spread through every camp in Alaska.
Later on, in the fall of the year, he saved
John Thornton's life in quite another fashion. The three partners
were lining a long and narrow poling boat down a
bad stretch of rapids on the forty mile Creek. Han's
and Peat moved along the bank snubbing with a thin
manilla rope from tree to tree, while Thornton remained in

(46:05):
the boat, helping its descent by means of a pole
and shouting directions to the shore. Buck on the bank,
worried and anxious, kept abreast of the boat, his eyes
never off his master. At a particularly bad spot, where
a ledge of barely submerged rocks jutted out into the river,
Hans cast off the rope, and while Thornton pulled the

(46:27):
boat out into the stream, ran down the bank with
the end of his hand to snub the boat when
it had cleared the ledge. This it did, and was
flying down stream in a current as swift as a
mill race when Hans checked it with the rope, and
checked too. Suddenly the boat flirted over and snubbed into
the bank bottom up, while Thornton flung sheer out of

(46:48):
it was carried down stream toward the worst part of
the rapids, a stretch of wild water in which no
swimmer could live. Buck had sprung in on the instant,
and at the end of three hundred yards, amid a
mad swirl of water, he overhauled Thornton. When he felt
him grasp his tail Buck headed for the bank, swimming
with all his splendid strength, but the progress shoreward was slow,

(47:12):
the progress downstream amazingly rapid. From below came the fatal roaring,
where the wild current went wilder and was rent in
shreds and spray by the rocks, which thrust through like
the teeth of an enormous comb. The suck of the
water as it took the beginning of the last steep
pitch was frightful, and Thornton knew that the shore was impossible.

(47:33):
He scraped furiously over a rock, bruised across a second,
and struck a third with a crushing force. He clutched
its slippery top with both hands, releasing Buck, and above
the roar of the churning water, shouted, go Buck. Go.
Buck could not hold his own and swept on down stream,
struggling desperately but unable to win back. When he heard

(47:54):
Thornton's command repeated, he partly reared out of the water,
throwing his head high as though for a last look,
then turned obediently toward the bank. He swam powerfully and
was dragged ashore by Pete and Hans at the very
point where swimming ceased to be possible, and destruction began.
They knew that the time a man could cling to

(48:14):
a slippery rock in the face of that driving current
was a matter of minutes, and they ran as fast
as they could up the bank to the point far
above where Thornton was hanging on. They attached the line
with which they had been snubbing the boat to Buck's
neck and shoulders, being careful that it should neither strangle
him nor impede his swimming, and launched him into the stream.

(48:35):
He struck out boldly, but not straight enough into the stream.
He discovered the mistake too late, when Thornton was abreast
of him and a bare half dozen strokes away. While
he was being carried helplessly past, Hans promptly snubbed with
the rope as though Buck were a boat, the rope
thus tightening on him, and the sweep of the current,
he was jerked under the surface, and under the surface

(48:57):
he remained till his body struck against the bank and
he was hauled out. He was half drowned, and Hans
and Pete threw themselves upon him, pounding the breath into
him and the water out of him. He staggered to
his feet and fell down. The faint sound of Thornton's
voice came to them, and though they could not make
out the words of it, they knew that he was

(49:18):
in his extremity. His master's voice acted on Buck like
an electric shock. He sprang to his feet and ran
up the bank ahead of the men, to the point
of his previous departure. Again, the rope was attached and
he was launched, and again he struck out, but this
time straight into the stream. He had miscalculated once, but
he would not be guilty of it a second time.

(49:39):
Hans paid out the rope, permitting no slack, while Pete
kept it clear of coils. Buck held on till he
was on line straight above Thornton, and then he turned and,
with the speed of an express train, headed down upon him.
Thornton saw him coming, and as Bucks struck him like
a battering ram with the whole force of the current
behind him, he reached up and closed with both arms

(50:01):
around the shaggy neck. Hans snubbed the rope around the tree,
and Buck and Thornton were jerked under water, strangling, suffocating,
sometimes one uppermost and sometimes the other, dragging over the
jagged bottom. Smashing against rocks and snags they veered into
the bank. Thornton came to belly downward and being violently

(50:22):
propelled back and forth across a drift log by Hans
and Pete. His first glance was for Buck, over whose
limp and apparently lifeless body Nig was setting up a
howl while Skeet was licking the wet face and closed eyes.
Thornton was himself bruised and battered, and he went carefully
over Buck's body when he had been brought around, finding

(50:44):
three broken ribs. That settles it, He announced, we camp
right here. In camp they did till Buck's ribs knitted
and he was able to travel that winter. At Dawson,
Buck performed another exploit, not so heroic, perhaps, but one
that put his name many notches higher on the totem

(51:04):
pole of Alaskan fame. This exploit was particularly gratifying to
the three men, for they stood in need of the outfit,
which it furnished, and were enabled to make a long
desired trip into the Virgin East, where miners had not
yet appeared. It was brought about by a conversation in
the El Dorado Saloon in which men waxed boastful of

(51:25):
their favorite dogs. Buck, because of his record, was the
target for these men, and Thornton was driven stoutly to
defend him. At the end of half an hour, one
man stated that his dog could start a sledge with
five hundred pounds and walk off with it. A second
bragged six hundred for his dog, and a third seven hundred.

(51:46):
Pooh pooh, said John Thornton. Buck can start a thousand
pounds and break it out and walk off with it
for a hundred yards, demanded Matthewson. A bonanza king, he
of seven hundred vaunt and break it out and walk
off with it for a hundred yards, John Thornton said, coolly. Well,

(52:09):
Matthewson said, slowly and deliberately, so that all could hear.
I've got a thousand dollars that says he can't, And
there it is, so saying, he slammed a sack of
gold dust of the size of a blowney scent, which
down upon the bar. Nobody spoke Thornton's bluff. If the
bluff it was had been called, he could feel a

(52:32):
flush of warm blood creeping up his face. His tongue
had tricked him. He did not know whether Buck could
start a thousand pounds half a ton. The enormousness of
it appalled him. He had great faith in Buck's strength
and had often thought him capable of starting such a load,
but never as now had he faced the possibility of it.

(52:55):
The eyes of a dozen men fixed upon him, silent
and waiting further. He had no thousand dollars, nor Hans
or Pete. I've got a sledge standing outside now with
twenty fifty pound sacks of flour on it. Matthewson went on,
with brutal directness. So don't let that hinder you. Thornton

(53:17):
did not reply. He did not know what to say.
He glanced from face to face in the absent way
of a man who has lost the power of thought
and is seeking somewhere to find the thing that will
start it going again. The face of Jim O'Brien, a
mastodon king, an old time comrade, caught his eyes. It
was a cue to him, seeming to rouse him to

(53:38):
do what he would never have dreamed of doing. Can
you lend me a thousand? He asked, almost in a whisper.
Sure O'Brien answered, thumping down a plethoric sack by the
side of Matthewson's though it's little faith I'm having John,
that's a beast can do the trick. The El Dorado
emptied its occupants into the street to see the test.

(54:00):
The tables were deserted, and the dealers and gamekeepers came
forth to see the outcome of the wager and to
lay odds. Several hundred men, furred and mittened, banked around
the sled with easy distance. Matthewson's sled, loaded with a
thousand pounds of flour, had been standing for a couple
of hours, and in the intense cold, it was sixty

(54:21):
below zero. The runners had frozen fast to the hard
packed snow. Men offered odds of two to one that
Buck could not budge the sled. A quibble arose concerning
the phase break out. O'Brien contended it was Thornton's privilege
to knock the runners loose, leaving Buck to break it
out from a dead standstill. Matthewson insisted that the phrase

(54:43):
included breaking the runners from the frozen grip of the snow.
A majority of the men who had witnessed the making
of the bet decided in his favor whereat. The odds
went up to three to one against Buck. There were
no takers. Not a man believed him capable of the feet.
Thornton had been hurried into the wager heavy with doubt,

(55:03):
and now that he looked at the sled itself, the
concrete fact, with the regular team of ten dogs curled
up in the snow before it, the more impossible the
task appeared. Matthewson waxed jubilant. Three to one, he proclaimed,
I'll lay you another thousand at that figure, Thornton, what
do you say? Thornton's doubt was strong in his face,

(55:26):
but his fighting spirit was aroused. The fighting spirit that
soars above odds, fails to recognize the impossible, and is
deaf to all save the clamor for battle. He called
Hans and Pete to him. Their sacks were slim, and
with his own, the three partners could rake together only
two hundred dollars in the ebb of their fortunes. This
sum was their total capital, yet they laid it unhesitatingly

(55:49):
against Matthewson's six hundred. The team of ten dogs was unhitched,
and Buck, with his own harness, was put into the sled.
He had caught the contagion of the excitement, and he
felt that in some way he must do a great
thing for John Thornton. Murmurs of admiration at his splendid
appearance went up. He was in perfect condition, without an

(56:10):
ounce of superfluous flesh, and the one hundred fifty pounds
that he weighed were so many pounds of grit and virility.
His furry coat shone with the sheen of silk down
the neck and across the shoulders. His mane in repose,
as it was half bristled, and seemed to lift with
every movement, as though excessive vigor made each particular hair

(56:32):
alive and active. The great breast and heavy fore legs
were no more than in proportion with the rest of
his body, where the muscles showed in tight rolls underneath
the skin. Men felt these muscles and proclaimed them hard
as iron, and the odds went down to two to one. Gad, Sir, Gad, Sir,

(56:52):
stuttered a member of the latest dynasty, a king of
the Scuokum benches. I offer you eight hundred for him, sir,
for the test, Sir, eight hundred, just as he stands.
Thornton shook his head and stepped to Buck's side. You
must stand off from him, Matthewson protested free play and
plenty a room. The crowd fell silent. Only could be

(57:15):
heard the voices of the gamblers, vainly offering two to one.
Everybody acknowledged Buck a magnificent animal, but twenty fifty pound
sacks of flour bulked too large in their eyes for
them to loosen their pouch strings. Thornton knelt down by
Buck's side. He took his head in his two hands
and rested cheek on cheek. He did not playfully shake him,

(57:38):
as was his wont or murmurs, soft love, curses, but
he whispered in his ear, As you love me, Buck,
As you love me was what he whispered. Buck whined
with suppressed eagerness. The crowd was watching curiously. The affair
was growing mysterious. It seemed like a conjuration. As Thornton

(58:01):
got to his feet, Buck seized his mittened hand between
his jaws, pressing in with his teeth and releasing slowly,
half reluctantly. It was the answer in terms not of speech,
but of love. Thornton stepped well back, now, Buck, he said, Buck,
tightened the traces, then slacked them for a matter of

(58:21):
several inches. It was the way he had learned. Gee
Thornton's voice rang out sharp in the tense silence. Buck
swung to the right, ending the movement in a plunge
that took up the slack, and with sudden jerk arrested
his one hundred and fifty pounds. The load quivered, and
from under the runners arose a crisp, crackling ha Thornton

(58:44):
commanded Buck duplicated the maneuver, this time to the left.
The crackling turned into a snapping, and the sled pivoting,
and the runners slipping and grating several inches to the side.
The sled was broken out. Men were holding their breaths intensely,
unconscious of the fact. Now mush Thornton's command cracked out

(59:06):
like a pistol shot. Buck threw himself forward, tightening the
traces with a jarring lunge. His whole body was gathered
compactly together in the tremendous efforts, the muscles writhing and
nodding like live things under the silky fur. His great
chest was low to the ground, his head forward and down,
while his feet were flying like mad, the claws scarring

(59:28):
the hard packed snow in parallel grooves. The sledge swayed
and trembled, half started forward. One of his feet slipped,
and one man groaned aloud. Then the sled lurched ahead
in what appeared a rapid succession of jerks, though it
never really came to a dead stop again half an inch,
an inch, two inches. The jerks perceptibly diminished as the

(59:52):
sled gained momentum. He caught them up till it was
moving steadily along. Men gasped and began to wreathe again,
unaware for a moment that they had ceased to breathe.
Thornton was running behind, encouraging buck with short, cheery words.
The distance had been measured off, and as he neared
the pile of firewood which marked the end of the

(01:00:13):
hundred yards, a cheer began to grow and grow, which
burst into a roar. As he passed the firewood and
halted at command. Every man was tearing himself loose, even Matthewson.
Hats and mittens were flying in the air. Men were
shaking hands, it did not matter with whom, and bubbling
over in general, incoherent babble. But Thornton fell on his

(01:00:36):
knees beside Buck. Head was against head, and he was
shaking him back and forth. Those who hurried up heard
him cursing Buck, and he cursed him long and fervently
and softly and lovingly. Gad, Sir, Gad, Sir, sputtered the
skookum bench king. I'll give you a thousand for him, Sir,
a thousand, sir, twelve hundred. Sir. Thornton rose to his feet.

(01:01:00):
His eyes were wet, the tears were streaming frankly down
his cheeks. Sir, he said to the scukum bench king, No, sir,
you can go to hell, Sir, It's the best I
can do for you. Sir. Buck seized Thornton's hand in
his teeth. Thornton shook him back and forth, as though
animated by a common impulse. The onlookers drew back to

(01:01:23):
a respectful distance, nor were they again indiscreet enough to interrupt.
This concludes chapters five and six of The Call of
the Wild by Jack London, as read by Jean O'Sullivan
po LibriVox