CHAPTER TWO.
The Law of Club and Fang.
BUCK'S FIRST DAY ON THE Dyea bach was like a nightmare. Every hour
was filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly jerked from
the heart of civilisation and flung into the heart of things
primordial. No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with nothing to do
but loaf and be bored. Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a
moment's safety. All was confusion and action, and every moment life
and limb were in peril. There was imperative need to be constantly
alert; for these dogs and men were not town dogs and men. They were
savages, all of them; who knew no law but the law of club and fang.
He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought,
and his first experience taught him an unforgettable lesson. It is
true, it was a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived to
profit by it. Curly was the victim. They were camped near the log
store, where she, in her friendly way, made advances to a husky dog
the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large 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,
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
forelegs 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
intention, 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 civilised dog, an unduly civilised 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 thought 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 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 Sol-leks flew at him and
administered a sound trouncing. The resulting tangle was even worse;
but Buck took good care to keep the traces clear thereafter; and ere
the day was done, so well had he mastered his work, his mates about
ceased nagging him. Francois's whip snapped less frequently, and
Perrault even honoured 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 timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts hundreds of
feet deep, and over the great Chilcoot Divide, which stands between
the salt water and the fresh, and guards forbiddingly the sad and
lonely North. They made good time down the chain of lakes which
fills the craters of extinct volcanoes, and late that night pulled
into the huge camp at the head of Lake Bennett, where thousands of
gold-seekers were building boats against the 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 geepole, 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 grey 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 characterised 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. Civilised, he could have died for a
moral consideration, say the defence of Judge Miller's riding-whip;
but the completeness of his decivilisation was not 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
clamour 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 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 at 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 stillness, and the cold, and dark.
Thus, as token of what a puppet thing life is, the ancient song
surged through him and he came into his own again; and he came because
men had found a yellow metal in the North, and because Manuel was a
gardener's helper whose wages did not lap over the needs of his wife
and divers small copies of himself.
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