by Jack London
CHAPTER II--THE SHE-WOLF
Breakfast eaten and the slim camp-outfit lashed to the sled, the menturned their backs on the cheery fire and launched out into the darkness.At once began to rise the cries that were fiercely sad--cries that calledthrough the darkness and cold to one another and answered back.Conversation ceased. Daylight came at nine o'clock. At midday the skyto the south warmed to rose-colour, and marked where the bulge of theearth intervened between the meridian sun and the northern world. Butthe rose-colour swiftly faded. The grey light of day that remainedlasted until three o'clock, when it, too, faded, and the pall of theArctic night descended upon the lone and silent land.
As darkness came on, the hunting-cries to right and left and rear drewcloser--so close that more than once they sent surges of fear through thetoiling dogs, throwing them into short-lived panics.
At the conclusion of one such panic, when he and Henry had got the dogsback in the traces, Bill said:
"I wisht they'd strike game somewheres, an' go away an' leave us alone."
"They do get on the nerves horrible," Henry sympathised.
They spoke no more until camp was made.
Henry was bending over and adding ice to the babbling pot of beans whenhe was startled by the sound of a blow, an exclamation from Bill, and asharp snarling cry of pain from among the dogs. He straightened up intime to see a dim form disappearing across the snow into the shelter ofthe dark. Then he saw Bill, standing amid the dogs, half triumphant,half crestfallen, in one hand a stout club, in the other the tail andpart of the body of a sun-cured salmon.
"It got half of it," he announced; "but I got a whack at it jes' thesame. D'ye hear it squeal?"
"What'd it look like?" Henry asked.
"Couldn't see. But it had four legs an' a mouth an' hair an' looked likeany dog."
"Must be a tame wolf, I reckon."
"It's damned tame, whatever it is, comin' in here at feedin' time an'gettin' its whack of fish."
That night, when supper was finished and they sat on the oblong box andpulled at their pipes, the circle of gleaming eyes drew in even closerthan before.
"I wisht they'd spring up a bunch of moose or something, an' go away an'leave us alone," Bill said.
Henry grunted with an intonation that was not all sympathy, and for aquarter of an hour they sat on in silence, Henry staring at the fire, andBill at the circle of eyes that burned in the darkness just beyond thefirelight.
"I wisht we was pullin' into McGurry right now," he began again.
"Shut up your wishin' and your croakin'," Henry burst out angrily. "Yourstomach's sour. That's what's ailin' you. Swallow a spoonful of sody,an' you'll sweeten up wonderful an' be more pleasant company."
In the morning Henry was aroused by fervid blasphemy that proceeded fromthe mouth of Bill. Henry propped himself up on an elbow and looked tosee his comrade standing among the dogs beside the replenished fire, hisarms raised in objurgation, his face distorted with passion.
"Hello!" Henry called. "What's up now?"
"Frog's gone," came the answer.
"No."
"I tell you yes."
Henry leaped out of the blankets and to the dogs. He counted them withcare, and then joined his partner in cursing the power of the Wild thathad robbed them of another dog.
"Frog was the strongest dog of the bunch," Bill pronounced finally.
"An' he was no fool dog neither," Henry added.
And so was recorded the second epitaph in two days.
A gloomy breakfast was eaten, and the four remaining dogs were harnessedto the sled. The day was a repetition of the days that had gone before.The men toiled without speech across the face of the frozen world. Thesilence was unbroken save by the cries of their pursuers, that, unseen,hung upon their rear. With the coming of night in the mid-afternoon, thecries sounded closer as the pursuers drew in according to their custom;and the dogs grew excited and frightened, and were guilty of panics thattangled the traces and further depressed the two men.
"There, that'll fix you fool critters," Bill said with satisfaction thatnight, standing erect at completion of his task.
Henry left the cooking to come and see. Not only had his partner tiedthe dogs up, but he had tied them, after the Indian fashion, with sticks.About the neck of each dog he had fastened a leather thong. To this, andso close to the neck that the dog could not get his teeth to it, he hadtied a stout stick four or five feet in length. The other end of thestick, in turn, was made fast to a stake in the ground by means of aleather thong. The dog was unable to gnaw through the leather at his ownend of the stick. The stick prevented him from getting at the leatherthat fastened the other end.
Henry nodded his head approvingly.
"It's the only contraption that'll ever hold One Ear," he said. "He cangnaw through leather as clean as a knife an' jes' about half as quick.They all'll be here in the mornin' hunkydory."
"You jes' bet they will," Bill affirmed. "If one of em' turns upmissin', I'll go without my coffee."
"They jes' know we ain't loaded to kill," Henry remarked at bed-time,indicating the gleaming circle that hemmed them in. "If we could put acouple of shots into 'em, they'd be more respectful. They come closerevery night. Get the firelight out of your eyes an' look hard--there!Did you see that one?"
For some time the two men amused themselves with watching the movement ofvague forms on the edge of the firelight. By looking closely andsteadily at where a pair of eyes burned in the darkness, the form of theanimal would slowly take shape. They could even see these forms move attimes.
A sound among the dogs attracted the men's attention. One Ear wasuttering quick, eager whines, lunging at the length of his stick towardthe darkness, and desisting now and again in order to make franticattacks on the stick with his teeth.
"Look at that, Bill," Henry whispered.
Full into the firelight, with a stealthy, sidelong movement, glided adoglike animal. It moved with commingled mistrust and daring, cautiouslyobserving the men, its attention fixed on the dogs. One Ear strained thefull length of the stick toward the intruder and whined with eagerness.
"That fool One Ear don't seem scairt much," Bill said in a low tone.
"It's a she-wolf," Henry whispered back, "an' that accounts for Fatty an'Frog. She's the decoy for the pack. She draws out the dog an' then allthe rest pitches in an' eats 'm up."
The fire crackled. A log fell apart with a loud spluttering noise. Atthe sound of it the strange animal leaped back into the darkness.
"Henry, I'm a-thinkin'," Bill announced.
"Thinkin' what?"
"I'm a-thinkin' that was the one I lambasted with the club."
"Ain't the slightest doubt in the world," was Henry's response.
"An' right here I want to remark," Bill went on, "that that animal'sfamilyarity with campfires is suspicious an' immoral."
"It knows for certain more'n a self-respectin' wolf ought to know," Henryagreed. "A wolf that knows enough to come in with the dogs at feedin'time has had experiences."
"Ol' Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves," Bill cogitatesaloud. "I ought to know. I shot it out of the pack in a moose pastureover 'on Little Stick. An' Ol' Villan cried like a baby. Hadn't seen itfor three years, he said. Ben with the wolves all that time."
"I reckon you've called the turn, Bill. That wolf's a dog, an' it'seaten fish many's the time from the hand of man."
"An if I get a chance at it, that wolf that's a dog'll be jes' meat,"Bill declared. "We can't afford to lose no more animals."
"But you've only got three cartridges," Henry objected.
"I'll wait for a dead sure shot," was the reply.
In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to theaccompaniment of his partner's snoring.
"You was sleepin' jes' too comfortable for anything," Henry told him, ashe routed him out for breakfast. "I hadn't the heart to rouse you."
Bill began to eat
sleepily. He noticed that his cup was empty andstarted to reach for the pot. But the pot was beyond arm's length andbeside Henry.
"Say, Henry," he chided gently, "ain't you forgot somethin'?"
Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. Bill heldup the empty cup.
"You don't get no coffee," Henry announced.
"Ain't run out?" Bill asked anxiously.
"Nope."
"Ain't thinkin' it'll hurt my digestion?"
"Nope."
A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill's face.
"Then it's jes' warm an' anxious I am to be hearin' you explainyourself," he said.
"Spanker's gone," Henry answered.
Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune Bill turned hishead, and from where he sat counted the dogs.
"How'd it happen?" he asked apathetically.
Henry shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. Unless One Ear gnawed 'mloose. He couldn't a-done it himself, that's sure."
"The darned cuss." Bill spoke gravely and slowly, with no hint of theanger that was raging within. "Jes' because he couldn't chew himselfloose, he chews Spanker loose."
"Well, Spanker's troubles is over anyway; I guess he's digested by thistime an' cavortin' over the landscape in the bellies of twenty differentwolves," was Henry's epitaph on this, the latest lost dog. "Have somecoffee, Bill."
But Bill shook his head.
"Go on," Henry pleaded, elevating the pot.
Bill shoved his cup aside. "I'll be ding-dong-danged if I do. I said Iwouldn't if ary dog turned up missin', an' I won't."
"It's darn good coffee," Henry said enticingly.
But Bill was stubborn, and he ate a dry breakfast washed down withmumbled curses at One Ear for the trick he had played.
"I'll tie 'em up out of reach of each other to-night," Bill said, as theytook the trail.
They had travelled little more than a hundred yards, when Henry, who wasin front, bent down and picked up something with which his snowshoe hadcollided. It was dark, and he could not see it, but he recognised it bythe touch. He flung it back, so that it struck the sled and bouncedalong until it fetched up on Bill's snowshoes.
"Mebbe you'll need that in your business," Henry said.
Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker--thestick with which he had been tied.
"They ate 'm hide an' all," Bill announced. "The stick's as clean as awhistle. They've ate the leather offen both ends. They're damn hungry,Henry, an' they'll have you an' me guessin' before this trip's over."
Henry laughed defiantly. "I ain't been trailed this way by wolvesbefore, but I've gone through a whole lot worse an' kept my health. Takesmore'n a handful of them pesky critters to do for yours truly, Bill, myson."
"I don't know, I don't know," Bill muttered ominously.
"Well, you'll know all right when we pull into McGurry."
"I ain't feelin' special enthusiastic," Bill persisted.
"You're off colour, that's what's the matter with you," Henry dogmatised."What you need is quinine, an' I'm goin' to dose you up stiff as soon aswe make McGurry."
Bill grunted his disagreement with the diagnosis, and lapsed intosilence. The day was like all the days. Light came at nine o'clock. Attwelve o'clock the southern horizon was warmed by the unseen sun; andthen began the cold grey of afternoon that would merge, three hourslater, into night.
It was just after the sun's futile effort to appear, that Bill slippedthe rifle from under the sled-lashings and said:
"You keep right on, Henry, I'm goin' to see what I can see."
"You'd better stick by the sled," his partner protested. "You've onlygot three cartridges, an' there's no tellin' what might happen."
"Who's croaking now?" Bill demanded triumphantly.
Henry made no reply, and plodded on alone, though often he cast anxiousglances back into the grey solitude where his partner had disappeared. Anhour later, taking advantage of the cut-offs around which the sled had togo, Bill arrived.
"They're scattered an' rangin' along wide," he said: "keeping up with usan' lookin' for game at the same time. You see, they're sure of us, onlythey know they've got to wait to get us. In the meantime they're willin'to pick up anything eatable that comes handy."
"You mean they _think_ they're sure of us," Henry objected pointedly.
But Bill ignored him. "I seen some of them. They're pretty thin. Theyain't had a bite in weeks I reckon, outside of Fatty an' Frog an'Spanker; an' there's so many of 'em that that didn't go far. They'reremarkable thin. Their ribs is like wash-boards, an' their stomachs isright up against their backbones. They're pretty desperate, I can tellyou. They'll be goin' mad, yet, an' then watch out."
A few minutes later, Henry, who was now travelling behind the sled,emitted a low, warning whistle. Bill turned and looked, then quietlystopped the dogs. To the rear, from around the last bend and plainlyinto view, on the very trail they had just covered, trotted a furry,slinking form. Its nose was to the trail, and it trotted with apeculiar, sliding, effortless gait. When they halted, it halted,throwing up its head and regarding them steadily with nostrils thattwitched as it caught and studied the scent of them.
"It's the she-wolf," Bill answered.
The dogs had lain down in the snow, and he walked past them to join hispartner in the sled. Together they watched the strange animal that hadpursued them for days and that had already accomplished the destructionof half their dog-team.
After a searching scrutiny, the animal trotted forward a few steps. Thisit repeated several times, till it was a short hundred yards away. Itpaused, head up, close by a clump of spruce trees, and with sight andscent studied the outfit of the watching men. It looked at them in astrangely wistful way, after the manner of a dog; but in its wistfulnessthere was none of the dog affection. It was a wistfulness bred ofhunger, as cruel as its own fangs, as merciless as the frost itself.
It was large for a wolf, its gaunt frame advertising the lines of ananimal that was among the largest of its kind.
"Stands pretty close to two feet an' a half at the shoulders," Henrycommented. "An' I'll bet it ain't far from five feet long."
"Kind of strange colour for a wolf," was Bill's criticism. "I never seena red wolf before. Looks almost cinnamon to me."
The animal was certainly not cinnamon-coloured. Its coat was the truewolf-coat. The dominant colour was grey, and yet there was to it a faintreddish hue--a hue that was baffling, that appeared and disappeared, thatwas more like an illusion of the vision, now grey, distinctly grey, andagain giving hints and glints of a vague redness of colour notclassifiable in terms of ordinary experience.
"Looks for all the world like a big husky sled-dog," Bill said. "Iwouldn't be s'prised to see it wag its tail."
"Hello, you husky!" he called. "Come here, you whatever-your-name-is."
"Ain't a bit scairt of you," Henry laughed.
Bill waved his hand at it threateningly and shouted loudly; but theanimal betrayed no fear. The only change in it that they could noticewas an accession of alertness. It still regarded them with the mercilesswistfulness of hunger. They were meat, and it was hungry; and it wouldlike to go in and eat them if it dared.
"Look here, Henry," Bill said, unconsciously lowering his voice to awhisper because of what he imitated. "We've got three cartridges. Butit's a dead shot. Couldn't miss it. It's got away with three of ourdogs, an' we oughter put a stop to it. What d'ye say?"
Henry nodded his consent. Bill cautiously slipped the gun from under thesled-lashing. The gun was on the way to his shoulder, but it never gotthere. For in that instant the she-wolf leaped sidewise from the trailinto the clump of spruce trees and disappeared.
The two men looked at each other. Henry whistled long andcomprehendingly.
"I might have knowed it," Bill chided himself aloud as he replaced thegun. "Of course a wolf that knows enough to come in with the dogs atfeedin' time, '
d know all about shooting-irons. I tell you right now,Henry, that critter's the cause of all our trouble. We'd have six dogsat the present time, 'stead of three, if it wasn't for her. An' I tellyou right now, Henry, I'm goin' to get her. She's too smart to be shotin the open. But I'm goin' to lay for her. I'll bushwhack her as sureas my name is Bill."
"You needn't stray off too far in doin' it," his partner admonished. "Ifthat pack ever starts to jump you, them three cartridges'd be wuth nomore'n three whoops in hell. Them animals is damn hungry, an' once theystart in, they'll sure get you, Bill."
They camped early that night. Three dogs could not drag the sled so fastnor for so long hours as could six, and they were showing unmistakablesigns of playing out. And the men went early to bed, Bill first seeingto it that the dogs were tied out of gnawing-reach of one another.
But the wolves were growing bolder, and the men were aroused more thanonce from their sleep. So near did the wolves approach, that the dogsbecame frantic with terror, and it was necessary to replenish the firefrom time to time in order to keep the adventurous marauders at saferdistance.
"I've hearn sailors talk of sharks followin' a ship," Bill remarked, ashe crawled back into the blankets after one such replenishing of thefire. "Well, them wolves is land sharks. They know their businessbetter'n we do, an' they ain't a-holdin' our trail this way for theirhealth. They're goin' to get us. They're sure goin' to get us, Henry."
"They've half got you a'ready, a-talkin' like that," Henry retortedsharply. "A man's half licked when he says he is. An' you're half eatenfrom the way you're goin' on about it."
"They've got away with better men than you an' me," Bill answered.
"Oh, shet up your croakin'. You make me all-fired tired."
Henry rolled over angrily on his side, but was surprised that Bill madeno similar display of temper. This was not Bill's way, for he was easilyangered by sharp words. Henry thought long over it before he went tosleep, and as his eyelids fluttered down and he dozed off, the thought inhis mind was: "There's no mistakin' it, Bill's almighty blue. I'll haveto cheer him up to-morrow."
