<h3><SPAN name="chap02"></SPAN>Chapter II.<br/>The Law of Club and Fang</h3>
<p>Buck’s first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare. Every hour was
filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of
civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial. No lazy, sun-kissed
life was this, with nothing to do but loaf and be bored. Here was neither
peace, nor rest, nor a moment’s safety. All was confusion and action, and
every moment life and limb were in peril. There was imperative need to be
constantly alert; for these dogs and men were not town dogs and men. They were
savages, all of them, who knew no law but the law of club and fang.</p>
<p>He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his first
experience taught him an unforgetable lesson. It is true, it was a vicarious
experience, else he would not have lived to profit by it. Curly was the victim.
They were camped near the log store, where she, in her friendly way, made
advances to a husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large
as she. There was no warning, only a leap in like a flash, a metallic clip of
teeth, a leap out equally swift, and Curly’s face was ripped open from
eye to jaw.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 François,
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.</p>
<p>Before he had recovered from the shock caused by the tragic passing of Curly,
he received another shock. François 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
François 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. François 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
François 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.</p>
<p>“T’ree vair’ good dogs,” François told Perrault.
“Dat Buck, heem pool lak hell. I tich heem queek as
anyt’ing.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 François 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.</p>
<p>Finally an idea came to him. He would return and see how his own team-mates
were making out. To his astonishment, they had disappeared. Again he wandered
about through the great camp, looking for them, and again he returned. Were
they in the tent? No, that could not be, else he would not have been driven
out. Then where could they possibly be? With drooping tail and shivering body,
very forlorn indeed, he aimlessly circled the tent. Suddenly the snow gave way
beneath his fore legs and he sank down. Something wriggled under his feet. He
sprang back, bristling and snarling, fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a
friendly little yelp reassured him, and he went back to investigate. A whiff of
warm air ascended to his nostrils, and there, curled up under the snow in a
snug ball, lay Billee. He whined placatingly, squirmed and wriggled to show his
good will and intentions, and even ventured, as a bribe for peace, to lick
Buck’s face with his warm wet tongue.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Nor did he open his eyes till roused by the noises of the waking camp. At first
he did not know where he was. It had snowed during the night and he was
completely buried. The snow walls pressed him on every side, and a great surge
of fear swept through him—the fear of the wild thing for the trap. It was
a token that he was harking back through his own life to the lives of his
forebears; for he was a civilized dog, an unduly civilized dog, and of his own
experience knew no trap and so could not of himself fear it. The muscles of his
whole body contracted spasmodically and instinctively, the hair on his neck and
shoulders stood on end, and with a ferocious snarl he bounded straight up into
the blinding day, the snow flying about him in a flashing cloud. Ere he landed
on his feet, he saw the white camp spread out before him and knew where he was
and remembered all that had passed from the time he went for a stroll with
Manuel to the hole he had dug for himself the night before.</p>
<p>A shout from François hailed his appearance. “Wot I say?” the
dog-driver cried to Perrault. “Dat Buck for sure learn queek as
anyt’ing.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 Cañon. Buck was glad to be gone, and
though the work was hard he found he did not particularly despise it. He was
surprised at the eagerness which animated the whole team and which was
communicated to him; but still more surprising was the change wrought in Dave
and Sol-leks. They were new dogs, utterly transformed by the harness. All
passiveness and unconcern had dropped from them. They were alert and active,
anxious that the work should go well, and fiercely irritable with whatever, by
delay or confusion, retarded that work. The toil of the traces seemed the
supreme expression of their being, and all that they lived for and the only
thing in which they took delight.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Buck had been purposely placed between Dave and Sol-leks so that he might
receive instruction. Apt scholar that he was, they were equally apt teachers,
never allowing him to linger long in error, and enforcing their teaching with
their sharp teeth. Dave was fair and very wise. He never nipped Buck without
cause, and he never failed to nip him when he stood in need of it. As
François’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.
François’s whip snapped less frequently, and Perrault even honored Buck
by lifting up his feet and carefully examining them.</p>
<p>It was a hard day’s run, up the Cañon, through Sheep Camp, past the
Scales and the timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts hundreds of feet
deep, and over the great Chilcoot Divide, which stands between the salt water
and the fresh and guards forbiddingly the sad and lonely North. They made good
time down the chain of lakes which fills the craters of extinct volcanoes, and
late that night pulled into the huge camp at the head of Lake Bennett, where
thousands of goldseekers were building boats against the break-up of the ice in
the spring. Buck made his hole in the snow and slept the sleep of the exhausted
just, but all too early was routed out in the cold darkness and harnessed with
his mates to the sled.</p>
<p>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. François, guiding the sled at the
gee-pole, sometimes exchanged places with him, but not often. Perrault was in a
hurry, and he prided himself on his knowledge of ice, which knowledge was
indispensable, for the fall ice was very thin, and where there was swift water,
there was no ice at all.</p>
<p>Day after day, for days unending, Buck toiled in the traces. Always, they broke
camp in the dark, and the first gray of dawn found them hitting the trail with
fresh miles reeled off behind them. And always they pitched camp after dark,
eating their bit of fish, and crawling to sleep into the snow. Buck was
ravenous. The pound and a half of sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for
each day, seemed to go nowhere. He never had enough, and suffered from
perpetual hunger pangs. Yet the other dogs, because they weighed less and were
born to the life, received a pound only of the fish and managed to keep in good
condition.</p>
<p>He swiftly lost the fastidiousness which had characterized his old life. A
dainty eater, he found that his mates, finishing first, robbed him of his
unfinished ration. There was no defending it. While he was fighting off two or
three, it was disappearing down the throats of the others. To remedy this, he
ate as fast as they; and, so greatly did hunger compel him, he was not above
taking what did not belong to him. He watched and learned. When he saw Pike,
one of the new dogs, a clever malingerer and thief, slyly steal a slice of
bacon when Perrault’s back was turned, he duplicated the performance the
following day, getting away with the whole chunk. A great uproar was raised,
but he was unsuspected; while Dub, an awkward blunderer who was always getting
caught, was punished for Buck’s misdeed.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Not that Buck reasoned it out. He was fit, that was all, and unconsciously he
accommodated himself to the new mode of life. All his days, no matter what the
odds, he had never run from a fight. But the club of the man in the red sweater
had beaten into him a more fundamental and primitive code. Civilized, he could
have died for a moral consideration, say the defence of Judge Miller’s
riding-whip; but the completeness of his decivilization was now evidenced by
his ability to flee from the defence of a moral consideration and so save his
hide. He did not steal for joy of it, but because of the clamor of his stomach.
He did not rob openly, but stole secretly and cunningly, out of respect for
club and fang. In short, the things he did were done because it was easier to
do them than not to do them.</p>
<p>His development (or retrogression) was rapid. His muscles became hard as iron,
and he grew callous to all ordinary pain. He achieved an internal as well as
external economy. He could eat anything, no matter how loathsome or
indigestible; and, once eaten, the juices of his stomach extracted the last
least particle of nutriment; and his blood carried it to the farthest reaches
of his body, building it into the toughest and stoutest of tissues. Sight and
scent became remarkably keen, while his hearing developed such acuteness that
in his sleep he heard the faintest sound and knew whether it heralded peace or
peril. He learned to bite the ice out with his teeth when it collected between
his toes; and when he was thirsty and there was a thick scum of ice over the
water hole, he would break it by rearing and striking it with stiff fore legs.
His most conspicuous trait was an ability to scent the wind and forecast it a
night in advance. No matter how breathless the air when he dug his nest by tree
or bank, the wind that later blew inevitably found him to leeward, sheltered
and snug.</p>
<p>And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became alive
again. The domesticated generations fell from him. In vague ways he remembered
back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild dogs ranged in packs
through the primeval forest and killed their meat as they ran it down. It was
no task for him to learn to fight with cut and slash and the quick wolf snap.
In this manner had fought forgotten ancestors. They quickened the old life
within him, and the old tricks which they had stamped into the heredity of the
breed were his tricks. They came to him without effort or discovery, as though
they had been his always. And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his
nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and
dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through
him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe
and what to them was the meaning of the stiffness, and the cold, and dark.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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