Read the chapter
The Call of the Wild
Chapter 3. The Dominant Primordial Beast
The dominant primordial beast was strong in Buck, and under the fierce conditions of trail life it grew and grew.
Yet it was a secret growth, his newborn cunning gave him poise and control.
He was too busy adjusting himself to the new life to feel at ease, and not only did he not pick fights.
But he avoided them whenever possible, a certain deliberateness characterized his attitude.
He wasn't prone to rashness and sudden action, and in the bitter hatred between him and Spitz he showed no impatience and avoided all offensive acts.
On the other hand, possibly because he sensed in Buck a dangerous rival, Spitz never lost a chance to show his teeth.
He went out of his way to bully Buck, always trying to start a fight that could end in the death of one.
Early in the trip this might have happened if not for an unusual accident.
At the end of that day they made a bleak and miserable camp on the shore of Lake Le Barge.
Driving snow, a wind that cut like a white-hot knife, and darkness had forced them to search for a camping place.
Under such terrible weather and poor shelter, they could hardly have fared any worse.
A straight wall of rock rose behind them. Perrault and Francois made fire and spread sleeping robes on the lake ice.
They had left the tent at Dyea in order to travel light.
A few sticks of driftwood gave them a fire that melted down through the ice and left them to eat supper in the dark.
Close in under the sheltering rock Buck made his nest.
It was so snug and warm he did not want to leave when Francois gave the fish he had thawed over the fire.
But when Buck finished his portion and returned, he found his nest taken.
A warning snarl told him that the trespasser was Spitz.
Until now Buck had avoided trouble with his enemy, but this was too much.
The beast in him roared, he sprang upon Spitz with a fury that surprised them both.
Spitz was especially shocked, his experience with Buck had taught him that his rival was timid.
Buck only held his own because of his great weight and size.
Francois was surprised, too, when they shot out in a tangle from the broken nest and he guessed the cause of the trouble.
"A-a-ah!" he shouted to Buck.
"Give it to him, by Gar! Give it to him, the dirty thief!"
Spitz was equally willing, his eyes blazing with rage and eagerness.
He was crying with pure rage and eagerness as he circled back and forth for a chance to spring in.
Buck was no less eager, and no less cautious, as he also circled back and forth for the advantage.
But then the unexpected happened, the thing that pushed their struggle for power far into the future, past many a weary mile of trail and toil.
A curse from Perrault, the loud sound of a club hitting a bony frame, and a sharp yelp of pain announced the start of chaos.
The camp was suddenly discovered to be alive with sneaking, starving huskies, four or five dozen, who had smelled the food from some Indian village.
They crept in while Buck and Spitz fought, and when the two men ran in with heavy clubs, the huskies fought back.
They were crazed by the smell of the food.
Perrault found one with its head buried in the food box.
His club landed heavily on the thin ribs, and the food box was knocked over on the ground.
At once a score of the starving beasts were scrambling for the bread and bacon.
The clubs fell on them without effect.
They yelped and howled under the rain of blows, but they struggled just as madly until the last crumb had been eaten.
In the meantime the surprised team dogs had burst out of their nests only to be attacked by the fierce invaders.
Buck had never seen such dogs, it seemed as though their bones would burst through their skins.
They were just skeletons, loosely covered in dirty hides, with blazing eyes and drooling fangs.
But the hunger-madness made them terrifying and unstoppable.
There was no fighting them, the team dogs were pushed back against the cliff at the first attack.
Buck was attacked by three huskies, and in a moment his head and shoulders were torn and cut.
The noise was terrible, Billee was crying as usual.
Dave and Sol-leks, dripping blood from many wounds, were fighting bravely side by side, Joe was snapping like a demon.
Once, his teeth closed on the front leg of a husky, and he bit down through the bone.
Pike, the lazy one, jumped on the crippled animal, breaking its neck with a quick flash of teeth and a jerk.
Buck got a foaming enemy by the throat, and was sprayed with blood when his teeth sank through the jugular.
The warm taste of it in his mouth drove him to greater fierceness.
He threw himself on another, and at the same time felt teeth sink into his own throat.
It was Spitz, attacking him from the side like a traitor.
Perrault and Francois, having cleared out their part of the camp, hurried to save their sled dogs.
The wild wave of starving beasts rolled back before them, and Buck shook himself free.
But it was only for a moment.
The two men had to run back to save the food, and then the huskies returned to attack the team.
Billee, frightened into bravery, jumped through the savage circle and ran away over the ice.
Pike and Dub followed him, with the rest of the team behind.
As Buck gathered to jump after them, he saw Spitz rush at him, clearly trying to knock him down.
Once off his feet and under that mass of huskies, there was no hope for him.
But he braced himself for the shock of Spitz's charge, then joined the flight out on the lake.
Later, the nine team dogs gathered together and found shelter in the forest.
Though no one was chasing them, they were in a sorry state.
There wasn't one who wasn't wounded in four or five places, while some were badly wounded.
Dub was badly injured in a back leg.
Dolly, the last husky added to the team at Dyea, had a badly torn throat.
Joe had lost an eye, while Billee, the good-natured one, with an ear chewed and torn to pieces, cried and whimpered all night.
At daybreak they limped carefully back to camp, to find the attackers gone and the two men in bad moods.
Fully half their food supply was gone.
The huskies had chewed through the sled ropes and canvas covers.
In fact, nothing, no matter how barely eatable, had escaped them.
They had eaten Perrault's moose-hide moccasins, chunks from the leather traces, and two feet of rope from Francois's whip.
He broke from a sad look at it to check his wounded dogs.
"Ah, my friends," he said softly, "maybe it make you mad dog, those many bites. Maybe all mad dog, sacredam! What do you think, eh, Perrault?"
The courier shook his head doubtfully, glancing toward the wounded dogs.
With four hundred miles of trail still between him and Dawson, he couldn't afford to have madness break out among his dogs.
Two hours of cursing and hard work got the harnesses into shape.
The wound-stiffened team was on its way.
They struggled painfully over the hardest part of the trail they had yet met.
It was also the hardest part between them and Dawson.
The Thirty Mile River was wide open, its wild water defied the frost.
And it was only in the eddies and in the quiet places that the ice held at all.
Six days of exhausting work were needed to cover those thirty terrible miles.
And terrible they were, for every foot of them was done at the risk of life to dog and man.
Perrault led the way, he broke through the ice bridges a dozen times.
He was saved by the long pole he carried.
He held it so it fell across each hole his body made.
A cold snap had set in, the thermometer showing fifty below zero.
Each time he broke through the ice he had to build a fire and dry his clothes to stay alive.
Nothing stopped him, it was because nothing stopped him that he had been chosen for government courier.
He took all kinds of risks, pushing his little thin face into the frost and struggling on from dim dawn to dark.
He went along the frowning shores on rim ice that bent and cracked underfoot and on which they dared not stop.
Once, the sled broke through, with Dave and Buck, and they were half-frozen and nearly drowned by the time they were pulled out.
The usual fire was needed to save them.
They were solid with ice, and the men kept them running around the fire, thawing so close they were burned.
Spitz went through the ice, dragging the whole team after him up to Buck.
Buck pulled backward with all his strength, his front paws on the slippery edge.
The ice was shaking and cracking all around.
But behind him was Dave, also pulling backward, and behind the sled was Francois, pulling until his tendons cracked.
Again, the rim ice broke away in front and behind, and there was no escape except up the cliff.
Perrault climbed the cliff by a miracle.
Francois prayed for that miracle, they tied every strap, sled rope, and bit of harness into a long rope.
Then the dogs were lifted, one by one, to the cliff top.
Francois came up last, after the sled and load.
They searched for a place to go down.
Finally, they used the rope to do it.
Night found them back on the river.
They had traveled a quarter of a mile that day.
By the time they reached the Hootalinqua and good ice, Buck was exhausted.
The rest of the dogs were in the same condition, but Perrault, to make up lost time, pushed them late and early.
The first day they covered thirty-five miles to the Big Salmon, and the next day another thirty-five to the Little Salmon.
On the third day they went forty miles, bringing them well up toward the Five Fingers.
Buck's feet weren't as compact and hard as the feet of the huskies.
His had softened during the many generations since the day his last wild ancestor was tamed by a cave-dweller or river man.
All day long he limped in pain, and once camp was made, he lay down like a dead dog.
Hungry as he was, he wouldn't move to get his portion of fish, which Francois had to bring to him.
Also, the dog-driver rubbed Buck's feet half an hour each night and sacrificed the tops of his moccasins to make four for Buck.
This was a great relief, One morning, Francois forgot the moccasins.
Buck lay on his back, waving his four feet pleadingly in the air.
He refused to move without them, this even made Perrault's thin face twist into a grin.
Later his feet grew hard to the trail, and the worn-out foot-gear was thrown away.
At the Pelly one morning, as they were harnessing up, Dolly, who had never been known for anything, suddenly went mad.
She announced her condition by a long, heartbreaking wolf howl that made every dog's hair stand up with fear, then jumped straight at Buck.
He had never seen a dog go mad, nor did he have any reason to fear madness.
Yet he knew that here was horror, and ran away from it in a panic.
Straight away he raced, with Dolly, panting and foaming, one leap behind.
And she couldn't catch him, so great was his terror, nor could he leave her, so great was her madness.
He plunged through the wooded breast of the island.
He flew down to the lower end and crossed a back channel filled with rough ice.
He reached another island, then a third.
He curved back to the main river.
In desperation, he started to cross it.
And all the time, though he didn't look, he could hear her snarling just one leap behind.
Francois called to him a quarter of a mile away.
He turned back, still one leap ahead, gasping painfully for air and putting all his faith in Francois to save him.
The dog-driver held the axe ready in his hand, and as Buck shot past him the axe crashed down on mad Dolly's head.
Buck staggered over against the sled, exhausted, gasping for breath, helpless, this was Spitz's chance.
He jumped on Buck, and twice his teeth sank into his unresisting enemy and tore the flesh to the bone.
Then Francois's whip came down, and Buck had the satisfaction of watching Spitz receive the worst beating yet given to any of the teams.
"One devil, that Spitz," said Perrault.
"Some bad day he kill that Buck."
"That Buck two devils," was Francois's reply.
"All the time I watch that Buck, I know for sure."
"Listen, some fine day he will get mad like hell and will chew that Spitz all up and spit him out on the snow, sure, I know".
From then on it was war between them.
Spitz, as lead-dog and recognized master of the team, felt his power threatened by this strange Southland dog.
And Buck was strange to him, for of the many Southland dogs he had known, not one had shown up well in camp and on trail.
They were all too soft, dying under the work, the frost, and starvation.
Buck was the exception, he alone survived and grew strong, matching the husky in strength, wildness, and cunning, he was a masterful dog.
The club of the man in the red sweater had knocked all blind courage and rashness out of his desire for mastery.
He was above all cunning, and could wait for his time with a patience that was nothing less than primitive.