The Call of the Wild E-Book

Jack London

• Herausgeber: ShadowPOET
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Call of the Wild

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Leseprobe

THECALLOFTHEWILD

ByJackLondon

Publisher: ShadowPOET

ChapterI.IntothePrimitive

"Oldlongingsnomadicleap,Chafingatcustom'schain;AgainfromitsbrumalsleepWakenstheferinestrain."

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble wasbrewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscleand with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men,gropingintheArcticdarkness,hadfoundayellowmetal,andbecausesteamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands ofmen were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogsthey wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furrycoatstoprotectthemfromthefrost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. JudgeMiller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden amongthe trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool verandathatranarounditsfoursides.Thehousewasapproachedbygravelleddriveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under theinterlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a morespacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozengrooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endlessand orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards,and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, andthe big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge andkeptcoolinthehotafternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he hadlived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs, There couldnotbutbeotherdogsonsovastaplace,buttheydidnotcount.Theycameandwent,residedinthepopulouskennels,orlivedobscurelyintherecessesofthe house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexicanhairless,—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot toground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least,who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windowsat them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms andmops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his.He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; heescorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or earlymorning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaringlibraryfire;hecarriedtheJudge'sgrandsonsonhisback,orrolledtheminthe

grass,andguardedtheirfootstepsthroughwildadventuresdowntothefountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, andthe berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots andYsabel he utterly ignored, for he was king,—king over all creeping, crawling,flyingthingsofJudgeMiller'splace,humansincluded.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparablecompanion,andBuckbidfairtofollowinthewayofhisfather.Hewasnotsolarge,—he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds,—for his mother,Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and fortypounds,towhichwasaddedthedignitythatcomesofgoodlivinganduniversal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. Duringthe four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat;hehadafineprideinhimself,wasevenatrifleegotistical,ascountrygentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he hadsaved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting andkindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; andto him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and ahealthpreserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when theKlondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. ButBuck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one ofthe gardener's helpers,was an undesirableacquaintance. Manuel hadonebesetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he hadonebesettingweakness—faithinasystem;andthismadehisdamnationcertain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener'shelperdonotlapovertheneedsofawifeandnumerousprogeny.

TheJudgewasatameetingoftheRaisinGrowers'Association,andtheboyswerebusyorganizinganathleticclub,onthememorablenightofManuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard onwhat Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitaryman, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park.ThismantalkedwithManuel,andmoneychinkedbetweenthem.

"You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm," the stranger saidgruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck underthecollar.

"Twistit,an'you'llchoke'mplentee,"saidManuel,andthestrangergruntedareadyaffirmative.

Buckhadacceptedtheropewithquietdignity.Tobesure,itwasanunwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and togive them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends oftheropewereplacedinthestranger'shands,hegrowledmenacingly.Hehad

merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was tocommand. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting offhisbreath.Inquickragehesprangattheman,whomethimhalfway,grappledhimclosebythethroat,andwithadefttwistthrewhimoveronhisback.Thenthe rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tonguelolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all hislifehadhebeensovilelytreated,andneverinallhislifehadhebeensoangry.But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the trainwasflaggedandthetwomenthrewhimintothebaggagecar.

The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and thathe was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek ofa locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had travelled toooften with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. Heopened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king.The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jawsclosed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of himoncemore.

"Yep,hasfits,"themansaid,hidinghismangledhandfromthebaggageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. "I'm takin' 'mup forthebossto 'Frisco. Acrack dog-doctor there thinks that hecan cure 'm."

Concerningthatnight'sride,themanspokemosteloquentlyforhimself,inalittleshedbackofasaloonontheSanFranciscowaterfront.

"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it over for athousand,coldcash."

His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser legwasrippedfromkneetoankle.

"How much did the other mug get?" the saloon-keeper demanded."Ahundred,"wasthereply."Wouldn'ttakeasouless,sohelpme."

"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated; "and he'sworthit,orI'masquarehead."

The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand."IfIdon'tgetthehydrophoby—"

"It'll be because you was born to hang," laughed the saloon-keeper. "Here,lendmeahandbeforeyoupullyourfreight,"headded.

Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life halfthrottledoutofhim,Buckattemptedtofacehistormentors.Buthewasthrowndown and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brasscollar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into acagelikecrate.

Therehelayfortheremainderofthewearynight,nursinghiswrathand

woundedpride.Hecouldnotunderstandwhatitallmeant.Whatdidtheywantwith him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in thisnarrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague senseof impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feetwhen the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys atleast. But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered inathimbythesicklylightofatallowcandle.AndeachtimethejoyfulbarkthattrembledinBuck'sthroatwastwistedintoasavagegrowl.

But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men enteredand picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at themthroughthebars.Theyonlylaughedandpokedsticksathim,whichhepromptlyassailedwithhisteethtillherealizedthatthatwaswhattheywanted.Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into awagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passagethrough many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he wascarted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment ofboxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into agreatrailwaydepot,andfinallyhewasdepositedinanexpresscar.

For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail ofshriekinglocomotives;andfortwodaysandnightsBuckneitheratenordrank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengerswith growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himselfagainst the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him.They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their armsand crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage tohis dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger somuch, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrathtofever-pitch.Forthatmatter,high-strungandfinelysensitive,theilltreatmenthadflunghimintoafever,whichwasfedbytheinflammationofhisparchedandswollenthroatandtongue.

Hewasgladforonething:theropewasoffhisneck.Thathadgiventhemanunfairadvantage;butnowthatitwasoff,hewouldshowthem.Theywouldnever get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For twodays and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nightsof torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fellfoul of him. His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into aragingfiend.SochangedwashethattheJudgehimselfwouldnothaverecognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when theybundledhimoffthetrainatSeattle.

Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walledbackyard.Astoutman,witharedsweaterthatsaggedgenerouslyat

theneck,cameoutandsignedthebookforthedriver.Thatwastheman,Buckdivined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars.Themansmiledgrimly,andbroughtahatchetandaclub.

"Youain'tgoingtotakehimoutnow?"thedriverasked.

"Sure,"themanreplied,drivingthehatchetintothecrateforapry.

Therewasaninstantaneousscatteringofthefourmenwhohadcarrieditin,andfromsafeperchesontopthewalltheypreparedtowatchtheperformance.Buckrushedatthesplinteringwood,sinkinghisteethintoit,surgingand

wrestlingwithit.Whereverthehatchetfellontheoutside,hewasthereonthe

inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in theredsweaterwascalmlyintentongettinghimout.

"Now,youred-eyeddevil,"hesaid,whenhehadmadeanopeningsufficientfor the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the hatchet andshiftedtheclubtohisrighthand.

And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for thespring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes.Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury,surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid air, just as hisjaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked hisbody and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over,fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by a clubin his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark and morescreamhewasagainonhisfeetandlaunchedintotheair.Andagaintheshockcame and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was awarethat it was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times hecharged,andasoftentheclubbrokethechargeandsmashedhimdown.

After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. Hestaggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, hisbeautifulcoatsprayedandfleckedwithbloodyslaver.Thenthemanadvancedand deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he hadenduredwasasnothingcomparedwiththeexquisiteagonyofthis.Witharoarthat was almost lionlike in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. Butthe man, shifting the club from right to left, coolly caught him by the underjaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward. Buck described acomplete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground onhisheadandchest.

Forthelasttimeherushed.Themanstrucktheshrewdblowhehadpurposelywithheldforsolong,andBuckcrumpledupandwentdown,knockedutterlysenseless.

"He's no slouch at dog-breakin', that's wot I say," one of the men on the wallcriedenthusiastically.

"Drutherbreakcayusesanyday,andtwiceonSundays,"wasthereplyofthedriver,asheclimbedonthewagonandstartedthehorses.

Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he hadfallen,andfromtherehewatchedthemanintheredsweater.

"'Answers to the name of Buck,'" the man soliloquized, quoting from thesaloon-keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate andcontents. "Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, "we've had ourlittle ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learnedyour place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all 'll go well and the goosehanghigh.Beabaddog,andI'llwhalethestuffin'outayou.Understand?"

As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded,and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he enduredit without protest. When the man brought him water he drank eagerly, andlater bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man'shand.