CHAPTER III - THE HUNGER CRY

The day began auspiciously. They had lost no dogs during the night,

and they swung out upon the trail and into the silence, the darkness, and

the cold with spirits that were fairly light. Bill seemed to have forgotten

his forebodings of the previous night, and even waxed facetious with the

dogs when, at midday, they overturned the sled on a bad piece of trail.

It was an awkward mix-up. The sled was upside down and jammed

between a tree-trunk and a huge rock, and they were forced to unharness

the dogs in order to straighten out the tangle. The two men were bent over

the sled and trying to right it, when Henry observed One Ear sidling away.

"Here, you, One Ear!" he cried, straightening up and turning around on

the dog.

But One Ear broke into a run across the snow, his traces trailing

behind him. And there, out in the snow of their back track, was the she-

wolf waiting for him. As he neared her, he became suddenly cautious. He

slowed down to an alert and mincing walk and then stopped. He regarded

her carefully and dubiously, yet desirefully. She seemed to smile at him,

showing her teeth in an ingratiating rather than a menacing way. She

moved toward him a few steps, playfully, and then halted. One Ear drew

near to her, still alert and cautious, his tail and ears in the air, his head held

high.

He tried to sniff noses with her, but she retreated playfully and coyly.

Every advance on his part was accompanied by a corresponding retreat on

her part. Step by step she was luring him away from the security of his

human companionship. Once, as though a warning had in vague ways

flitted through his intelligence, he turned his head and looked back at the

overturned sled, at his team-mates, and at the two men who were calling to

him.

But whatever idea was forming in his mind, was dissipated by the she-

wolf, who advanced upon him, sniffed noses with him for a fleeting

instant, and then resumed her coy retreat before his renewed advances.

In the meantime, Bill had bethought himself of the rifle. But it was

jammed beneath the overturned sled, and by the time Henry had helped

him to right the load, One Ear and the she-wolf were too close together

and the distance too great to risk a shot.

Too late One Ear learned his mistake. Before they saw the cause, the

two men saw him turn and start to run back toward them. Then,

approaching at right angles to the trail and cutting off his retreat they saw

a dozen wolves, lean and grey, bounding across the snow. On the instant,

the she-wolf's coyness and playfulness disappeared. With a snarl she

sprang upon One Ear. He thrust her off with his shoulder, and, his retreat

cut off and still intent on regaining the sled, he altered his course in an

attempt to circle around to it. More wolves were appearing every moment

and joining in the chase. The she-wolf was one leap behind One Ear and

holding her own.

"Where are you goin'?" Henry suddenly demanded, laying his hand on

his partner's arm.

Bill shook it off. "I won't stand it," he said. "They ain't a- goin' to get

any more of our dogs if I can help it."

Gun in hand, he plunged into the underbrush that lined the side of the

trail. His intention was apparent enough. Taking the sled as the centre of

the circle that One Ear was making, Bill planned to tap that circle at a

point in advance of the pursuit. With his rifle, in the broad daylight, it

might be possible for him to awe the wolves and save the dog.

"Say, Bill!" Henry called after him. "Be careful! Don't take no

chances!"

Henry sat down on the sled and watched. There was nothing else for

him to do. Bill had already gone from sight; but now and again, appearing

and disappearing amongst the underbrush and the scattered clumps of

spruce, could be seen One Ear. Henry judged his case to be hopeless. The

dog was thoroughly alive to its danger, but it was running on the outer

circle while the wolf-pack was running on the inner and shorter circle. It

was vain to think of One Ear so outdistancing his pursuers as to be able to

cut across their circle in advance of them and to regain the sled.

The different lines were rapidly approaching a point. Somewhere out

there in the snow, screened from his sight by trees and thickets, Henry

knew that the wolf-pack, One Ear, and Bill were coming together. All too

quickly, far more quickly than he had expected, it happened. He heard a

shot, then two shots, in rapid succession, and he knew that Bill's

ammunition was gone. Then he heard a great outcry of snarls and yelps.

He recognised One Ear's yell of pain and terror, and he heard a wolf-cry

that bespoke a stricken animal. And that was all. The snarls ceased. The

yelping died away. Silence settled down again over the lonely land.

He sat for a long while upon the sled. There was no need for him to go

and see what had happened. He knew it as though it had taken place

before his eyes. Once, he roused with a start and hastily got the axe out

from underneath the lashings. But for some time longer he sat and brooded,

the two remaining dogs crouching and trembling at his feet.

At last he arose in a weary manner, as though all the resilience had

gone out of his body, and proceeded to fasten the dogs to the sled. He

passed a rope over his shoulder, a man-trace, and pulled with the dogs. He

did not go far. At the first hint of darkness he hastened to make a camp,

and he saw to it that he had a generous supply of firewood. He fed the

dogs, cooked and ate his supper, and made his bed close to the fire.

But he was not destined to enjoy that bed. Before his eyes closed the

wolves had drawn too near for safety. It no longer required an effort of the

vision to see them. They were all about him and the fire, in a narrow circle,

and he could see them plainly in the firelight lying down, sitting up,

crawling forward on their bellies, or slinking back and forth. They even

slept. Here and there he could see one curled up in the snow like a dog,

taking the sleep that was now denied himself.

He kept the fire brightly blazing, for he knew that it alone intervened

between the flesh of his body and their hungry fangs. His two dogs stayed

close by him, one on either side, leaning against him for protection, crying

and whimpering, and at times snarling desperately when a wolf

approached a little closer than usual. At such moments, when his dogs

snarled, the whole circle would be agitated, the wolves coming to their

feet and pressing tentatively forward, a chorus of snarls and eager yelps

rising about him. Then the circle would lie down again, and here and there

a wolf would resume its broken nap.

But this circle had a continuous tendency to draw in upon him. Bit by

bit, an inch at a time, with here a wolf bellying forward, and there a wolf

bellying forward, the circle would narrow until the brutes were almost

within springing distance. Then he would seize brands from the fire and

hurl them into the pack. A hasty drawing back always resulted,

accompanied by an yelps and frightened snarls when a well-aimed brand

struck and scorched a too daring animal.

Morning found the man haggard and worn, wide-eyed from want of

sleep. He cooked breakfast in the darkness, and at nine o'clock, when, with

the coming of daylight, the wolf-pack drew back, he set about the task he

had planned through the long hours of the night. Chopping down young

saplings, he made them cross-bars of a scaffold by lashing them high up to

the trunks of standing trees. Using the sled-lashing for a heaving rope, and

with the aid of the dogs, he hoisted the coffin to the top of the scaffold.

"They got Bill, an' they may get me, but they'll sure never get you,

young man," he said, addressing the dead body in its tree- sepulchre.

Then he took the trail, the lightened sled bounding along behind the

willing dogs; for they, too, knew that safety lay open in the gaining of Fort

McGurry. The wolves were now more open in their pursuit, trotting

sedately behind and ranging along on either side, their red tongues lolling

out, their-lean sides showing the udulating ribs with every movement.

They were very lean, mere skin-bags stretched over bony frames, with

strings for muscles - so lean that Henry found it in his mind to marvel that

they still kept their feet and did not collapse forthright in the snow.

He did not dare travel until dark. At midday, not only did the sun warm

the southern horizon, but it even thrust its upper rim, pale and golden,

above the sky-line. He received it as a sign. The days were growing longer.

The sun was returning. But scarcely had the cheer of its light departed,

than he went into camp. There were still several hours of grey daylight and

sombre twilight, and he utilised them in chopping an enormous supply of

fire-wood.

With night came horror. Not only were the starving wolves growing

bolder, but lack of sleep was telling upon Henry. He dozed despite himself,

crouching by the fire, the blankets about his shoulders, the axe between his

knees, and on either side a dog pressing close against him. He awoke once

and saw in front of him, not a dozen feet away, a big grey wolf, one of the

largest of the pack. And even as he looked, the brute deliberately stretched

himself after the manner of a lazy dog, yawning full in his face and

looking upon him with a possessive eye, as if, in truth, he were merely a

delayed meal that was soon to be eaten.

This certitude was shown by the whole pack. Fully a score he could

count, staring hungrily at him or calmly sleeping in the snow. They

reminded him of children gathered about a spread table and awaiting

permission to begin to eat. And he was the food they were to eat! He

wondered how and when the meal would begin.

As he piled wood on the fire he discovered an appreciation of his own

body which he had never felt before. He watched his moving muscles and

was interested in the cunning mechanism of his fingers. By the light of the

fire he crooked his fingers slowly and repeatedly now one at a time, now

all together, spreading them wide or making quick gripping movements.

He studied the nail-formation, and prodded the finger-tips, now sharply,

and again softly, gauging the while the nerve-sensations produced. It

fascinated him, and he grew suddenly fond of this subtle flesh of his that

worked so beautifully and smoothly and delicately. Then he would cast a

glance of fear at the wolf-circle drawn expectantly about him, and like a

blow the realisation would strike him that this wonderful body of his, this

living flesh, was no more than so much meat, a quest of ravenous animals,

to be torn and slashed by their hungry fangs, to be sustenance to them as

the moose and the rabbit had often been sustenance to him.

He came out of a doze that was half nightmare, to see the red-hued

she-wolf before him. She was not more than half a dozen feet away sitting

in the snow and wistfullyregarding him. The two dogs were whimpering

and snarling at his feet, but she took no notice of them. She was looking at

the man, and for some time he returned her look. There was nothing

threatening about her. She looked at him merely with a great wistfulness,

but he knew it to be the wistfulness of an equally great hunger. He was the

food, and the sight of him excited in her the gustatory sensations. Her

mouth opened, the saliva drooled forth, and she licked her chops with the

pleasure of anticipation.

A spasm of fear went through him. He reached hastily for a brand to

throw at her. But even as he reached, and before his fingers had closed on

the missile, she sprang back into safety; and he knew that she was used to

having things thrown at her. She had snarled as she sprang away, baring

her white fangs to their roots, all her wistfulness vanishing, being replaced

by a carnivorous malignity that made him shudder. He glanced at the hand

that held the brand, noticing the cunning delicacy of the fingers that

gripped it, how they adjusted themselves to all the inequalities of the

surface, curling over and under and about the rough wood, and one little

finger, too close to the burning portion of the brand, sensitively and

automatically writhing back from the hurtful heat to a cooler gripping-

place; and in the same instant he seemed to see a vision of those same

sensitive and delicate fingers being crushed and torn by the white teeth of

the she-wolf. Never had he been so fond of this body of his as now when

his tenure of it was so precarious.

All night, with burning brands, he fought off the hungry pack. When

he dozed despite himself, the whimpering and snarling of the dogs aroused

him. Morning came, but for the first time the light of day failed to scatter

the wolves. The man waited in vain for them to go. They remained in a

circle about him and his fire, displaying an arrogance of possession that

shook his courage born of the morning light.

He made one desperate attempt to pull out on the trail. But the moment

he left the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped for him, but

leaped short. He saved himself by springing back, the jaws snapping

together a scant six inches from his thigh. The rest of the pack was now up

and surging upon him, and a throwing of firebrands right and left was

necessary to drive them back to a respectful distance.

Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh wood.

Twenty feet away towered a huge dead spruce. He spent half the day

extending his campfire to the tree, at any moment a half dozen burning

faggots ready at hand to fling at his enemies. Once at the tree, he studied

the surrounding forest in order to fell the tree in the direction of the most

firewood.

The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need for

sleep was becoming overpowering. The snarling of his dogs was losing its

efficacy. Besides, they were snarling all the time, and his benumbed and

drowsy senses no longer took note of changing pitch and intensity. He

awoke with a start. The she-wolf was less than a yard from him.

Mechanically, at short range, without letting go of it, he thrust a brand full

into her open and snarling mouth. She sprang away, yelling with pain, and

while he took delight in the smell of burning flesh and hair, he watched

her shaking her head and growling wrathfully a score of feet away.

But this time, before he dozed again, he tied a burning pine-knot to his

right hand. His eyes were closed but few minutes when the burn of the

flame on his flesh awakened him. For several hours he adhered to this

programme. Every time he was thus awakened he drove back the wolves

with flying brands, replenished the fire, and rearranged the pine-knot on

his hand. All worked well, but there came a time when he fastened the

pine-knot insecurely. As his eyes closed it fell away from his hand.

He dreamed. It seemed to him that he was in Fort McGurry. It was

warm and comfortable, and he was playing cribbage with the Factor. Also,

it seemed to him that the fort was besieged by wolves. They were howling

at the very gates, and sometimes he and the Factor paused from the game

to listen and laugh at the futile efforts of the wolves to get in. And then, so

strange was the dream, there was a crash. The door was burst open. He

could see the wolves flooding into the big living-room of the fort. They

were leaping straight for him and the Factor. With the bursting open of the

door, the noise of their howling had increased tremendously. This howling

now bothered him. His dream was merging into something else - he knew

not what; but through it all, following him, persisted the howling.

And then he awoke to find the howling real. There was a great snarling

and yelping. The wolves were rushing him. They were all about him and

upon him. The teeth of one had closed upon his arm. Instinctively he

leaped into the fire, and as he leaped, he felt the sharp slash of teeth that

tore through the flesh of his leg. Then began a fire fight. His stout mittens

temporarily protected his hands, and he scooped live coals into the air in

all directions, until the campfire took on the semblance of a volcano.

But it could not last long. His face was blistering in the heat, his

eyebrows and lashes were singed off, and the heat was becoming

unbearable to his feet. With a flaming brand in each hand, he sprang to the

edge of the fire. The wolves had been driven back. On every side,

wherever the live coals had fallen, the snow was sizzling, and every little

while a retiring wolf, with wild leap and snort and snarl, announced that

one such live coal had been stepped upon.

Flinging his brands at the nearest of his enemies, the man thrust his

smouldering mittens into the snow and stamped about to cool his feet. His

two dogs were missing, and he well knew that they had served as a course

in the protracted meal which had begun days before with Fatty, the last

course of which would likely be himself in the days to follow "You ain't got me yet!" he cried, savagely shaking his fist at the hungry

beasts; and at the sound of his voice the whole circle was agitated, there

was a general snarl, and the she-wolf slid up close to him across the snow

and watched him with hungry wistfulness.

He set to work to carry out a new idea that had come to him. He

extended the fire into a large circle. Inside this circle he crouched, his

sleeping outfit under him as a protection against the melting snow. When

he had thus disappeared within his shelter of flame, the whole pack came

curiously to the rim of the fire to see what had become of him. Hitherto

they had been denied access to the fire, and they now settled down in a

close-drawn circle, like so many dogs, blinking and yawning and

stretching their lean bodies in the unaccustomed warmth. Then the she-

wolf sat down, pointed her nose at a star, and began to howl. One by one

the wolves joined her, till the whole pack, on haunches, with noses pointed

skyward, was howling its hunger cry.

Dawn came, and daylight. The fire was burning low. The fuel had run

out, and there was need to get more. The man attempted to step out of his

circle of flame, but the wolves surged to meet him. Burning brands made

them spring aside, but they no longer sprang back. In vain he strove to

drive them back. As he gave up and stumbled inside his circle, a wolf

leaped for him, missed, and landed with all four feet in the coals. It cried

out with terror, at the same time snarling, and scrambled back to cool its

paws in the snow.

The man sat down on his blankets in a crouching position. His body

leaned forward from the hips. His shoulders, relaxed and drooping, and his

head on his knees advertised that he had given up the struggle. Now and

again he raised his head to note the dying down of the fire. The circle of

flame and coals was breaking into segments with openings in between.

These openings grew in size, the segments diminished.

"I guess you can come an' get me any time," he mumbled. "Anyway,

I'm goin' to sleep."

Once he awakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in front of

him, he saw the she-wolf gazing at him.

Again he awakened, a little later, though it seemed hours to him. A

mysterious change had taken place - so mysterious a change that he was

shocked wider awake. Something had happened. He could not understand

at first. Then he discovered it. The wolves were gone. Remained only the

trampled snow to show how closely they had pressed him. Sleep was

welling up and gripping him again, his head was sinking down upon his

knees, when he roused with a sudden start.

There were cries of men, and churn of sleds, the creaking of harnesses,

and the eager whimpering of straining dogs. Four sleds pulled in from the

river bed to the camp among the trees. Half a dozen men were about the

man who crouched in the centre of the dying fire. They were shaking and

prodding him into consciousness. He looked at them like a drunken man

and maundered in strange, sleepy speech.

"Red she-wolf. . . . Come in with the dogs at feedin' time. . . . First she

ate the dog-food. . . . Then she ate the dogs. . . . An' after that she ate

Bill. . . . "

"Where's Lord Alfred?" one of the men bellowed in his ear, shaking

him roughly.

He shook his head slowly. "No, she didn't eat him. . . . He's roostin' in

a tree at the last camp."

"Dead?" the man shouted.

"An' in a box," Henry answered. He jerked his shoulder petulantly

away from the grip of his questioner. "Say, you lemme alone. . . . I'm jes'

White Fang

29

plump tuckered out. . . . Goo' night, everybody."

His eyes fluttered and went shut. His chin fell forward on his chest.

And even as they eased him down upon the blankets his snores were rising

on the frosty air.

But there was another sound. Far and faint it was, in the remote

distance, the cry of the hungry wolf-pack as it took the trail of other meat

than the man it had just missed.
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