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grew closer and louder. Again Buck knew them as things heard in that other
world which persisted in his memory. He walked to the centre of the open space
and listened. It was the call, the many-noted call, sounding more luringly and
compellingly than ever before. And as never before, he was ready to obey. John
Thornton was dead. The last tie was broken. Man and the claims of man no
longer bound him.
Hunting their living meat, as the Yeehats were hunting it, on the flanks of
the migrating moose, the wolf pack had at last crossed over from the land of
streams and timber and invaded Buck s valley. Into the clearing where the
moonlight streamed, they poured in a silvery flood; and in the centre of the
clearing stood Buck, motionless as a statue, waiting their coming. They were
awed, so still and large he stood, and a moment s pause fell, till the boldest
one leaped straight for him. Like a flash Buck struck, breaking the neck. Then
he stood, without movement, as before, the stricken wolf rolling in agony
behind him. Three others tried it in sharp succession; and one after the other
they drew back, streaming blood from slashed throats or shoulders.
This was sufficient to fling the whole pack forward, pell-mell, crowded
together, blocked and confused by its eagerness to pull down the prey. Buck s
marvellous quickness and agility stood him in good stead. Pivoting on his hind
legs, and snapping and gashing, he was everywhere at once, presenting a front
which was apparently unbroken so swiftly did he whirl and guard from side to
side. But to prevent them from getting behind him, he was forced back, down
past the pool and into the creek bed, till he brought up against a high gravel
bank. He worked along to a right angle in the bank which the men had made in
the course of mining, and in this angle he came to bay, protected on three
sides and with nothing to do but face the front.
And so well did he face it, that at the end of half an hour the wolves drew
back discomfited. The tongues of all were out and lolling, the white fangs
showing cruelly white in the moonlight. Some were lying down with heads raised
and ears pricked forward; others stood on their feet, watching him; and still
others were lapping water from the pool. One wolf, long and lean and gray,
advanced cautiously, in a friendly manner, and Buck recognized the wild
brother with whom he had run for a night and a day. He was whining softly,
and, as Buck whined, they touched noses.
Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came forward. Buck writhed his
lips into the preliminary of a snarl, but sniffed noses with him. Whereupon
the old wolf sat down, pointed nose at the moon, and broke out the long wolf
howl. The others sat down and howled. And now the call came to Buck in
unmistakable accents. He, too, sat down and howled. This over, he came out of
his angle and the pack crowded around him, sniffing in half-friendly,
half-savage manner. The leaders lifted the yelp of the pack and sprang away
into the woods. The wolves swung in behind, yelping in chorus. And Buck ran
with them, side by side with the wild brother, yelping as he ran.
* * *
And here may well end the story of Buck. The years were not many when the
Yeehats noted a change in the breed of timber wolves; for some were seen with
splashes of brown on head and muzzle, and with a rift of white centring down
the chest. But more remarkable than this, the Yeehats tell of a Ghost Dog that
runs at the head of the pack. They are afraid of this Ghost Dog, for it has
cunning greater than they, stealing from their camps in fierce winters,
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robbing their traps, slaying their dogs, and defying their bravest hunters.
Nay, the tale grows worse. Hunters there are who fail to return to the camp,
and hunters there have been whom their tribesmen found with throats slashed
cruelly open and with wolf prints about them in the snow greater than the
prints of any wolf. Each fall, when the Yeehats follow the movement of the
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