الفصل الفصل 3 · 第3章

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 angry 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 undulating 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 wistfully regarding 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’

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.