Jack London - Jack London: The Complete Novels

'Carmen won't last more than a couple of days.' Mason spat out achunk of ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully, then put herfoot in his mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clusteredcruelly between the toes.

'I never saw a dog with a highfalutin' name that ever was wortha rap,' he said, as he concluded his task and shoved her aside.'They just fade away and die under the responsibility. Did ye eversee one go wrong with a sensible name like Cassiar, Siwash, orHusky? No, sir! Take a look at Shookum here, he's' Snap! The leanbrute flashed up, the white teeth just missing Mason's throat.

'Ye will, will ye?' A shrewd clout behind the ear with the buttof the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering softly,a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs.

'As I was saying, just look at Shookum herehe's got the spirit.Bet ye he eats Carmen before the week's out.' 'I'll bank anotherproposition against that,' replied Malemute Kid, reversing thefrozen bread placed before the fire to thaw. 'We'll eat Shookumbefore the trip is over. What d'ye say, Ruth?' The Indian womansettled the coffee with a piece of ice, glanced from Malemute Kidto her husband, then at the dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. It wassuch a palpable truism that none was necessary. Two hundred milesof unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days' grub forthemselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other alternative.The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began theirmeager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a middayhalt, and watched each mouthful enviously.

'No more lunches after today,' said Malemute Kid. 'And we've gotto keep a close eye on the dogsthey're getting vicious. They'djust as soon pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance.' 'AndI was president of an Epworth once, and taught in the Sundayschool.' Having irrelevantly delivered himself of this, Mason fellinto a dreamy contemplation of his steaming moccasins, but wasaroused by Ruth filling his cup.

'Thank God, we've got slathers of tea! I've seen it growing,down in Tennessee. What wouldn't I give for a hot corn pone justnow! Never mind, Ruth; you won't starve much longer, nor wearmoccasins either.' The woman threw off her gloom at this, and inher eyes welled up a great love for her white lordthe first whiteman she had ever seenthe first man whom she had known to treat awoman as something better than a mere animal or beast ofburden.

'Yes, Ruth,' continued her husband, having recourse to themacaronic jargon in which it was alone possible for them tounderstand each other; 'wait till we clean up and pull for theOutside. We'll take the White Man's canoe and go to the Salt Water.Yes, bad water, rough watergreat mountains dance up and down allthe time. And so big, so far, so far awayyou travel ten sleep,twenty sleep, forty sleep'he graphically enumerated the days onhis fingers'all the time water, bad water. Then you come to greatvillage, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer.Wigwams oh, so highten, twenty pines.

'Hi-yu skookum!' He paused impotently, cast an appealing glanceat Malemute Kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines, end onend, by sign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism;but Ruth's eyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for shehalf believed he was joking, and such condescension pleased herpoor woman's heart.

'And then you step into aa box, and pouf! up you go.' He tossedhis empty cup in the air by way of illustration and, as he deftlycaught it, cried: 'And biff! down you come. Oh, great medicine men!You go Fort Yukon. I go Arctic Citytwenty-five sleepbig string,all the timeI catch him stringI say, "Hello, Ruth! How areye?"and you say, "Is that my good husband?"and I say, "Yes"andyou say, "No can bake good bread, no more soda"then I say, "Lookin cache, under flour; good-by." You look and catch plenty soda.All the time you Fort Yukon, me Arctic City. Hi-yu medicine man!'Ruth smiled so ingenuously at the fairy story that both men burstinto laughter. A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of theOutside, and by the time the snarling combatants were separated,she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail.'Mush!Baldy! Hi! Mush on!' Mason worked his whip smartly and, as the dogswhined low in the traces, broke out the sled with the gee pole.Ruth followed with the second team, leaving Malemute Kid, who hadhelped her start, to bring up the rear. Strong man, brute that hewas, capable of felling an ox at a blow, he could not bear to beatthe poor animals, but humored them as a dog driver rarely doesnay,almost wept with them in their misery.

'Come, mush on there, you poor sore-footed brutes!' he murmured,after several ineffectual attempts to start the load. But hispatience was at last rewarded, and though whimpering with pain,they hastened to join their fellows.

No more conversation; the toil of the trail will not permit suchextravagance.

And of all deadening labors, that of the Northland trail is theworst. Happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the priceof silence, and that on a beaten track. And of all heartbreakinglabors, that of breaking trail is the worst. At every step thegreat webbed shoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee. Thenup, straight up, the deviation of a fraction of an inch being acertain precursor of disaster, the snowshoe must be lifted till thesurface is cleared; then forward, down, and the other foot israised perpendicularly for the matter of half a yard. He who triesthis for the first time, if haply he avoids bringing his shoes indangerous propinquity and measures not his length on thetreacherous footing, will give up exhausted at the end of a hundredyards; he who can keep out of the way of the dogs for a whole daymay well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clear conscience and apride which passeth all understanding; and he who travels twentysleeps on the Long Trail is a man whom the gods may envy.

The afternoon wore on, and with the awe, born of the WhiteSilence, the voiceless travelers bent to their work. Nature hasmany tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finitythe ceaselessflow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of theearthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillerybut the mosttremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of theWhite Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens areas brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomestimid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of lifejourneying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he tremblesat his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothingmore.

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all thingsstrives for utterance.

And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes overhimthe hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning forimmortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essenceit isthen, if ever, man walks alone with God.

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Masonheaded his team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. Butthe dogs balked at the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth andMalemute Kid were shoving on the sled, they slipped back. Then camethe concerted effort. The miserable creatures, weak from hunger,exerted their last strength. Upupthe sled poised on the top ofthe bank; but the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to theright, fouling Mason's snowshoes. The result was grievous.

Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in thetraces; and the sled toppled back, dragging everything to thebottom again.

Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially uponthe one which had fallen.

'Don't,Mason,' entreated Malemute Kid; 'the poor devil's on itslast legs. Wait and we'll put my team on.' Mason deliberatelywithheld the whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashedthe long lash, completely curling about the offending creature'sbody.