THE LAW OF CLUB AND FANG
 BUCK'S first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare. Every hour was filled with shock and surprise. He had
been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial. No lazy,
sun-kissed life was this, with nothing to do but loaf and be bored. Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a
moment's safety. All was confusion and action, and every moment life and limb were in peril. There was
imperative need to be constantly alert; for these dogs and men were not town dogs and men. They were savages,
all of them, who knew no law but the law of club and fang.
 He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his first experience taught him an
unforgetable lesson. It is true, it was a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived to profit by it.
Curly was the victim. They were camped near the log store, where she, in her friendly way, made advances to a
husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large as she. There was no warning, only a leap in
like a flash, a metallic clip of teeth, a leap out equally swift, and Curly's face was ripped open from eye to
It was the wolf manner of fighting, to strike and leap away; but there was more to it than this. Thirty or
forty huskies ran to the spot and surrounded the combatants in an intent and silent circle. Buck did not
comprehend that silent intentness, nor the eager way with which they were licking their chops. Curly rushed
her antagonist, who struck again and leaped aside. He met her next rush with his chest, in a peculiar fashion
that tumbled her off her feet. She
 never regained them. This was what the onlooking huskies had waited for. They closed in upon her, snarling and
yelping, and she was buried, screaming with agony, beneath the bristling mass of bodies.
So sudden was it, and so unexpected, that Buck was taken aback. He saw Spitz run out his scarlet tongue in a
way he had of laughing; and he saw François, swinging an axe, spring into the mess of dogs. Three men with
clubs were helping him to scatter them. It did not take long. Two minutes from the time Curly went down, the
last of her assailants were clubbed off. But she lay there limp and lifeless in the bloody, trampled snow,
almost literally torn to pieces, the swart half-breed standing over her and cursing horribly. The scene often
came back to Buck to trouble him in his sleep. So that was the way. No fair play. Once down, that was the end
of you. Well, he would see to it that he never went down. Spitz ran out his tongue and laughed again, and from
that moment Buck hated him with a bitter and deathless hatred.
 Before he had recovered from the shock caused by the tragic passing of Curly, he received another shock.
François fastened upon him an arrangement of straps and buckles. It was a harness, such as he had seen the
grooms put on the horses at home. And as he had seen horses work, so he was set to work, hauling François on a
sled to the forest that fringed the valley, and returning with a load of firewood. Though his dignity was
sorely hurt by thus being made a draught animal, he was too wise to rebel. He buckled down with a will and did
his best, though it was all new and strange. François was stern, demanding instant obedience, and by virtue of
his whip receiving instant obedience; while Dave, who was an experienced wheeler, nipped Buck's hind quarters
whenever he was in error. Spitz was the leader, likewise experienced, and while he could not always get at
Buck, he growled sharp reproof now and again, or cunningly threw his weight in the traces to jerk Buck into
the way he should go. Buck learned
 easily, and under the combined tuition of his two mates and François made remarkable progress. Ere they
returned to camp he knew enough to stop at "ho," to go ahead at "mush," to swing wide on the bends, and to
keep clear of the wheeler when the loaded sled shot downhill at their heels.
"T'ree vair' good dogs," François told Perrault. "Dat Buck, heem pool lak hell. I tich heem queek as
By afternoon, Perrault, who was in a hurry to be on the trail with his despatches, returned with two more
dogs. "Billee" and "Joe" he called them, two brothers, and true huskies both. Sons of the one mother though
they were, they were as different as day and night. Billee's one fault was his excessive good nature, while
Joe was the very opposite, sour and introspective, with a perpetual snarl and a malignant eye. Buck received
them in comradely fashion, Dave ignored them, while Spitz proceeded to thrash first one and then the other.
Billee wagged his tail appeasingly, turned to run when he saw that
 appeasement was of no avail, and cried (still appeasingly) when Spitz's sharp teeth scored his flank. But no
matter how Spitz circled, Joe whirled around on his heels to face him, mane bristling, ears laid back, lips
writhing and snarling, jaws clipping together as fast as he could snap, and eyes diabolically
gleaming—the incarnation of belligerent fear. So terrible was his appearance that Spitz was forced to
forego disciplining him; but to cover his own discomfiture he turned upon the inoffensive and wailing Billee
and drove him to the confines of the camp.
By evening Perrault secured another dog, an old husky, long and lean and gaunt, with a battle-scarred face and
a single eye which flashed a warning of prowess that commanded respect. He was called Sol-leks, which means
the Angry One. Like Dave, he asked nothing, gave nothing, expected nothing; and when he marched slowly and
deliberately into their midst, even Spitz left him alone. He had one peculiarity which Buck was unlucky enough
to discover. He did not like to be
 approached on his blind side. Of this offence Buck was unwittingly guilty, and the first knowledge he had of
his indiscretion was when Sol-leks whirled upon him and slashed his shoulder to the bone for three inches up
and down. Forever after Buck avoided his blind side, and to the last of their comradeship had no more trouble.
His only apparent ambition, like Dave's, was to be left alone; though, as Buck was afterward to learn, each of
them possessed one other and even more vital ambition.
That night Buck faced the great problem of sleeping. The tent, illumined by a candle, glowed warmly in the
midst of the white plain; and when he, as a matter of course, entered it, both Perrault and François bombarded
him with curses and cooking utensils, till he recovered from his consternation and fled ignominiously into the
outer cold. A chill wind was blowing that nipped him sharply and bit with especial venom into his wounded
shoulder. He lay down on the snow and attempted to sleep, but the frost soon drove
 him shivering to his feet. Miserable and disconsolate, he wandered about among the many tents, only to find
that one place was as cold as another. Here and there savage dogs rushed upon him, but he bristled his
neck-hair and snarled (for he was learning fast), and they let him go his way unmolested.
Finally an idea came to him. He would return and see how his own team-mates were making out. To his
astonishment, they had disappeared. Again he wandered about through the great camp, looking for them, and
again he returned. Were they in the tent? No, that could not be, else he would not have been driven out. Then
where could they possibly be? With drooping tail and shivering body, very forlorn indeed, he aimlessly circled
the tent. Suddenly the snow gave way beneath his fore legs and he sank down. Something wriggled under his
feet. He sprang back, bristling and snarling, fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a friendly little yelp
reassured him, and he went back to investigate. A whiff of warm air ascended to his
 nostrils, and there, curled up under the snow in a snug ball, lay Billee. He whined placatingly, squirmed and
wriggled to show his good will and intentions, and even ventured, as a bribe for peace, to lick Buck's face
with his warm wet tongue.
Another lesson. So that was the way they did it, eh? Buck confidently selected a spot, and with much fuss and
waste effort proceeded to dig a hole for himself. In a trice the heat from his body filled the confined space
and he was asleep. The day had been long and arduous, and he slept soundly and comfortably, though he growled
and barked and wrestled with bad dreams.
Nor did he open his eyes till roused by the noises of the waking camp. At first he did not know where he was.
It had snowed during the night and he was completely buried. The snow walls pressed him on every side, and a
great surge of fear swept through him—the fear of the wild thing for the trap. It was a token that he
was harking back through his own life to the lives of his forebears; for he
 was a civilized dog, an unduly civilized dog, and of his own experience knew no trap and so could not of
himself fear it. The muscles of his whole body contracted spasmodically and instinctively, the hair on his
neck and shoulders stood on end, and with a ferocious snarl he bounded straight up into the blinding day, the
snow flying about him in a flashing cloud. Ere he landed on his feet, he saw the white camp spread out before
him and knew where he was and remembered all that had passed from the time he went for a stroll with Manuel to
the hole he had dug for himself the night before.
A shout from François hailed his appearance. "Wot I say?" the dog-driver cried to Perrault. "Dat Buck for sure
learn queek as anyt'ing."
Perrault nodded gravely. As courier for the Canadian Government, bearing important despatches, he was anxious
to secure the best dogs, and he was particularly gladdened by the possession of Buck.
Three more huskies were added to the
 team inside an hour, making a total of nine, and before another quarter of an hour had passed they were in
harness and swinging up the trail toward the Dyea Canon. Buck was glad to be gone, and though the work was
hard he found he did not particularly despise it. He was surprised at the eagerness which animated the whole
team and which was communicated to him; but still more surprising was the change wrought in Dave and Sol-leks.
They were new dogs, utterly transformed by the harness. All passiveness and unconcern had dropped from them.
They were alert and active, anxious that the work should go well, and fiercely irritable with whatever, by
delay or confusion, retarded that work. The toil of the traces seemed the supreme expression of their being,
and all that they lived for and the only thing in which they took delight.
Dave was wheeler or sled dog, pulling in front of him was Buck, then came Sol-leks; the rest of the team was
strung out ahead, single file, to the leader, which position was filled by Spitz.
 Buck had been purposely placed between Dave and Sol-leks so that he might receive instruction. Apt scholar
that he was, they were equally apt teachers, never allowing him to linger long in error, and enforcing their
teaching with their sharp teeth. Dave was fair and very wise. He never nipped Buck without cause, and he never
failed to nip him when he stood in need of it. As François's whip backed him up, Buck found it to be cheaper
to mend his ways than to retaliate. Once, during a brief halt, when he got tangled in the traces and delayed
the start, both Dave and Sol-leks flew at him and administered a sound trouncing. The resulting tangle was
even worse, but Buck took good care to keep the traces clear thereafter; and ere the day was done, so well had
he mastered his work, his mates about ceased nagging him. François's whip snapped less frequently, and
Perrault even honored Buck by lifting up his feet and carefully examining them.
It was a hard day's run, up the Canon, through Sheep Camp, past the Scales and
 the timber line, across glaciers and snowdrifts hundreds of feet deep, and over the great Chilcoot Divide,
which stands between the salt water and the fresh and guards forbiddingly the sad and lonely North. They made
good time down the chain of lakes which fills the craters of extinct volcanoes, and late that night pulled
into the huge camp at the head of Lake Bennett, where thousands of goldseekers were building boats against the
break-up of the ice in the spring. Buck made his hole in the snow and slept the sleep of the exhausted just,
but all too early was routed out in the cold darkness and harnessed with his mates to the sled.
That day they made forty miles, the trail being packed; but the next day, and for many days to follow, they
broke their own trail, worked harder, and made poorer time. As a rule, Perrault travelled ahead of the team,
packing the snow with webbed shoes to make it easier for them. François, guiding the sled at the gee-pole,
sometimes exchanged places with him, but not often. Perrault was in a hurry,
 and he prided himself on his knowledge of ice, which knowledge was indispensable, for the fall ice was very
thin, and where there was swift water, there was no ice at all.
Day after day, for days unending, Buck toiled in the traces. Always, they broke camp in the dark, and the
first gray of dawn found them hitting the trail with fresh miles reeled off behind them. And always they
pitched camp after dark, eating their bit of fish, and crawling to sleep into the snow. Buck was ravenous. The
pound and a half of sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for each day, seemed to go nowhere. He never had
enough, and suffered from perpetual hunger pangs. Yet the other dogs, because they weighed less and were born
to the life, received a pound only of the fish and managed to keep in good condition.
He swiftly lost the fastidiousness which had characterized his old life. A dainty eater, he found that his
mates, finishing first, robbed him of his unfinished ration. There was no defending it. While he was fighting
 or three, it was disappearing down the throats of the others. To remedy this, he ate as fast as they; and, so
greatly did hunger compel him, he was not above taking what did not belong to him. He watched and learned.
When he saw Pike, one of the new dogs, a clever malingerer and thief, slyly steal a slice of bacon when
Perrault's back was turned, he duplicated the performance the following day, getting away with the whole
chunk. A great uproar was raised, but he was unsuspected; while Dub, an awkward blunderer who was always
getting caught, was punished for Buck's misdeed.
This first theft marked Buck as fit to survive in the hostile Northland environment. It marked his
adaptability, his capacity to adjust himself to changing conditions, the lack of which would have meant swift
and terrible death. It marked, further, the decay or going to pieces of his moral nature, a vain thing and a
handicap in the ruthless struggle for existence. It was all well enough in the Southland, under the law of
love and fellowship, to respect
 private property and personal feelings; but in the Northland, under the law of club and fang, whoso took such
things into account was a fool, and in so far as he observed them he would fail to prosper.
Not that Buck reasoned it out. He was fit, that was all, and unconsciously he accommodated himself to the new
mode of life. All his days, no matter what the odds, he had never run from a fight. But the club of the man in
the red sweater had beaten into him a more fundamental and primitive code. Civilized, he could have died for a
moral consideration, say the defence of Judge Miller's riding-whip; but the completeness of his decivilization
was now evidenced by his ability to flee from the defence of a moral consideration and so save his hide. He
did not steal for joy of it, but because of the clamor of his stomach. He did not rob openly, but stole
secretly and cunningly, out of respect for club and fang. In short, the things he did were done because it was
easier to do them than not to do them.
 His development (or retrogression) was rapid. His muscles became hard as iron, and he grew callous to all
ordinary pain. He achieved an internal as well as external economy. He could eat anything, no matter how
loathsome or indigestible; and, once eaten, the juices of his stomach extracted the last least particle of
nutriment; and his blood carried it to the farthest reaches of his body, building it into the toughest and
stoutest of tissues. Sight and scent became remarkably keen, while his hearing developed such acuteness that
in his sleep he heard the faintest sound and knew whether it heralded peace or peril. He learned to bite the
ice out with his teeth when it collected between his toes; and when he was thirsty and there was a thick scum
of ice over the water hole, he would break it by rearing and striking it with stiff fore legs. His most
conspicuous trait was an ability to scent the wind and forecast it a night in advance. No matter how
breathless the air when he dug his nest by tree or bank, the wind that later blew inevitably found him to
leeward, sheltered and snug.
 And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became alive again. The domesticated
generations fell from him. In vague ways he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild
dogs ranged in packs through the primeval forest and killed their meat as they ran it down. It was no task for
him to learn to fight with cut and slash and the quick wolf snap. In this manner had fought forgotten
ancestors. They quickened the old life within him, and the old tricks which they had stamped into the heredity
of the breed were his tricks. They came to him without effort or discovery, as though they had been his
always. And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was
his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him.
And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to them was the meaning of
the stiffness, and the cold, and dark.
Thus, as token of what a puppet thing life
 is, the ancient song surged through him and he came into his own again; and he came because men had found a
yellow metal in the North, and because Manuel was a gardener's helper whose wages did not lap over the needs
of his wife and divers small copies of himself.
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