WHO HAS WON TO MASTERSHIP
 "EH? Wot I say? I spik true w'en I say dat Buck two devils." This was François's speech next morning when he
discovered Spitz missing and Buck covered with wounds. He drew him to the fire and by its light pointed them
"Dat Spitz fight lak hell," said Perrault, as he surveyed the gaping rips and cuts.
"An' dat Buck fight lak two hells," was François's answer. "An' now we make good time. No more Spitz, no more
While Perrault packed the camp outfit and loaded the sled, the dog-driver proceeded to harness the dogs. Buck
trotted up to the place Spitz would have occupied as leader; but François, not noticing him, brought Sol-leks
 to the coveted position. In his judgment, Sol-leks was the best lead-dog left. Buck sprang upon Sol-leks in a
fury, driving him back and standing in his place.
"Eh? eh?" François cried, slapping his thighs gleefully. "Look at dat Buck. Heem keel dat Spitz, heem t'ink to
take de job."
"Go 'way, Chook!" he cried, but Buck refused to budge.
He took Buck by the scruff of the neck, and though the dog growled threateningly, dragged him to one side and
replaced Sol-leks. The old dog did not like it, and showed plainly that he was afraid of Buck. François was
obdurate, but when he turned his back Buck again displaced Sol-leks, who was not at all unwilling to go.
François was angry. "Now, by Gar, I feex you!" he cried, coming back with a heavy club in his hand.
"IT WAS TO THE DEATH."
Buck remembered the man in the red sweater, and retreated slowly; nor did he attempt to charge in when
Sol-leks was once more brought forward. But he circled just
 beyond the range of the club, snarling with bitterness and rage; and while he circled he watched the club so
as to dodge it if thrown by François, for he was become wise in the way of clubs. The driver went about his
work, and he called to Buck when he was ready to put him in his old place in front of Dave. Buck retreated two
or three steps. François followed him up, whereupon he again retreated. After some time of this, François
threw down the club, thinking that Buck feared a thrashing. But Buck was in open revolt. He wanted, not to
escape a clubbing, but to have the leadership. It was his by right. He had earned it, and he would not be
content with less.
Perrault took a hand. Between them they ran him about for the better part of an hour. They threw clubs at him.
He dodged. They cursed him, and his fathers and mothers before him, and all his seed to come after him down to
the remotest generation, and every hair on his body and drop of blood in his veins; and
 he answered curse with snarl and kept out of their reach. He did not try to run away, but retreated around and
around the camp, advertising plainly that when his desire was met, he would come in and be good.
François sat down and scratched his head. Perrault looked at his watch and swore. Time was flying, and they
should have been on the trail an hour gone. François scratched his head again. He shook it and grinned
sheepishly at the courier, who shrugged his shoulders in sign that they were beaten. Then François went up to
where Sol-leks stood and called to Buck. Buck laughed, as dogs laugh, yet kept his distance. François
unfastened Sol-leks's traces and put him back in his old place. The team stood harnessed to the sled in an
unbroken line, ready for the trail. There was no place for Buck save at the front. Once more François called,
and once more Buck laughed and kept away.
"T'row down de club," Perrault commanded.
François complied, whereupon Buck trotted in, laughing triumphantly, and swung around
 into position at the head of the team. His traces were fastened, the sled broken out, and with both men
running they dashed out on to the river trail.
Highly as the dog-driver had forevalued Buck, with his two devils, he found, while the day was yet young, that
he had undervalued. At a bound Buck took up the duties of leadership; and where judgment was required, and
quick thinking and quick acting, he showed himself the superior even of Spitz, of whom François had never seen
But it was in giving the law and making his mates live up to it, that Buck excelled. Dave and Sol-leks did not
mind the change in leadership. It was none of their business. Their business was to toil, and toil mightily,
in the traces. So long as that were not interfered with, they did not care what happened. Billee, the
good-natured, could lead for all they cared, so long as he kept order. The rest of the team, however, had
grown unruly during the last days of Spitz, and their surprise was great now that Buck proceeded to lick them
 Pike, who pulled at Buck's heels, and who never put an ounce more of his weight against the breast-band than
he was compelled to do, was swiftly and repeatedly shaken for loafing; and ere the first day was done he was
pulling more than ever before in his life. The first night in camp, Joe, the sour one, was punished
roundly—a thing that Spitz had never succeeded in doing. Buck simply smothered him by virtue of superior
weight, and cut him up till he ceased snapping and began to whine for mercy.
The general tone of the team picked up immediately. It recovered its old-time solidarity, and once more the
dogs leaped as one dog in the traces. At the Rink Rapids two native huskies, Teek and Koona, were added; and
the celerity with which Buck broke them in took away François's breath.
"Nevaire such a dog as dat Buck!" he cried. "No, nevaire! Heem worth one t'ousan' dollair, by Gar! Eh? Wot you
And Perrault nodded. He was ahead of
 the record then, and gaining day by day. The trail was in excellent condition, well packed and hard, and there
was no new-fallen snow with which to contend. It was not too cold. The temperature dropped to fifty below zero
and remained there the whole trip. The men rode and ran by turn, and the dogs were kept on the jump, with but
The Thirty Mile River was comparatively coated with ice, and they covered in one day going out what had taken
them ten days coming in. In one run they made a sixty-mile dash from the foot of Lake Le Barge to the White
Horse Rapids. Across Marsh, Tagish, and Bennett (seventy miles of lakes), they flew so fast that the man whose
turn it was to run towed behind the sled at the end of a rope. And on the last night of the second week they
topped White Pass and dropped down the sea slope with the lights of Skaguay and of the shipping at their feet.
It was a record run. Each day for fourteen days they had averaged forty miles. For three days Perrault and
François threw chests up
 and down the main street of Skaguay and were deluged with invitations to drink, while the team was the
constant centre of a worshipful crowd of dog-busters and mushers. Then three or four western bad men aspired
to clean out the town, were riddled like pepper-boxes for their pains, and public interest turned to other
idols. Next came official orders. François called Buck to him, threw his arms around him, wept over him. And
that was the last of François and Perrault. Like other men, they passed out of Buck's life for good.
A Scotch half-breed took charge of him and his mates, and in company with a dozen other dog-teams he started
back over the weary trail to Dawson. It was no light running now, nor record time, but heavy toil each day,
with a heavy load behind; for this was the mail train, carrying word from the world to the men who sought gold
under the shadow of the Pole.
Buck did not like it, but he bore up well to the work, taking pride in it after the manner of Dave and
Sol-leks, and seeing that his
 mates, whether they prided in it or not, did their fair share. It was a monotonous life, operating with
machine-like regularity. One day was very like another. At a certain time each morning the cooks turned out,
fires were built, and breakfast was eaten. Then, while some broke camp, others harnessed the dogs, and they
were under way an hour or so before the darkness fell which gave warning of dawn. At night, camp was made.
Some pitched the flies, others cut firewood and pine boughs for the beds, and still others carried water or
ice for the cooks. Also, the dogs were fed. To them, this was the one feature of the day, though it was good
to loaf around, after the fish was eaten, for an hour or so with the other dogs, of which there were fivescore
and odd. There were fierce fighters among them, but three battles with the fiercest brought Buck to mastery,
so that when he bristled and showed his teeth they got out of his way.
Best of all, perhaps, he loved to lie near the fire, hind legs crouched under him, fore legs stretched out in
front, head raised, and eyes
 blinking dreamily at the flames. Sometimes he thought of Judge Miller's big house in the sun-kissed Santa
Clara Valley, and of the cement swimming-tank, and Ysabel, the Mexican hairless, and Toots, the Japanese pug;
but oftener he remembered the man in the red sweater, the death of Curly, the great fight with Spitz, and the
good things he had eaten or would like to eat. He was not homesick. The Sunland was very dim and distant, and
such memories had no power over him. Far more potent were the memories of his heredity that gave things he had
never seen before a seeming familiarity; the instincts (which were but the memories of his ancestors become
habits) which had lapsed in later days, and still later, in him, quickened and become alive again.
Sometimes as he crouched there, blinking dreamily at the flames, it seemed that the flames were of another
fire, and that as he crouched by this other fire he saw another and different man from the half-breed cook
before him. This other man was shorter of leg and longer of arm, with muscles that were stringy
 and knotty rather than rounded and swelling. The hair of this man was long and matted, and his head slanted
back under it from the eyes. He uttered strange sounds, and seemed very much afraid of the darkness, into
which he peered continually, clutching in his hand, which hung midway between knee and foot, a stick with a
heavy stone made fast to the end. He was all but naked, a ragged and fire-scorched skin hanging part way down
his back, but on his body there was much hair. In some places, across the chest and shoulders and down the
outside of the arms and thighs, it was matted into almost a thick fur. He did not stand erect, but with trunk
inclined forward from the hips, on legs that bent at the knees. About his body there was a peculiar
springiness, or resiliency, almost catlike, and a quick alertness as of one who lived in perpetual fear of
things seen and unseen.
At other times this hairy man squatted by the fire with head between his legs and slept. On such occasions his
elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped above his head as
 though to shed rain by the hairy arms. And beyond that fire, in the circling darkness, Buck could see many
gleaming coals, two by two, always two by two, which he knew to be the eyes of great beasts of prey. And he
could hear the crashing of their bodies through the undergrowth, and the noises they made in the night. And
dreaming there by the Yukon bank, with lazy eyes blinking at the fire, these sounds and sights of another
world would make the hair to rise along his back and stand on end across his shoulders and up his neck, till
he whimpered low and suppressedly, or growled softly, and the half-breed cook shouted at him, "Hey, you Buck,
wake up!" Whereupon the other world would vanish and the real world come into his eyes, and he would get up
and yawn and stretch as though he had been asleep.
It was a hard trip, with the mail behind them, and the heavy work wore them down. They were short of weight
and in poor condition when they made Dawson, and should have had a ten days' or a week's rest at least.
 But in two days' time they dropped down the Yukon bank from the Barracks, loaded with letters for the outside.
The dogs were tired, the drivers grumbling, and to make matters worse, it snowed every day. This meant a soft
trail, greater friction on the runners, and heavier pulling for the dogs; yet the drivers were fair through it
all, and did their best for the animals.
Each night the dogs were attended to first. They ate before the drivers ate, and no man sought his
sleeping-robe till he had seen to the feet of the dogs he drove. Still, their strength went down. Since the
beginning of the winter they had travelled eighteen hundred miles, dragging sleds the whole weary distance;
and eighteen hundred miles will tell upon life of the toughest. Buck stood it, keeping his mates up to their
work and maintaining discipline, though he, too, was very tired. Billee cried and whimpered regularly in his
sleep each night. Joe was sourer than ever, and Sol-leks was unapproachable, blind side or other side.
 But it was Dave who suffered most of all. Something had gone wrong with him. He became more morose and
irritable, and when camp was pitched at once made his nest, where his driver fed him. Once out of the harness
and down, he did not get on his feet again till harness-up time in the morning. Sometimes, in the traces, when
jerked by a sudden stoppage of the sled, or by straining to start it, he would cry out with pain. The driver
examined him, but could find nothing. All the drivers became interested in his case. They talked it over at
meal-time, and over their last pipes before going to bed, and one night they held a consultation. He was
brought from his nest to the fire and was pressed and prodded till he cried out many times. Something was
wrong inside, but they could locate no broken bones, could not make it out.
By the time Cassiar Bar was reached, he was so weak that he was falling repeatedly in the traces. The Scotch
half-breed called a halt and took him out of the team, making the
 next dog, Sol-leks, fast to the sled. His intention was to rest Dave, letting him run free behind the sled.
Sick as he was, Dave resented being taken out, grunting and growling while the traces were unfastened, and
whimpering broken-heartedly when he saw Sol-leks in the position he had held and served so long. For the pride
of trace and trail was his, and, sick unto death, he could not bear that another dog should do his work.
When the sled started, he floundered in the soft snow alongside the beaten trail, attacking Sol-leks with his
teeth, rushing against him and trying to thrust him off into the soft snow on the other side, striving to leap
inside his traces and get between him and the sled, and all the while whining and yelping and crying with
grief and pain. The half-breed tried to drive him away with the whip; but he paid no heed to the stinging
lash, and the man had not the heart to strike harder. Dave refused to run quietly on the trail behind the
sled, where the going was easy, but continued to flounder alongside in the soft snow, where the going
 was most difficult, till exhausted. Then he fell, and lay where he fell, howling lugubriously as the long
train of sleds churned by.
With the last remnant of his strength he managed to stagger along behind till the train made another stop,
when he floundered past the sleds to his own, where he stood alongside Sol-leks. His driver lingered a moment
to get a light for his pipe from the man behind. Then he returned and started his dogs. They swung out on the
trail with remarkable lack of exertion, turned their heads uneasily, and stopped in surprise. The driver was
surprised, too; the sled had not moved. He called his comrades to witness the sight. Dave had bitten through
both of Sol-leks's traces, and was standing directly in front of the sled in his proper place.
He pleaded with his eyes to remain there. The driver was perplexed. His comrades talked of how a dog could
break its heart through being denied the work that killed it, and recalled instances they had known, where
dogs, too old for the toil, or injured, had died
 because they were cut out of the traces. Also, they held it a mercy, since Dave was to die anyway, that he
should die in the traces, heart-easy and content. So he was harnessed in again, and proudly he pulled as of
old, though more than once he cried out involuntarily from the bite of his inward hurt. Several times he fell
down and was dragged in the traces, and once the sled ran upon him so that he limped thereafter in one of his
But he held out till camp was reached, when his driver made a place for him by the fire. Morning found him too
weak to travel. At harness-up time he tried to crawl to his driver. By convulsive efforts he got on his feet,
staggered, and fell. Then he wormed his way forward slowly toward where the harnesses were being put on his
mates. He would advance his fore legs and drag up his body with a sort of hitching movement, when he would
advance his fore legs and hitch ahead again for a few more inches. His strength left him, and the last his
mates saw of him he lay gasping in the snow and yearning toward them. But
 they could hear him mournfully howling till they passed out of sight behind a belt of river timber.
Here the train was halted. The Scotch half-breed slowly retraced his steps to the camp they had left. The men
ceased talking. A revolver-shot rang out. The man came back hurriedly. The whips snapped, the bells tinkled
merrily, the sleds churned along the trail; but Buck knew, and every dog knew, what had taken place behind the
belt of river trees.
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