CHAPTER SIX

For the Love of a Man

Last winter, the cold had injured John Thorton's feet. Because of this, he had stayed behind at the river, leaving his partners to make the journey up to Dawson. Thorton was still a little hurt at the time he rescued Buck, but the warm weather helped him improve. And here, lying by the side of the river, listening lazily to the songs of birds and nature, Buck slowly got back his strength.

A rest comes very good after one has traveled three thousand miles, and Buck became lazy as his wounds healed and his muscles became larger, covering his bones. They were all relaxing—Buck, John Thorton, and Skeet and Nig—waiting for the boat to come to carry them back to Dawson. Skeet was a female dog who made friends early with Buck, when he was too sick to refuse her company. She had the doctor trait which some dogs possess, and as a mother can washes her kittens, so she washed and cleaned Buck's wounds. Regularly, each morning after Buck had finished breakfast Skeet would do her self-chosen job. Soon Buck began to look forward to Skeet's visits as much as he looked forward to Thorton's. Nig, who was equally friendly, was a huge black dog, with eyes that laughed and a good nature.

To Buck's surprise, these dogs did not feel any jealousy toward him. They seemed to share the kindness and largeness of John Thorton. As Buck grew stronger they tried to include him in their games, which John Thorton often joined in. In this way Buck began a new existence. Love, true love that was full of joy, became his for the first time. This he had never experienced at Judge Miller's house down in the Southland. With the Judge's sons, it had been a working partnership; with his grandsons, a sort of protector; and with the Judge himself, a proud friendship. But love that was burning, that was mad with feeling, was given to him by John Thorton.

This man had saved his life, but even more, this man was a perfect master. Often men took care of their dogs as a kind of duty, but Thorton cared for his dogs as gif they were his own children. He couldn't help it. He never forgot a kindly greeting, or a happy word, and he enjoyed, sitting down and talking with them as much as they did. He had a way of taking Bucks head roughly between his hands, and resting his own head's upon Buck's, he would shake him back and forth while calling him bad names that Buck knew were love names. Buck knew no greater happiness than this, and at each shake back and forth it seemed that his heart would be shaken out of his body from too much joy. And when Thorton would let go, Buck would jump back, his mouth laughing, his throat full of cheerful growls, and Thorton would say, "God! You can all but speak."

Buck had a way of expressing his love that almost hurt. He would often take Thorton's hand in his mouth and close it so tightly that his teeth made marks. But he would never bite hard enough to cut his skin. And just as Buck knew that those bad names were love names, Thorton knew that this bite was really a kiss.

Though Buck would go wild with happiness when John Thorton touched him or spoke to him, he did not always ask for this attention. Buck was happy to love Thorton from a distance, unlike Skeet and Nig. He would lie hour by hour at Thorton's feet, looking up into his face, studying it, following each expression with the deepest interest. Or sometimes he would lie further away, to the side or behind him. And often, as the relationship between them was so strong, John Thorton would turn around, feeling Buck's eyes on him. And Thorton's heart would shine out of his eyes as Buck heart shone out.

For a long time after his rescue, Buck did not like Thorton to be out of his sight. From the moment he left his tent to when he entered it again, Buck would follow him. His past history of masters had made him fear that no master would stay. He was afraid that Thorton would pass out of his life as Perrault and Francois and the Scotsman had done. At such times he would awake in his sleep and stand by the entrance to the tent, listening to the sound of his master's breathing.

But although he had great love for John Thorton and he seemed to become more civilized, the call of the primitive, which the Northland gave to him, was still very much alive. Faithfulness and love, things that came from fire and house, became his; yet he kept his wildness. He was a thing of the wild, come in from the wild to sit by John Thorton's fire, rather than a dog of the soft Southland marked by civilization. Because of his great love, he could not steal from this man, but from any other man, in any other camp, Buck would steal, and his cleverness meant he was never caught.

His face and body were covered by teeth marks from many dogs, and he fought more strongly and bravely than others. Skeet and Nig were too good-natured to fight with Buck. Besides, they belonged to John Thorton. But a strange dog was a different matter. And Buck had no mercy. He had learned well before the law of club and tooth, and he never stopped attacking, even if his enemy was near death. He had been taught by Spitz, and from other fighting dogs, that there was no middle way. He must master or be mastered. To show mercy was a thing of weakness. Mercy did not exist in the wild, primitive life. It was misunderstood as fear, and such misunderstandings meant death. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law, since the beginning of Time, and he obeyed.

He was older than the days he had seen or the breaths he had taken. He was a bridge from the past to the present. He sat by John Thorton's fire, white toothed with long hair; but behind him were all types of dogs, half-wolves and wild-wolves, pushing him forward, tasting the meat he ate, drinking the water he drank, smelling the wind, listening with him and telling him the sounds made by the animals in the wilderness. They controlled his moods, directed his actions, and when he lay down to sleep, they dreamed with him and became themselves the stuff of his dreams.

So greatly did the bridge with the past call him that each day mankind and the call of mankind drew further and further away from him. Deep in the forest a call was sounding, and whenever he heard this call, mysterious and exciting, he felt a wish to turn his back upon the fire and the camp around it. He wanted to run into the forest, and on and on, though he didn't know why or where. He didn't wonder why. He didn't wonder why the call sounded so important, why it was so deep in the forest. But often as he started for the forest, the love for John Thorton drew him back to the fire and camp.

Thorton alone held him. The rest of mankind was nothing. Travelers might stop and pet him but he was cold under their hands. And from someone too friendly, he would get up and walk away. When Thorton's partners, Hans and Pete, arrived on the long-expected boat, Buck refused to notice them till he learned that they were close to Thorton. After that, he accepted them, but accepted favors from them as though he favored them by accepting. They were of the same type of large man as Thorton, living close to the wild, and they understood Buck and his ways. They did not ask for the same friendliness and closeness as they did from Skeet and Nig.

For Thorton, his love seemed to grow and grow. He alone among men could put a pack on Buck's back in the summer traveling. Nothing was too great for Buck to do, when Thorton commanded. One day the men and dogs were sitting near the edge of a cliff that fell three hundred feet down to a river. Suddenly, an idea came upon Thorton, and he called Hans and Pete over to watch. With his arm in a sweeping motion, Thorton commanded, "Jump, Buck!" The next instant, Thorton was struggling to keep a hold on Buck, while Hans and Pete dragged them both to safety.

"That's plain strange!" Pete said, after it was over.

Thorton shook his head. "No, it's wonderful, and it is terrible, too. Do you know, it sometimes makes me afraid."

"I wouldn't want to be the man who does harm to you if he was around, Pete said, nodding his head toward Buck.

It was at Circle City, before the year was out, that Pete's fear came true. "Black" Burton, an evil man with a bad temper, had been arguing with a new person at the bar when Thorton stepped between them. Buck, as was his way, was lying in the corner, watching his master's every action. Burton suddenly hit Thorton, and Thorton spun around, holding on to the bar for support.

Those who were watching described hearing not a growl or a bark, but a roar, and they saw Buck's body rise up as he jumped straight for Burton's throat. The man saved his own life by putting up his arm for protection, but he fell to the floor with Buck on top of him. Buck let go of the man's arm and tried again for the throat. This time he was partly successful, and Burton's throat was partly torn open. Then the crowd was upon Buck, and he was driven off. When the doctor arrived and began to take care of Burton, Buck tried to rush upon him again, only to be beaten off again by many men with clubs. A "meeting" was called immediately at the bar. It was decided that the dog had enough reason to behave as such, and from that day on, his name was heard in every camp in Alaska.

Later on, in the fall of the year, he saved John Thorton's life again in quite a different manner. The three partners were traveling on a narrow boat through fast and rocky waters. At one point Hans and Pete walked along the riverbank, helping to guide the boat by rope. Thorton remained on the boat, moving it along with a long pole. Buck, on the bank, worried and nervous, never took his eyes off his master.

At a particularly bad spot, Hans let go of the rope and Thorton moved the boat into a fast stream. When Hans tried to tighten the rope again, the boat was moving too fast. The boat caught on a rock and John Thorton fell into the water, heading for the most dangerous and worst part in which no swimmer could live.

Buck had jumped into action in an instant. He jumped into the water ahead of Thorton to meet him. When he felt him grab hold of his tail, Buck headed for the bank, swimming with all his strength. But he couldn't swim fast enough, and they were being pulled downstream to where the rocks were sharp and the water dangerous. The strength of the water as it pulled them was frightening, and Thorton knew that reaching the bank was impossible. He was smashed into a rock with crushing force. He held onto its edge with both hands, releasing Buck, and above the sound of the water shouted: "Go, Buck! Go!"

Buck fought to stay with Thorton, but the force of the water was too great. He swept further downstream, and upon hearing Thorton's command, turned toward the bank. He swam powerfully and was dragged out of the water by Hans and Pete.

Hans and Pete knew that a man could only hold onto a rock for a couple of minutes. They ran as fast as they could to a point far above where Thorton was. They attached a rope to Buck's neck and shoulders and set him into the water. He swam strongly, but not straight enough, into the stream. He discovered his mistake too late, as he sped by Thorton downstream again.

Hans quickly pulled on the rope, and Buck was pulled under water. He was dragged back to the bank, half drowned, and Hans and Pete threw themselves on him, hitting the water out of his chest so that he could breathe again. A cry from Thorton reminded them of the situation, and they knew he was near the end of his strength. His master's voice acted like a shock to Buck. He jumped to his feet and ran up to the same spot on the bank.

Again the rope was attached and he was set out, but this time he went straight into the stream. He had made a mistake once, but he wouldn't be guilty of it a second time. Buck held on till he was on a line straight above Thorton; then he turned, and with the speed of a train, he headed down toward him. Thorton saw him coming, and, as Buck hit him like a moving wall, he reached up and closed both of his arms around Buck's neck. Hans pulled on the rope again, and both John and Buck went under water. Slowly, painfully, sometimes one on top of the other, they were dragged back to the safety of the bank.

When Thorton awoke, he was being dragged across land. His first thought was to look for Buck. He saw Nig standing over Buck, ready to start howling, while Skeet was licking the wet face and closed eyes. Thorton moved over to Buck and started to check for broken bones. He found three in Buck's chest.

"That settles it," he announced. "We camp here right here." And camp they did, until Buck's bones started to heal and he was able to travel again.

That winter, at Dawson, Buck performed another great act, though this time it didn't involve his master's life. Still, it put Buck's name even higher in Alaskan fame. This act of Buck's was especially good to the three men. They were in need of new supplies, and were able to make a long trip into the East, something they had desired for many years. It was brought about by a conversation at a bar called the Eldorado, in which men were bragging about their dogs. Buck, because of his record, was being tested, and John came to defend him. At the end of half an hour one man stated that his dog could start a sled with five hundred pounds and walk off with it; a second man bragged six hundred for his dog; and a third, seven hundred.

"Nonsense! Nonsense!" said John Thorton, "Buck can start a thousand pounds!"

"And start a sled that is frozen in the ice? And walk off with it for a hundred yards?" demanded Matthewson, another driver.

"Yes, and walk off with it for a hundred yards," said John Thorton coolly.

"Well," Matthewson said, slowly and thoughtfully, so that all could hear, "I've got a thousand dollars that says he can't. And there it is." So saying, he dropped a huge sack of gold dust onto the table.

Nobody spoke. If Buck could not do it, Thorton would prove to be a liar. He could feel the warm blood rushing to his face. His tongue had tricked him. He did not know whether Buck could start a thousand pounds. The amount of weight scared him. He had great faith in Buck's strength and had often thought him able to start such a load; but never, as now, had he faced the possibility of it, the eyes of a dozen men looking at him, silent and waiting. Further, he did not have a thousand dollars; nor had Pete or Hans.

"I've got a sled standing outside now, with twenty fifty-pound sacks of salt on it," Matthewson continued, "so don't let not having a sled stop you.

Thorton did not reply. He did not know what to say. He looked from face to face in the way of a man who has lost the power of thought, and is searching for an answer. He caught the eye of Jim O'Brien, an old friend, and it gave him the courage to do what he would never have dreamed of doing.

"Can you lend me a thousand?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Sure," answered O'Brien, throwing another huge sack of gold beside Matthewson's, "Though I have little faith that Buck can do it."

The customers in the Eldorado bar went into the street to see the test. The tables were empty, and many people started to make bets against the result of the test. Several hundred men, wrapped in furs and gloves, stood around the sled. Matthewson's sled, loaded with a thousand pounds of salt, had been standing for a couple of hours, and in the deep cold (it was sixty below zero) it had frozen to the hard-packed snow. Men bet against Buck two to one that Buck would not be able to even move the sled by an inch. An argument began about "starting" the sled. O'Brien insisted that Thorton had the right to knock the ice from the sled, leaving Buck to "start" the sled. Matthewson insisted that the bet was for Buck to start the sled out of the ice. A majority of men who had heard the bet at the bar were in favor of Matthewson's rule, and the odds went up against Buck three to one. There was nobody betting in favor of Buck. Not one man believed that Buck could do it. Now Thorton, who had been pushed into the bet, looked at the sled and the hard snow. He started having doubts, especially as it would normally take ten dogs to move such a sled. The more he thought, the more impossible it seemed. Matthewson was very sure that he would win.

"Three to one!" he said loudly. "I'll put another thousand dollar bet on top of that amount. What do you think of that, Thorton?"

Thorton's doubt was strong in his face, but his fighting spirit had awakened—the fighting spirit is higher than odds, fails to recognize the impossible, and is deaf to everything except the fight. He called Hans and Pete to him. Their own sacks were little, and together, all three could only manage two hundred dollars. This was all the money they had, but they placed it next to Matthewson's.

Buck, with his own harness, was put in front of the sled. He had caught some of the excitement around him, and he felt that in some way he must do a great job for John Thorton. The crowd started to talk about his wonderful appearance when he arrived. He was in perfect condition, without a bit of extra fat, at one hundred and fifty pounds. His fur shone brightly. As he walked past the crowd, men touched his fur and felt his muscles. They were as hard as iron. Suddenly, the odds against Buck went down to two to one.

"Good Lord, sir!" said a man to Thorton, I'll pay you eight hundred for him right now, before the test; eight hundred just as he stands."

Thorton shook his head and stepped to Bucks side.

"You can't stand next to him," Matthewson warned. "It must be fair play and plenty of room."

The crowd fell silent; only the voices of people making bets could be heard. Everybody agreed that Buck was an amazing animal, but a thousand pounds of salt were too large.

Thorton bent down to Buck's side. He took his head in his two hands and rested his cheek, against Bucks. He did not playfully shake him, or whisper soft names. But he whispered in his ear. "As you love me, Buck. As you love me," was what he whispered. Buck made a soft growl to show he was ready.

The crowd was watching and holding their breaths. The test suddenly became mysterious. It seemed like Thorton was trying to do magic. As Thorton got to his feet, Buck took his hand in his mouth, pressing gently with his teeth. It was the answer, not in speech, but of love. John Thorton stepped far back.

"Now, Buck," he said.

Buck tightened against the rope and then let them go loose a couple of inches. It was the way he had learned.

"Right!" Thorton's voice rang out, sharp in the silence.

Buck swung to the right, ending the movement with a break that stopped his one hundred and fifty pounds. The sled shook, and from underneath it came the sound of breaking ice.

"Left!" Thorton commanded.

Buck did the same action-again, this time to the left. The sound of breaking ice became louder, and the sled moved several inches to the side. The sled was broken out of the ice. Men no longer realized they were holding their breath.

"Now, GO!"

Thorton's command rang out like a gun shot. Buck threw himself forward, tightening the ropes. His whole body was gathered together, his muscles looking almost alive under his fur. His great chest was low to the ground, his head forward and down, while his feet were flying like mad, striking against the snow. The sled moved and shook, half-started forward. One of Buck's feet slipped, and a man unknowingly cried out. Then the sled started to move forward little by little, but it never came to a full stop again ... half an inch ... an inch ... two inches ... The sled started gaining speed, till it was moving steadily along.

Men could not believe their eyes. Thorton was running behind, encouraging Buck with short, happy words. The distance of one hundred yards had been measured off and as Buck neared the firewood that had been used to mark the end, a cheer began to grow and grow. When he passed the firewood, the cheer turned into a roar. Every man was celebrating, even Matthewson. Hats and gloves were flying in the air. Men shook hands, it did not matter with whom, and congratulated each other on seeing such a show.

But Thorton fell to his knees beside Buck. Head was against head, and he was shaking him back and forth. Those who hurried up heard him cursing Buck, and he cursed him long and lovingly.

"Good Lord sir," said the same man to Thorton, "I'll give you a thousand—no, even twelve hundred for him, sir."

Thorton rose to his feet. His eyes were wet. Tears were running down his cheeks. "Sir," he said, no, sir. You can go to hell, sir. It's the best I can do for you, sir."

Buck took Thorton's hand in his teeth. Thorton shook him back and forth. As though moved by a common thought, the crowd drew back to a respectful distance and did not interrupt.

(end of section)