C
HAPTER
3.
T
HE
H
UNGER
C
RY
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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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.
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