The Son of the Wolf(狼孩)

VIP免费

2024-12-26 1 0 461.31KB 125 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

The Son of the Wolf

by Jack London

The Son of the Wolf

The White Silence

'Carmen won't last more than a couple of days.' Mason spat out a

chunk of ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully, then put her foot in his

mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly between

the toes.

'I never saw a dog with a highfalutin' name that ever was worth a rap,'

he said, as he concluded his task and shoved her aside. 'They just fade

away and die under the responsibility. Did ye ever see one go wrong with

a sensible name like Cassiar, Siwash, or Husky? No, sir! Take a look at

Shookum here, he's--' Snap! The lean brute flashed up, the white teeth just

missing Mason's throat.

'Ye will, will ye?' A shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt of 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 here--he's got the spirit. Bet ye

he eats Carmen before the week's out.' 'I'll bank another proposition

against that,' replied Malemute Kid, reversing the frozen bread placed

before the fire to thaw. 'We'll eat Shookum before the trip is over. What

d'ye say, Ruth?' The Indian woman settled the coffee with a piece of ice,

glanced from Malemute Kid to her husband, then at the dogs, but

vouchsafed no reply. It was such a palpable truism that none was

necessary. Two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant

six days' grub for themselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other

alternative. The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began

their meager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a midday halt,

and watched each mouthful enviously.

'No more lunches after today,' said Malemute Kid. 'And we've got to

keep a close eye on the dogs--they're getting vicious. They'd just as soon

pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance.' 'And I was president of an

Epworth once, and taught in the Sunday school.' Having irrelevantly

delivered himself of this, Mason fell into a dreamy contemplation of his

steaming moccasins, but was aroused by Ruth filling his cup.

'Thank God, we've got slathers of tea! I've seen it growing, down in

The Son of the Wolf

Tennessee. What wouldn't I give for a hot corn pone just now! Never mind,

Ruth; you won't starve much longer, nor wear moccasins either.' The

woman threw off her gloom at this, and in her eyes welled up a great love

for her white lord--the first white man she had ever seen--the first man

whom she had known to treat a woman as something better than a mere

animal or beast of burden.

'Yes, Ruth,' continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronic

jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other;

'wait till we clean up and pull for the Outside. We'll take the White Man's

canoe and go to the Salt Water. Yes, bad water, rough water--great

mountains dance up and down all the time. And so big, so far, so far away-

-you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep'--he graphically enumerated

the days on his fingers--'all the time water, bad water. Then you come to

great village, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer.

Wigwams oh, so high--ten, twenty pines.

Hi-yu skookum!' He paused impotently, cast an appealing glance at

Malemute Kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines, end on end, by

sign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism; but Ruth's

eyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for she half believed he

was joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman's heart.

'And then you step into a--a box, and pouf! up you go.' He tossed his

empty cup in the air by way of illustration and, as he deftly caught it, cried:

'And biff! down you come. Oh, great medicine men! You go Fort Yukon. I

go Arctic City--twenty-five sleep--big string, all the time--I catch him

string--I say, "Hello, Ruth! How are ye?"--and you say, "Is that my good

husband?"--and I say, "Yes"--and you say, "No can bake good bread, no

more soda"--then I say, "Look in 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 burst into laughter. A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of

the Outside, 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 dogs whined low in

the traces, broke out the sled with the gee pole. Ruth followed with the

The Son of the Wolf

second team, leaving Malemute Kid, who had helped her start, to bring up

the rear. Strong man, brute that he was, capable of felling an ox at a blow,

he could not bear to beat the poor animals, but humored them as a dog

driver rarely does--nay, 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 his patience 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 such

extravagance.

And of all deadening labors, that of the Northland trail is the worst.

Happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the price of silence,

and that on a beaten track. And of all heartbreaking labors, that of

breaking trail is the worst. At every step the great webbed shoe sinks till

the snow is level with the knee. Then up, straight up, the deviation of a

fraction of an inch being a certain precursor of disaster, the snowshoe must

be lifted till the surface is cleared; then forward, down, and the other foot

is raised perpendicularly for the matter of half a yard. He who tries this for

the first time, if haply he avoids bringing his shoes in dangerous

propinquity and measures not his length on the treacherous footing, will

give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards; he who can keep out of

the way of the dogs for a whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag

with a clear conscience and a pride which passeth all understanding; and

he who travels twenty sleeps on the Long Trail is a man whom the gods

may envy.

The afternoon wore on, and with the awe, born of the White Silence,

the voiceless travelers bent to their work. Nature has many tricks

wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides,

the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's

artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the

passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears,

the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man

becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life

journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his

The Son of the Wolf

audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothing more.

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things

strives for utterance.

And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him--the

hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the

vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, man walks

alone with God.

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Mason headed

his team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. But the dogs balked

at the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth and Malemute Kid were

shoving on the sled, they slipped back. Then came the concerted effort.

The miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength.

Up--up--the sled poised on the top of the bank; but the leader swung the

string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling Mason's snowshoes. The

result was grievous.

Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; and

the sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again.

Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one

which had fallen.

'Don't,--Mason,' entreated Malemute Kid; 'the poor devil's on its last

legs. Wait and we'll put my team on.' Mason deliberately withheld the

whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash,

completely curling about the offending creature's body.

Carmen--for it was Carmen--cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then

rolled over on her side.

It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail--a dying dog, two

comrades in anger.

Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. But Malemute Kid

restrained himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and,

bending over the dog, cut the traces. No word was spoken. The teams were

doublespanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under way

again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As long as an

animal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is accorded it--the

crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose being killed.

The Son of the Wolf

Already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make

amends, Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming that

danger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the sheltered

bottom, and through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or more from

the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stood there, and for

generations destiny had had this one end in view--perhaps the same had

been decreed of Mason.

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds

came to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. The

stillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest; the cold

and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the trembling

lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the air--they did not seem to actually

hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition of movement in a motionless

void. Then the great tree, burdened with its weight of years and snow,

played its last part in the tragedy of life. He heard the warning crash and

attempted to spring up but, almost erect, caught the blow squarely on the

shoulder.

The sudden danger, the quick death--how often had Malemute Kid

faced it! The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands

and sprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in

idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order, she threw

her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing the

pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while Malemute Kid

attacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit into the frozen

trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible respiration, the

'Huh!' 'Huh!' of the woodsman.

At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow.

But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the woman's

face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little was said; those of

the Northland are early taught the futility of words and the inestimable

value of deeds. With the temperature at sixty-five below zero, a man

cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So the sled lashings were

cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a couch of boughs. Before him

roared a fire, built of the very wood which wrought the mishap. Behind

The Son of the Wolf

and partially over him was stretched the primitive fly--a piece of canvas,

which caught the radiating heat and threw it back and down upon hima

trick which men may know who study physics at the fount.

And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is

sounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examination

revealed it.

His right arm, leg, and back were broken; his limbs were paralyzed

from the hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. An

occasional moan was his only sign of life.

No hope; nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by--Ruth's

portion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid adding

new lines to his face of bronze.

In fact, Mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in eastern

Tennessee, in the Great Smoky Mountains, living over the scenes of his

childhood. And most pathetic was the melody of his long-forgotten

Southern vernacular, as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts and

watermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood and

felt--felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that

civilization means.

Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and Malemute

Kid bent closer to catch his whispers.

'You remember when we foregathered on the Tanana, four years come

next ice run? I didn't care so much for her then. It was more like she was

pretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, I think. But d'ye

know, I've come to think a heap of her. She's been a good wife to me,

always at my shoulder in the pinch. And when it comes to trading, you

know there isn't her equal. D'ye recollect the time she shot the Moosehorn

Rapids to pull you and me off that rock, the bullets whipping the water

like hailstones?- and the time of the famine at Nuklukyeto?--when she

raced the ice run to bring the news?

Yes, she's been a good wife to me, better'n that other one. Didn't know

I'd been there?

Never told you, eh? Well, I tried it once, down in the States. That's

why I'm here. Been raised together, too. I came away to give her a chance

The Son of the Wolf

for divorce. She got it.

'But that's got nothing to do with Ruth. I had thought of cleaning up

and pulling for the Outside next year--her and I--but it's too late. Don't

send her back to her people, Kid. It's beastly hard for a woman to go back.

Think of it!--nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and dried

fruit, and then to go back to her fish and caribou. It's not good for her to

have tried our ways, to come to know they're better'n her people's, and

then return to them. Take care of her, Kidwhy don't you--but no, you

always fought shy of them--and you never told me why you came to this

country. Be kind to her, and send her back to the States as soon as you can.

But fix it so she can come back--liable to get homesick, you know.

'And the youngster--it's drawn us closer, Kid. I only hope it is a boy.

Think of it!--flesh of my flesh, Kid. He mustn't stop in this country. And if

it's a girl, why, she can't. Sell my furs; they'll fetch at least five thousand,

and I've got as much more with the company. And handle my interests

with yours. I think that bench claim will show up. See that he gets a good

schooling; and Kid, above all, don't let him come back. This country was

not made for white men.

'I'm a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You've got to go

on. You must go on! Remember, it's my wife, it's my boy--O God! I

hope it's a boy! You can't stay by me--and I charge you, a dying man, to

pull on.'

'Give me three days,' pleaded Malemute Kid. 'You may change for the

better; something may turn up.'

'No.'

'Just three days.'

'You must pull on.'

'Two days.'

'It's my wife and my boy, Kid. You would not ask it.'

'One day.'

'No, no! I charge-'

'Only one day. We can shave it through on the grub, and I might knock

over a moose.'

'No--all right; one day, but not a minute more. And, Kid, don't--don't

The Son of the Wolf

leave me to face it alone. Just a shot, one pull on the trigger. You

understand. Think of it! Think of it! Flesh of my flesh, and I'll never live

to see him!

'Send Ruth here. I want to say good-by and tell her that she must think

of the boy and not wait till I'm dead. She might refuse to go with you if I

didn't. Goodby, old man; good-by.

'Kid! I say--a--sink a hole above the pup, next to the slide. I panned

out forty cents on my shovel there.

'And, Kid!' He stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dying

man's surrender of his pride. 'I'm sorry--for--you know--Carmen.' Leaving

the girl crying softly over her man, Malemute Kid slipped into his parka

and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm, and crept away into the

forest. He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the Northland, but never had

he faced so stiff a problem as this. In the abstract, it was a plain,

mathematical propositionthree possible lives as against one doomed one.

But now he hesitated. For five years, shoulder to shoulder, on the rivers

and trails, in the camps and mines, facing death by field and flood and

famine, had they knitted the bonds of their comradeship. So close was the

tie that he had often been conscious of a vague jealousy of Ruth, from the

first time she had come between. And now it must be severed by his own

hand.

Though he prayed for a moose, just one moose, all game seemed to

have deserted the land, and nightfall found the exhausted man crawling

into camp, lighthanded, heavyhearted. An uproar from the dogs and shrill

cries from Ruth hastened him.

Bursting into the camp, he saw the girl in the midst of the snarling

pack, laying about her with an ax. The dogs had broken the iron rule of

their masters and were rushing the grub.

He joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game of

natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of its primeval

environment. Rifle and ax went up and down, hit or missed with

monotonous regularity; lithe bodies flashed, with wild eyes and dripping

fangs; and man and beast fought for supremacy to the bitterest conclusion.

Then the beaten brutes crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their

The Son of the Wolf

wounds, voicing their misery to the stars.

The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps five

pounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles of

wilderness. Ruth returned to her husband, while Malemute Kid cut up the

warm body of one of the dogs, the skull of which had been crushed by the

ax. Every portion was carefully put away, save the hide and offal, which

were cast to his fellows of the moment before.

Morning brought fresh trouble. The animals were turning on each

other. Carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was downed by

the pack. The lash fell among them unheeded. They cringed and cried

under the blows, but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit had

disappeared--bones, hide, hair, everything.

Malemute Kid went about his work, listening to Mason, who was back

in Tennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to his

brethren of other days.

Taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and Ruth

watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to

preserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. One after the other, he

bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to the

ground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. Then he beat the

dogs into submission and harnessed them to two of the sleds, loading the

same with everything but the furs which enveloped Mason. These he

wrapped and lashed tightly about him, fastening either end of the robes to

the bent pines. A single stroke of his hunting knife would release them and

send the body high in the air.

Ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle.

Poor girl, she had learned the lesson of obedience well. From a child, she

had bowed, and seen all women bow, to the lords of creation, and it did

not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist. The Kid permitted

her one outburst of grief, as she kissed her husband--her own people had

no such custom--then led her to the foremost sled and helped her into her

snowshoes. Blindly, instinctively, she took the gee pole and whip, and

'mushed' the dogs out on the trail. Then he returned to Mason, who had

fallen into a coma, and long after she was out of sight crouched by the fire,

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

TheSonoftheWolf1TheSonoftheWolfbyJackLondonTheSonoftheWolf2TheWhiteSilence'Carmenwon'tlastmorethanacoupleofdays.'Masonspatoutachunkoficeandsurveyedthepooranimalruefully,thenputherfootinhismouthandproceededtobiteouttheicewhichclusteredcruellybetweenthetoes.'Ineversawadogwithahighfalutin'namethateverw...

收起<<

The Son of the Wolf(狼孩).pdf

共125页,预览25页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

The Son of the Wolf(狼孩)

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: