white fang(白牙)-第37章
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〃I do believe that wolf's on to you；〃 the dog…musher said。
Weedon Scott looked across at his companion with eyes that almost
pleaded； though this was given the lie by his words。
〃What the devil can I do with a wolf in California？〃 he demanded。
〃That's what I say；〃 Matt answered。 〃What the devil can you do with a
wolf in California？〃
But this did not satisfy Weedon Scott。 The other seemed to be judging
him in a non…committal sort of way。
〃White man's dogs would have no show against him；〃 Scott went on。
〃He'd kill them on sight。 If he didn't bankrupt me with damaged suits； the
authorities would take him away from me and electrocute him。〃
〃He's a downright murderer； I know；〃 was the dog…musher's comment。
Weedon Scott looked at him suspiciously。
〃It would never do；〃 he said decisively。
〃It would never do！〃 Matt concurred。 〃Why you'd have to hire a man
'specially to take care of 'm。〃
The other suspicion was allayed。 He nodded cheerfully。 In the silence
that followed； the low； half…sobbing whine was heard at the door and then
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the long； questing sniff。
〃There's no denyin' he thinks a hell of a lot of you；〃 Matt said。
The other glared at him in sudden wrath。 〃Damn it all； man！ I know
my own mind and what's best！〃
〃I'm agreein' with you； only 。 。 。 〃
〃Only what？〃 Scott snapped out。
〃Only 。 。 。 〃 the dog…musher began softly； then changed his mind and
betrayed a rising anger of his own。 〃Well； you needn't get so all…fired het
up about it。 Judgin' by your actions one'd think you didn't know your own
mind。〃
Weedon Scott debated with himself for a while； and then said more
gently： 〃You are right； Matt。 I don't know my own mind； and that's what's
the trouble。〃
〃Why； it would be rank ridiculousness for me to take that dog along；〃
he broke out after another pause。
〃I'm agreein' with you；〃 was Matt's answer； and again his employer
was not quite satisfied with him。
〃But how in the name of the great Sardanapolis he knows you're goin'
is what gets me；〃 the dog…musher continued innocently。
〃It's beyond me； Matt；〃 Scott answered； with a mournful shake of the
head。
Then came the day when； through the open cabin door； White Fang
saw the fatal grip on the floor and the love…master packing things into it。
Also； there were comings and goings； and the erstwhile placid atmosphere
of the cabin was vexed with strange perturbations and unrest。 Here was
indubitable evidence。 White Fang had already scented it。 He now reasoned
it。 His god was preparing for another flight。 And since he had not taken
him with him before； so； now； he could look to be left behind。
That night he lifted the long wolf…howl。 As he had howled； in his
puppy days； when he fled back from the Wild to the village to find it
vanished and naught but a rubbish…heap to mark the site of Grey Beaver's
tepee； so now he pointed his muzzle to the cold stars and told to them his
woe。
Inside the cabin the two men had just gone to bed。
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〃He's gone off his food again；〃 Matt remarked from his bunk。
There was a grunt from Weedon Scott's bunk； and a stir of blankets。
〃From the way he cut up the other time you went away； I wouldn't
wonder this time but what he died。〃
The blankets in the other bunk stirred irritably。
〃Oh； shut up！〃 Scott cried out through the darkness。 〃You nag worse
than a woman。〃
〃I'm agreein' with you；〃 the dog…musher answered； and Weedon Scott
was not quite sure whether or not the other had snickered。
The next day White Fang's anxiety and restlessness were even more
pronounced。 He dogged his master's heels whenever he left the cabin； and
haunted the front stoop when he remained inside。 Through the open door
he could catch glimpses of the luggage on the floor。 The grip had been
joined by two large canvas bags and a box。 Matt was rolling the master's
blankets and fur robe inside a small tarpaulin。 White Fang whined as he
watched the operation。
Later on two Indians arrived。 He watched them closely as they
shouldered the luggage and were led off down the hill by Matt； who
carried the bedding and the grip。 But White Fang did not follow them。 The
master was still in the cabin。 After a time； Matt returned。 The master came
to the door and called White Fang inside。
〃You poor devil；〃 he said gently； rubbing White Fang's ears and
tapping his spine。 〃I'm hitting the long trail； old man； where you cannot
follow。 Now give me a growl … the last； good； good…bye growl。〃
But White Fang refused to growl。 Instead； and after a wistful；
searching look； he snuggled in； burrowing his head out of sight between
the master's arm and body。
〃There she blows！〃 Matt cried。 From the Yukon arose the hoarse
bellowing of a river steamboat。 〃You've got to cut it short。 Be sure and
lock the front door。 I'll go out the back。 Get a move on！〃
The two doors slammed at the same moment； and Weedon Scott
waited for Matt to come around to the front。 From inside the door came a
low whining and sobbing。 Then there were long； deep…drawn sniffs。
〃You must take good care of him； Matt；〃 Scott said； as they started
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down the hill。 〃Write and let me know how he gets along。〃
〃Sure；〃 the dog…musher answered。 〃But listen to that； will you！〃
Both men stopped。 White Fang was howling as dogs howl when their
masters lie dead。 He was voicing an utter woe； his cry bursting upward in
great heart…breaking rushes； dying down into quavering misery； and
bursting upward again with a rush upon rush of grief。
The AURORA was the first steamboat of the year for the Outside； and
her decks were jammed with prosperous adventurers and broken gold
seekers； all equally as mad to get to the Outside as they had been
originally to get to the Inside。 Near the gang…plank； Scott was shaking
hands with Matt； who was preparing to go ashore。 But Matt's hand went
limp in the other's grasp as his gaze shot past and remained fixed on
something behind him。 Scott turned to see。 Sitting on the deck several feet
away and watching wistfully was White Fang；
The dog…musher swore softly； in awe…stricken accents。 Scott could
only look in wonder。
〃Did you lock the front door？〃 Matt demanded。 The other nodded； and
asked； 〃How about the back？〃
〃You just bet I did；〃 was the fervent reply。
White Fang flattened his ears ingratiatingly； but remained where he
was； making no attempt to approach。
〃I'll have to take 'm ashore with me。〃
Matt made a couple of steps toward White Fang； but the latter slid
away from him。 The dog…musher made a rush of it； and White Fang
dodged between the legs of a group of men。 Ducking； turning； doubling；
he slid about the deck； eluding the other's efforts to capture him。
But when the love…master spoke； White Fang came to him with prompt
obedience。
〃Won't come to the hand that's fed 'm all these months；〃 the dog…
musher muttered resentfully。 〃And you … you ain't never fed 'm after them
first days of gettin' acquainted。 I'm blamed if I can see how he works it out
that you're the boss。〃
Scott； who had been patting White Fang； suddenly bent closer and
pointed out fresh…made cuts on his muzzle； and a gash between the eyes。
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Matt bent over and passed his hand along White Fang's belly。
〃We plump forgot the window。 He's all cut an' gouged underneath。
Must 'a' butted clean through it； b'gosh！〃
But Weedon Scott was not listening。 He was thinking rapidly。 The
AURORA'S whistle hooted a final announcement of departure。 Men were
scurrying down the gang…plank to the shore。 Matt loosened the bandana
from his own neck and started to put it around White Fang's。 Scott grasped
the dog…musher's hand。
〃Good…bye； Matt； old man。 About the wolf…you needn't write。 You see；
I've 。 。 。 ！〃
〃What！〃 the dog…musher exploded。 〃You don't mean to say 。 。 。？〃
〃The very thing I mean。 Here's your bandana。 I'll write to you about
him。〃
Matt paused halfway down the gang…plank。
〃He'll never stand the climate！〃 he shouted back。 〃Unless you clip 'm
in warm weather！〃
The gang…plank was hauled in； and the AURORA swang out from the
bank。 Weedon Scott waved a last good…bye。 Then he turned and bent over
White Fang； standing by his side。
〃Now growl； damn you； growl；〃 he said； as he patted the responsive
head and rubbed the flattening ears。
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CHAPTER II … THE SOUTHLAND
White Fang landed from the steamer in San Francisco。 He was
appalled。 Deep in him； below any reasoning process or act of
consciousness； he had associated power with godhead。 And never had the
white men seemed such marvellous gods as now； when he trod the slimy
pavement of San Francisco。 The log cabins he had known were replaced
by towering buildings。 The streets were crowded with perils … waggons；
carts； automobiles； great； straining horses pulling huge trucks； and
monstrous cable and electric ears hooting and clanging through the midst；
screeching their insistent menace after the manner of the lynxes he had
known in the northern woods。
All this was the manifestation of power。 Through it all； behind it all；
was man； governing and controlling； expressing himself
