white fang(白牙)-第25节
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
90
… Page 91…
White Fang
CHAPTER IV … THE TRAIL OF THE GODS
In the fall of the year； when the days were shortening and the bite of
the frost was coming into the air； White Fang got his chance for liberty。
For several days there had been a great hubbub in the village。 The summer
camp was being dismantled； and the tribe； bag and baggage； was preparing
to go off to the fall hunting。 White Fang watched it all with eager eyes；
and when the tepees began to come down and the canoes were loading at
the bank； he understood。 Already the canoes were departing； and some had
disappeared down the river。
Quite deliberately he determined to stay behind。 He waited his
opportunity to slink out of camp to the woods。 Here； in the running stream
where ice was beginning to form； he hid his trail。 Then he crawled into the
heart of a dense thicket and waited。 The time passed by； and he slept
intermittently for hours。 Then he was aroused by Grey Beaver's voice
calling him by name。 There were other voices。 White Fang could hear
Grey Beaver's squaw taking part in the search； and Mit…sah； who was Grey
Beaver's son。
White Fang trembled with fear； and though the impulse came to crawl
out of his hiding…place； he resisted it。 After a time the voices died away；
and some time after that he crept out to enjoy the success of his
undertaking。 Darkness was coming on； and for a while he played about
among the trees； pleasuring in his freedom。 Then； and quite suddenly； he
became aware of loneliness。 He sat down to consider； listening to the
silence of the forest and perturbed by it。 That nothing moved nor sounded；
seemed ominous。 He felt the lurking of danger； unseen and unguessed。 He
was suspicious of the looming bulks of the trees and of the dark shadows
that might conceal all manner of perilous things。
Then it was cold。 Here was no warm side of a tepee against which to
snuggle。 The frost was in his feet； and he kept lifting first one fore…foot
and then the other。 He curved his bushy tail around to cover them； and at
the same time he saw a vision。 There was nothing strange about it。 Upon
his inward sight was impressed a succession of memory…pictures。 He saw
91
… Page 92…
White Fang
the camp again； the tepees； and the blaze of the fires。 He heard the shrill
voices of the women； the gruff basses of the men； and the snarling of the
dogs。 He was hungry； and he remembered pieces of meat and fish that had
been thrown him。 Here was no meat； nothing but a threatening and
inedible silence。
His bondage had softened him。 Irresponsibility had weakened him。 He
had forgotten how to shift for himself。 The night yawned about him。 His
senses； accustomed to the hum and bustle of the camp； used to the
continuous impact of sights and sounds； were now left idle。 There was
nothing to do； nothing to see nor hear。 They strained to catch some
interruption of the silence and immobility of nature。 They were appalled
by inaction and by the feel of something terrible impending。
He gave a great start of fright。 A colossal and formless something was
rushing across the field of his vision。 It was a tree…shadow flung by the
moon； from whose face the clouds had been brushed away。 Reassured； he
whimpered softly； then he suppressed the whimper for fear that it might
attract the attention of the lurking dangers。
A tree； contracting in the cool of the night； made a loud noise。 It was
directly above him。 He yelped in his fright。 A panic seized him； and he ran
madly toward the village。 He knew an overpowering desire for the
protection and companionship of man。 In his nostrils was the smell of the
camp…smoke。 In his ears the camp…sounds and cries were ringing loud。 He
passed out of the forest and into the moonlit open where were no shadows
nor darknesses。 But no village greeted his eyes。 He had forgotten。 The
village had gone away。
His wild flight ceased abruptly。 There was no place to which to flee。
He slunk forlornly through the deserted camp； smelling the rubbish…heaps
and the discarded rags and tags of the gods。 He would have been glad for
the rattle of stones about him； flung by an angry squaw； glad for the hand
of Grey Beaver descending upon him in wrath； while he would have
welcomed with delight Lip…lip and the whole snarling； cowardly pack。
He came to where Grey Beaver's tepee had stood。 In the centre of the
space it had occupied； he sat down。 He pointed his nose at the moon。 His
throat was afflicted by rigid spasms； his mouth opened； and in a heart…
92
… Page 93…
White Fang
broken cry bubbled up his loneliness and fear； his grief for Kiche； all his
past sorrows and miseries as well as his apprehension of sufferings and
dangers to come。 It was the long wolf…howl； full…throated and mournful；
the first howl he had ever uttered。
The coming of daylight dispelled his fears but increased his loneliness。
The naked earth； which so shortly before had been so populous； thrust his
loneliness more forcibly upon him。 It did not take him long to make up his
mind。 He plunged into the forest and followed the river bank down the
stream。 All day he ran。 He did not rest。 He seemed made to run on for ever。
His iron…like body ignored fatigue。 And even after fatigue came； his
heritage of endurance braced him to endless endeavour and enabled him to
drive his complaining body onward。
Where the river swung in against precipitous bluffs； he climbed the
high mountains behind。 Rivers and streams that entered the main river he
forded or swam。 Often he took to the rim…ice that was beginning to form；
and more than once he crashed through and struggled for life in the icy
current。 Always he was on the lookout for the trail of the gods where it
might leave the river and proceed inland。
White Fang was intelligent beyond the average of his kind； yet his
mental vision was not wide enough to embrace the other bank of the
Mackenzie。 What if the trail of the gods led out on that side？ It never
entered his head。 Later on； when he had travelled more and grown older
and wiser and come to know more of trails and rivers； it might be that he
could grasp and apprehend such a possibility。 But that mental power was
yet in the future。 Just now he ran blindly； his own bank of the Mackenzie
alone entering into his calculations。
All night he ran； blundering in the darkness into mishaps and obstacles
that delayed but did not daunt。 By the middle of the second day he had
been running continuously for thirty hours； and the iron of his flesh was
giving out。 It was the endurance of his mind that kept him going。 He had
not eaten in forty hours； and he was weak with hunger。 The repeated
drenchings in the icy water had likewise had their effect on him。 His
handsome coat was draggled。 The broad pads of his feet were bruised and
bleeding。 He had begun to limp； and this limp increased with the hours。 To
93
… Page 94…
White Fang
make it worse； the light of the sky was obscured and snow began to fall … a
raw； moist； melting； clinging snow； slippery under foot； that hid from him
the landscape he traversed； and that covered over the inequalities of the
ground so that the way of his feet was more difficult and painful。
Grey Beaver had intended camping that night on the far bank of the
Mackenzie； for it was in that direction that the hunting lay。 But on the near
bank； shortly before dark； a moose coming down to drink； had been espied
by Kloo…kooch； who was Grey Beaver's squaw。 Now； had not the moose
come down to drink； had not Mit…sah been steering out of the course
because of the snow； had not Kloo…kooch sighted the moose； and had not
Grey Beaver killed it with a lucky shot from his rifle； all subsequent things
would have happened differently。 Grey Beaver would not have camped on
the near side of th
