Белый клык
The Trail of the Meat
Idon’tlikethelooksofit. Idon’tfeelright,somehow. An’whileI’mwishin’,Iwishtthetripwasoveran’donewith, an’youan’mea-sittin’bythefireinFortMcGurryjustaboutnowan’playingcribbage—that’swhatIwisht. "Henrygruntedandcrawledintobed. Ashedozedoffhewasarousedbyhiscomrade’svoice.
"Say,Henry,thatotheronethatcomeinan’gotafish—whydidn’tthedogspitchintoit?That’swhat’sbotherin’me."
"You’rebotherin’toomuch,Bill,"camethesleepyresponse. "Youwasneverlikethisbefore. Youjes’shutupnow,an’gotosleep,an’you’llbeallhunkydoryinthemornin’. Yourstomach’ssour,that’swhat’sbotherin’you."
Themenslept,breathingheavily,sidebyside,undertheonecovering. Thefiredieddown,andthegleamingeyesdrewcloserthecircletheyhadflungaboutthecamp. Thedogsclusteredtogetherinfear,nowandagainsnarlingmenacinglyasapairofeyesdrewclose. OncetheiruproarbecamesoloudthatBillwokeup. Hegotoutofbedcarefully,soasnottodisturbthesleepofhiscomrade,andthrewmorewoodonthefire. Asitbegantoflameup,thecircleofeyesdrewfartherback. Heglancedcasuallyatthehuddlingdogs. Herubbedhiseyesandlookedatthemmoresharply. Thenhecrawledbackintotheblankets.
"Henry,"hesaid. "Oh,Henry."
Henrygroanedashepassedfromsleeptowaking,anddemanded, "What’swrongnow?"
"Nothin’,"cametheanswer;"onlythere’ssevenof’emagain. Ijustcounted."
Henryacknowledgedreceiptoftheinformationwithagruntthatslidintoasnoreashedriftedbackintosleep.
