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The Sounding of the Call
ButintheendBuck’spertinacitywasrewarded; forthewolf,findingthatnoharmwasintended,finallysniffednoseswithhim. Thentheybecamefriendly,andplayedaboutinthenervous,half-coywaywithwhichfiercebeastsbelietheirfierceness. Aftersometimeofthisthewolfstartedoffataneasylopeinamannerthatplainlyshowedhewasgoingsomewhere. HemadeitcleartoBuckthathewastocome,andtheyransidebysidethroughthesombretwilight,straightupthecreekbed,intothegorgefromwhichitissued,andacrossthebleakdividewhereittookitsrise.
Ontheoppositeslopeofthewatershedtheycamedownintoalevelcountrywhereweregreatstretchesofforestandmanystreams,andthroughthesegreatstretchestheyransteadily,hourafterhour,thesunrisinghigherandthedaygrowingwarmer. Buckwaswildlyglad. Heknewhewasatlastansweringthecall,runningbythesideofhiswoodbrothertowardtheplacefromwherethecallsurelycame. Oldmemorieswerecominguponhimfast,andhewasstirringtothemasofoldhestirredtotherealitiesofwhichtheyweretheshadows. Hehaddonethisthingbefore,somewhereinthatotheranddimlyrememberedworld,andhewasdoingitagain,now,runningfreeintheopen,theunpackedearthunderfoot,thewideskyoverhead.
Theystoppedbyarunningstreamtodrink,and,stopping,BuckrememberedJohnThornton. Hesatdown.
