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The Sounding of the Call
Thornton’sdesperatestrugglewasfresh-writtenontheearth,andBuckscentedeverydetailofitdowntotheedgeofadeeppool. Bytheedge,headandforefeetinthewater,laySkeet,faithfultothelast. Thepoolitself,muddyanddiscoloredfromthesluiceboxes,effectuallyhidwhatitcontained,anditcontainedJohnThornton; forBuckfollowedhistraceintothewater,fromwhichnotraceledaway.
AlldayBuckbroodedbythepoolorroamedrestlesslyaboutthecamp. Death,asacessationofmovement,asapassingoutandawayfromthelivesoftheliving,heknew,andheknewJohnThorntonwasdead. Itleftagreatvoidinhim,somewhatakintohunger,butavoidwhichachedandached,andwhichfoodcouldnotfill. Attimes,whenhepausedtocontemplatethecarcassesoftheYeehats,heforgotthepainofit;andatsuchtimeshewasawareofagreatprideinhimself—apridegreaterthananyhehadyetexperienced. Hehadkilledman,thenoblestgameofall,andhehadkilledinthefaceofthelawofclubandfang. Hesniffedthebodiescuriously. Theyhaddiedsoeasily. Itwashardertokillahuskydogthanthem. Theywerenomatchatall,wereitnotfortheirarrowsandspearsandclubs. Thenceforwardhewouldbeunafraidofthemexceptwhentheyboreintheirhandstheirarrows,spears,andclubs.
Nightcameon,andafullmoonrosehighoverthetreesintothesky,lightingthelandtillitlaybathedinghostlyday.
