Brown Wolf Page #4

"Brown Wolf," a short story by Jack London, explores the bond between humans and animals through the eyes of a dog named Brown Wolf. Set against the backdrop of the rugged wilderness, the narrative follows the journey of a wealthy man who adopts the dog, reflecting on themes of loyalty, survival, and the intrinsic connection between man and nature. The story highlights the instincts of Brown Wolf as he navigates various challenges, showcasing London's mastery in depicting the raw and emotional interplay between humans and their animal companions. As the tale unfolds, it reveals deeper insights into trust, freedom, and the essence of companionship.

								

obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead.

"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's
your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have
driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands
of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog
in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a
valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation
of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove
property."

Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper
on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his
coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the
strength of his slenderness.

The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said
finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the
dog right here an' now."

Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and
shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered
apprehensively into the breach.

"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf
does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.'
He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he
never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He
was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr.
Miller."

Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with
hopelessness.

"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown,
and he must belong to Mr. Miller."

"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him."

Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick
to be generous in response to generousness.

"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper
his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska.
Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for
the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the
fancy price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team.
That winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an'
I ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog.
I've ben lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I
found he'd ben stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm
like hell, that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes
when I seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to
be true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night.
His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at two dollars
a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any
mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular, the darn little
cuss--that finger right there!"

And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger for
them to see.

"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow
clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.

He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak.

"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog."

Skiff Miller looked puzzled.

"Have you thought about him?" she asked.

"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response.

"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he
has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no
choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer
California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him
as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay."

This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed
as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision.

"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your
happiness also," she urged.

Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance
of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval.

"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded.

It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?"

She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it."

Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the
same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal.

"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed
on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's
got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say
to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him."

The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws,
ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow
the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the
other.

"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An'
I do like him. I like him like hell."

Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it
again without speaking. Finally he said:

"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in
them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has
got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he
says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by
and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants
to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you
call 'm to come back."

He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must
play fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned."

"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her
assurances.

"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When
their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the
bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil--beggin' your pardon, ma'am.
I'm only discoursin' about women in general."

"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered.

"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown
ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow? It's no more'n
fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards."--Madge
agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do
anything to influence him."

"Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in
the ordinary tones of one departing.

At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still
more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He
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