The Sun-dog Trail Page #4

"The Sun-Dog Trail" is a collection of short stories by Jack London that captures the essence of adventure in the wilderness. Set against the backdrop of the rugged Yukon environment, these tales explore themes of survival, the harsh realities of nature, and the indomitable spirit of man. With vivid descriptions and compelling narratives, London immerses readers in the challenges faced by individuals in the great outdoors, highlighting both the beauty and brutality of the wild. The stories resonate with London's keen observations on life, reflecting his deep respect for nature and the complex relationship between humanity and the untamed world.

								

Christmas Day and we will rest. But no. It is five o'clock in the
morning--Christmas morning. I am two hours asleep. The man stand by my
bed. 'Come, Charley,' he says, 'harness the dogs. We start.'

"Have I not said that I ask questions no more? They pay me seven
hundred and fifty dollars each month. They are my masters. I am their
man. If they say, 'Charley, come, let us start for hell,' I will
harness the dogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So I harness
the dogs, and we start down the Yukon. Where do we go? They do not say.
Only do they say, 'On! on! We will go on!'

"They are very weary. They have travelled many hundreds of miles, and
they do not understand the way of the trail. Besides, their cough is
very bad--the dry cough that makes strong men swear and weak men cry.
But they go on. Every day they go on. Never do they rest the dogs.
Always do they buy new dogs. At every camp, at every post, at every
Indian village, do they cut out the tired dogs and put in fresh dogs.
They have much money, money without end, and like water they spend it.
They are crazy? Sometimes I think so, for there is a devil in them that
drives them on and on, always on. What is it that they try to find? It
is not gold. Never do they dig in the ground. I think a long time. Then
I think it is a man they try to find. But what man? Never do we see the
man. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the kill. But they are
funny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves who do not understand the way
of the trail. They cry aloud in their sleep at night. In their sleep
they moan and groan with the pain of their weariness. And in the day,
as they stagger along the trail, they cry under their breaths. They are
funny wolves.

"We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. We pass Minook. January has
come and nearly gone. The days are very short. At nine o'clock comes
daylight. At three o'clock comes night. And it is cold. And even I,
Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we go on forever this way without end? I
do not know. But always do I look along the trail for that which they
try to find. There are few people on the trail. Sometimes we travel one
hundred miles and never see a sign of life. It is very quiet. There
is no sound. Sometimes it snows, and we are like wandering ghosts.
Sometimes it is clear, and at midday the sun looks at us for a moment
over the hills to the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, and
the sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust.

"I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on the trail, and all
my days have I lived on the trail. And yet have these two baby wolves
made me very tired. I am lean, like a starved cat, and I am glad of my
bed at night, and in the morning am I greatly weary. Yet ever are we
hitting the trail in the dark before daylight, and still on the trail
does the dark after nightfall find us. These two baby wolves! If I
am lean like a starved cat, they are lean like cats that have never
eaten and have died. Their eyes are sunk deep in their heads, bright
sometimes as with fever, dim and cloudy sometimes like the eyes of the
dead. Their cheeks are hollow like caves in a cliff. Also are their
cheeks black and raw from many freezings. Sometimes it is the woman in
the morning who says, 'I cannot get up. I cannot move. Let me die.' And
it is the man who stands beside her and says, 'Come, let us go on.'
And they go on. And sometimes it is the man who cannot get up, and the
woman says, 'Come, let us go on.' But the one thing they do, and always
do, is to go on. Always do they go on.

"Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get letters. I do
not know what is in the letters. But it is the scent that they follow,
these letters themselves are the scent. One time an Indian gives them a
letter. I talk with him privately. He says it is a man with one eye who
gives him the letter, a man who travels fast down the Yukon. That is
all. But I know that the baby wolves are after the man with the one eye.

"It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred miles. We are
getting near Bering Sea, and there are storms and blizzards. The going
is hard. We come to Anvig. I do not know, but I think sure they get a
letter at Anvig, for they are much excited, and they say, 'Come, hurry,
let us go on.' But I say we must buy grub, and they say we must travel
light and fast. Also, they say that we can get grub at Charley McKeon's
cabin. Then do I know that they take the big cut-off, for it is there
that Charley McKeon lives where the Black Rock stands by the trail.

"Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the priest at Anvig.
Yes, there is a man with one eye who has gone by and who travels fast.
And I know that for which they look is the man with the one eye. We
leave Anvig with little grub, and travel light and fast. There are
three fresh dogs bought in Anvig, and we travel very fast. The man and
woman are like mad. We start earlier in the morning, we travel later
at night. I look sometimes to see them die, these two baby wolves, but
they will not die. They go on and on. When the dry cough take hold of
them hard, they hold their hands against their stomach and double up
in the snow, and cough, and cough, and cough. They cannot walk, they
cannot talk. Maybe for ten minutes they cough, maybe for half an hour,
and then they straighten up, the tears from the coughing frozen on
their faces, and the words they say are, 'Come, let us go on.'

"Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think seven hundred
and fifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I do. We take the big
cut-off, and the trail is fresh. The baby wolves have their noses down
to the trail, and they say, 'Hurry!' All the time do they say, 'Hurry!
Faster! Faster!' It is hard on the dogs. We have not much food and we
cannot give them enough to eat, and they grow weak. Also, they must
work hard. The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, because of
them, the tears are in her eyes. But the devil in her that drives her
on will not let her stop and rest the dogs.

"And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow by
the trail, and his leg is broken. Because of the leg he has made a poor
camp, and has been lying on his blankets for three days and keeping a
fire going. When we find him he is swearing. He swears like hell. Never
have I heard a man swear like that man. I am glad. Now that they have
found that for which they look, we will have rest. But the woman says,
'Let us start. Hurry!'

"I am surprised. But the man with the one eye says, 'Never mind me.
Give me your grub. You will get more grub at McKeon's cabin to-morrow.
Send McKeon back for me. But do you go on.' Here is another wolf, an
old wolf, and he, too, thinks but the one thought, to go on. So we give
him our grub, which is not much, and we chop wood for his fire, and we
take his strongest dogs and go on. We left the man with one eye there
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