The salient thing of this other world seemed fear.When he watched the hairy man sleeping by the fire, head between his knees and hands clasped above, Buck saw that he slept restlessly, with many starts and awakenings at which times he would peer fearfully into the darkness and fling more wood upon the fire.Did they walk by the beach of a sea, where the hairy man gathered shellfish and ate them as he gathered, it was with eyes that roved everywhere for hidden danger and with legs prepared to run like the wind at its first appearance.Through the forest they crept noiselessly, Buck at the hairy man's heels; and they were alert and vigilant, the pair of them, ears twitching and moving and nostrils quivering, for the man heard and smelled as keenly as Buck.The hairy man could spring up into the trees and travel ahead as fast as on the ground, swinging by the arms from limb to limb, sometimes a dozen feet apart, letting go and catching, never falling, never missing his grip.In fact, he seemed as much at home among the trees as on the ground; and Buck had memories of nights of vigil spent beneath the trees wherein the hairy man roosted, holding on tightly as he slept.
And closely akin to the visions of the hairy man was the call still sounding in the depths of the forest.It filled him with a great unrest and strange desires.It caused him to feel a vague, sweet gladness, and he was aware of wild yearnings and stirrings for he knew not what.Sometimes he pursued the call into the forest, looking for it as though it were a tangible thing, barking softly or defiantly, as the mood might dictate.
He would thrust his nose into the cool wood moss, or into the black soil where long grasses grew, and snort with joy at the fat earth smells; or he would crouch for hours, as if in concealment, behind fungus covered trunks of fallen trees, wide-eyed and wide-eared to all that moved and sounded about him.It might be, lying thus, that he hoped to surprise this call he could not understand.But he did not know why he did these various things.He was impelled to do them, and did not reason about them at all.
Irresistible impulses seized him.He would be lying in camp, dozing lazily in the heat of the day, when suddenly his head would lift and his ears cock up, intent and listening, and he would spring to his feet and dash away, and on and on, for hours, through the forest aisles and across the open spaces where the niggerheads bunched.He loved to run down dry watercourses, and to creep and spy upon the bird life in the woods.For a day at a time he would lie in the underbrush where he could watch the partridges drumming and strutting up and down.But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called--called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.
One night he sprang from sleep with a start, eager-eyed, nostrils quivering and scenting, his mane bristling in recurrent waves.From the forest came the call --(or one note of it, for the call was many-noted), distinct and definite as never before--a long-drawn howl, like, yet unlike, any noise made by husky dog.And he knew it, in the old familiar way, as a sound heard before.He sprang through the sleeping camp and in swift silence dashed through the woods.As he drew closer to the cry he went more slowly, with caution in every movement, till he came to an open place among the trees, and looking out saw, erect on haunches, with nose pointed to the sky, a long, lean, timber wolf.
He had made no noise, yet it ceased from its howling and tried to sense his presence.Buck stalked into the open, half-crouching, body gathered compactly together, tail straight and stiff, feet falling with unwonted care.Every movement advertised commingled threatening and overture of friendliness.It was the menacing truce that marks the meeting of wild beasts that prey.But the wolf fled at sight of him.He followed, with wild leapings, in a frenzy to overtake.He ran him into a blind channel, in the bed of the creek, where a timber jam barred the way.The wolf whirled about, pivoting on his hind legs after the fashion of Joe and of all cornered husky dogs, snarling and bristling, clipping his teeth together in a continuous and rapid succession of snaps.
Buck did not attack, but circled him about and hedged him in with friendly advances.The wolf was suspicious and afraid; for Buck made three of him in weight, while his head barely reached Buck's shoulder.Watching his chance, he darted away, and the chase was resumed.Time and again he was cornered, and the thing repeated, though he was in poor condition or Buck could not so easily have overtaken him.He would run till Buck's head was even with his flank, when he would whirl around at bay, only to dash away again at the first opportunity.
But in the end Buck's pertinacity was rewarded; for the wolf, finding that no harm was intended, finally sniffed noses with him.Then they became friendly, and played about in the nervous, half-coy way with which fierce beasts belie their fierceness.After some time of this the wolf started off at an easy lope in a manner that plainly showed he was going somewhere.
He made it clear to Buck that he was to come, and they ran side by side through the somber twilight, straight up the creek bed, into the gorge from which it issued, and across the bleak divide where it took its rise.
