The Son of the Wolf - Jack London (great novels of all time txt) š
- Author: Jack London
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āUnh, hunh! moreān once when I took a doze at the steering-oar. But it allus come out the nighest side-channel, anā not bubblinā up anā up.ā
āBut with niver a wink at the helm?ā
āNo; nor you. Itās agin reason. Iāll leave it to any man!ā
Bettles appealed to the circle about the stove, but the fight was on between himself and Lon McFane.
āReason or no reason, itās the truth Iām tellinā ye. Last fall, a year gone, ātwas Sitka Charley and meself saw the sight, droppinā down the riffle yeāll remember below Fort Reliance. Anā regular fall weather it wasā āthe glint oā the sun on the golden larch anā the quakinā aspens; anā the glister of light on ivery ripple; anā beyand, the winter anā the blue haze of the North cominā down hand in hand. Itās well ye know the same, with a fringe to the river anā the ice forminā thick in the eddiesā āanā a snap anā sparkle to the air, anā ye a-feelinā it through all yer blood, a-takinā new lease of life with ivery suck of it. āTis then, me boy, the world grows small anā the wandtherlust lays ye by the heels.
āBut itās meself as wandthers. As I was sayinā, we a-paddlinā, with niver a sign of ice, barrinā that by the eddies, when the Injun lifts his paddle anā sings out, āLon McFane! Look ye below! So have I heard, but niver thought to see!ā As ye know, Sitka Charley, like meself, niver drew first breath in the land; so the sight was new. Then we drifted, with a head over ayther side, peerinā down through the sparkly water. For the world like the days I spint with the pearlers, watchinā the coral banks a-growinā the same as so many gardens under the sea. There it was, the anchor-ice, clinginā anā clusterinā to ivery rock, after the manner of the white coral.
āBut the best of the sight was to come. Just after clearinā the tail of the riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, anā the top of it in wee circles, as when the graylinā rise in the spring, or thereās a splatter of wet from the sky. āTwas the anchor-ice cominā up. To the right, to the lift, as far as iver a man cud see, the water was covered with the same. Anā like so much porridge it was, slickinā along the bark of the canoe, stickinā like glue to the paddles. Itās manyās the time I shot the selfsame riffle before, and itās manyās the time after, but niver a wink of the same have I seen. āTwas the sight of a lifetime.ā
āDo tell!ā dryly commented Bettles. āDāye think Iād bālieve such a yarn? Iād ruther say the glister of lightād gone to your eyes, and the snap of the air to your tongue.ā
āāāTwas me own eyes that beheld it, anā if Sitka Charley was here, heād be the lad to back me.ā
āBut facts is facts, anā they aināt no gettinā round āem. It aināt in the nature of things for the water furtherest away from the air to freeze first.ā
āBut me own eyesā āā
āDonāt git het up over it,ā admonished Bettles, as the quick Celtic anger began to mount.
āThen yer not after belavinā me?ā
āSence youāre so blamed forehanded about it, no; Iād bālieve nature first, and facts.ā
āIs it the lie yeād be givinā me?ā threatened Lon. āYeād better be askinā that Siwash wife of yours. Iāll lave it to her, for the truth I spake.ā
Bettles flared up in sudden wrath. The Irishman had unwittingly wounded him; for his wife was the half-breed daughter of a Russian fur-trader, married to him in the Greek Mission of Nulato, a thousand miles or so down the Yukon, thus being of much higher caste than the common Siwash, or native, wife. It was a mere Northland nuance, which none but the Northland adventurer may understand.
āI reckon you kin take it that way,ā was his deliberate affirmation.
The next instant Lon McFane had stretched him on the floor, the circle was broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between.
Bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. āIt haināt new, this takinā and payinā of blows, and donāt you never think but that this will be squared.ā
āAnā niver in me life did I take the lie from mortal man,ā was the retort courteous. āAnā itās an avil day Iāll not be to hand, waitinā anā willinā to help ye lift yer debts, barrinā no manner of way.ā
āStill got that 38ā āā 55?ā
Lon nodded.
āBut youād better git a more likely caliber. Mineāll rip holes through you the size of walnuts.ā
āNiver fear; itās me own slugs smell their way with soft noses, anā theyāll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand. Anā whenāll I have the pleasure of waitinā on ye? The waterholeās a strikinā locality.ā
āāāT aināt bad. Jest be there in an hour, and you wonāt set long on my coming.ā
Both men mittened and left the Post, their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades. It was such a little thing; yet with such men, little things, nourished by quick tempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomed into big things. Besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb of the future, and the men of Forty-Mile, shut in by the long Arctic winter, grew high-stomached with overeating and enforced idleness, and became as irritable as do the bees in the fall of the year when the hives are overstocked with honey.
There was no law in the land. The mounted police was also a thing of the future. Each man measured an offense, and meted out the punishment inasmuch as it affected himself. Rarely had combined action been necessary, and never in all the dreary
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