1 The wolf pack had, at last, crossed over from the land of streams and timber and invaded Buck’s valley. Into the clearing where the moonlight streamed, they poured in a silvery flood, and in the center of the clearing stood Buck, motionless as a statue. They were awed because he stood so still and large. After a moment’s pause the boldest one leaped straight for him. Like a flash, Buck struck, breaking the neck; then, he stood still as before, the injured wolf rolling in agony behind him. Three others tried it after him; one after the other, they drew back, streaming blood from slashed throats or shoulders.
2 This was enough to bring the whole pack forward, crowded together, confused by its eagerness to pull down the prey. Buck’s marvelous quickness and agility stood him in good stead. Pivoting on his hind legs, and snapping and gashing, he was everywhere at once, presenting a front which was apparently unbroken so swiftly did he whirl and guard from side to side. But to prevent them from getting behind him, he was forced back, down past the pool and into the creek bed, till he brought up against a high gravel bank. He worked along to a right angle in the bank, which the men had made in the course of mining, and in this angle, he came to bay, protected on three sides and with nothing to do but face the front.
3 And so well did he face it, that at the end of half an hour the wolves drew back. The tongues of all were out and lolling, the white fangs showing cruelly white in the moonlight. Some were lying down with heads raised and ears pricked forward. Others stood on their feet, watching him. Still, others were lapping water from the pool. One wolf, long and lean and gray, advanced cautiously. Buck recognized the wild brother with whom he had run for a night and a day. He was whining softly, and, as Buck whined, they touched noses.
4 Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came forward. Buck moved his lips as if to snarl, but sniffed noses with him. Whereupon, the old wolf sat down, pointed nose at the moon, and broke out the long wolf howl. The others sat down and howled. And now the call came to Buck in unmistakable accents. He, too, sat down and howled. This over, he came out of his angle, and the pack crowded around him, sniffing in half-friendly, half-savage manner. The leaders lifted the yelp of the pack and sprang away into the woods. The wolves swung in behind, yelping in chorus. And Buck ran with them, side by side with the wild brother, yelping as he ran.
5 And here may well end the story of Buck. In a few years, the Yeehats1 noted a change in the breed of timber wolves. Some were seen with splashes of brown on head and muzzle, and with a rift of white centering down the chest. But more remarkable than this, the Yeehats tell of a Ghost Dog that runs at the head of the pack. They are afraid of this Ghost Dog, for it has cunning greater than they. It steals from their camps in fierce winters, robs their traps, slays their dogs, and defies their bravest hunters.
1 Yeehats: a fictional Indian tribe
