This was what the onlooking huskies had waited for. He met her next rush with his chest, in a peculiar fashion that tumbled her off her feet. Curly rushed her antagonist, who struck again and leaped aside. Buck did not comprehend that silent intentness, nor the eager way with which they were licking their chops. Thirty or forty huskies ran to the spot and surrounded the combatants in an intent and silent circle. It was the wolf manner of fighting, to strike and leap away but there was more to it than this. There was no warning, only a leap in like a flash, a metallic clip of teeth, a leap out equally swift, and Curly’s face was ripped open from eye to jaw. They were camped near the log store, where she, in her friendly way, made advances to a husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large as she. It is true, it was a vicarious experience, else he would not have lived to profit by it. He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his first experience taught him an unforgettable lesson. They were savages, all of them, who knew no law but the law of club and fang. There was imperative need to be constantly alert for these dogs and men were not town dogs and men. All was confusion and action, and every moment life and limb were in peril. Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a moment’s safety. No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with nothing to do but loaf and be bored. He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial. Every hour was filled with shock and surprise. BUCK’S FIRST DAY ON the Dyea beach was like a nightmare.
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