第3章 Into the Primitive 进入荒野

THE CALL OF THE WILD

Old longings nomadic leap,

Chafing at custom's chain;

Again from its brumal sleep

Wakens the ferine strain.

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tidewater dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half-hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by graveled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants’cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miler's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless, strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house dog nor kennel dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king-king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was not so large-he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds-for his mother, She, had been a Scotch shepherd dog.Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting weakness-faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.

The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers’Association, and the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between them.

“You might wrap up the goods before you deliver them,”the stranger said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck under the collar.

“Twist it, and you'll choke him plenty,”said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a ready affirmative.

Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In a quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.

The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that \he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had traveled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnaped king. The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of him once more.

“Yep, has fits,”the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the baggage man, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle.“I'm taking him up for the boss to‘Frisco. A crack dog doctor there thinks that he can cure him.”

Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front.

“All I get is fifty for it,”he grumbled,“and I wouldn't do it over for a thousand, cold cash.”

His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.

“How much did the other mug get?”the saloon-keeper demanded.

“A hundred,”was the reply.“Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me.”

“That makes a hundred and fifty,”the saloon-keeper calculated,“and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead.”

The kidnaper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand.“If I don't get hydrophobia—”

“It'll be because you was born to hang,”laughed the saloon-keeper.“Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight,”he added.

Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cage-like crate.

There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl.

But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car.

For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue.

He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turned bloodshot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.

Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club.

“You ain't going to take him out now?”the driver asked.

“Sure,”the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.

There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance.

Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out.

“Now, you red-eyed devil,”he said, when he had made an opening sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.

And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his bloodshot eyes. Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid-air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by a club in his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was aware that it was the club, but His madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.

After a particularly fierce blow he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he had endured was nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lion-like in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left, cooly caught him by the under jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward. Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on his head and chest.

For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless.

“He's no slouch at dog-breaking, that's what I say,”one of the men on the wall cried with enthusiasm.

“Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays,”was the reply of the driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses.

Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater.

“‘Answers to the name of Buck,’”the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate and contents.“Well, Buck, my boy,”he went on in a genial voice,“we've had our little ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all will go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffing outa you. Understand?”

As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water, he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chuck by chunk, from the man's hand.

He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken. He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learned the lesson, and in all his afterlife he never forgot it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction halfway. The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused. As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck: a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to be obeyed, though not necessarily conciliated. Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand. Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey,finally killed in the struggle for mastery.

Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedlingly, and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater. And at such times that money passed between them the strangers took one or more of the dogs away with them. Buck wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear of the future was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when he was not selected.

Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man who spat broken English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buck could not understand.

“Sacredam!”he cried, when his eyes lit upon Buck.“Dat one dam bully dog! Eh? How much?”

“Three hundred, and a present at that,”was the prompt reply of the man in the red sweater.“And seeing it's government money, you ain't got no kick coming, eh, Perrault?”

Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so fine an animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor would its dispatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs, when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand—“One in ten thousand,”he commented mentally.

Buck saw money pass between them, and was not surprised when Curly, a good-natured Newfoundland, and he were led away by the little weazened man. That was the last he saw of the man in the red sweater, and as Curly and he looked at receding Seattle from the deck of the Narwhal, it was the last he saw of the warm Southland. Curly and he were taken below by Perrault and turned over to a black-faced giant called Francois. Perrault was a French Canadian, and swarthy; but Francois was a French Canadian half-breed, and twice as swarthy. They were a new kind of men to Buck (of which he was destined to see many more), and while he developed no affection for them, he none the less grew honestly to respect them. He speedily learned that Perrault and Francois were fair men, calm and impartial in administering justice, and too wise in the way of dogs to be fooled by dogs.

In the 'tween-decks of the Narwhal, Buck and Curly joined two other dogs. One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from Spitzbergen who had been brought away by a whaling captain, and who had later accompanied a Geological Survey into the Barrens.

He was friendly, in a treacherous sort of way, smiling into one's face the while he meditated some underhand trick, as, for instance, when he stole from Buck's food at the first meal. As Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of Francois's whip sang through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained to Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of Francois, he decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's estimation.

The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not attempt to steal from the newcomers. He was a gloomy, morose fellow, ant he showed Curly plainly that all he desired was to be left alone, and further, that there would be trouble if he were not left alone.“Dave”he was called, and he ate and slept, or yawned between times, and took interest in nothing, not even when the Narwhal crossed Queen Charlotte Sound and rolled and pitched and bucked like a thing possessed. When Buck and Curly grew excited, half-wild with fear, he raised his head as though annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned, and went to sleep again.

Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the propeller, and though one day was very like another, it was apparent to Buck that the weather was steadily growing colder. At last, one morning, the propeller was quiet, and the Narwhalwas pervaded with an atmosphere of excitement. He felt it, as did the other dogs, and knew that a change was at hand. Francois leashed them and brought them on deck. At the first step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushy something very like mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell upon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue. It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This puzzled him. He tried it again, with the same results. The onlookers laughed uproariously, and he felt ashamed, he knew not why, for it was his first snow.

野性的呼唤

往昔流浪欲望涌，

面对陈规雷霆动；

野性历经一冬眠，

今又唤醒自梦中。

巴克不看报纸，否则它早会知道麻烦就要来了，这不仅是它自己的麻烦，也是从皮吉特海峡到圣地亚哥，海边每一条身强力壮长着暖暖和和长毛的狗的麻烦。因为人们在北极的黑暗中发现了一种黄色金属，加上轮船和运输公司大肆宣扬那次发现，所以成千上万的男人涌向了北方那个地区。这些人需要狗，他们需要的狗是体型巨大、肌肉发达，既能艰苦跋涉，毛皮又能御寒的狗。

巴克住在阳光灿烂的圣克拉拉山谷的一座大房子里。人们把这座房子称为“米勒法官的住宅”。房子远离大路，半隐半现在树林中。透过树林，可以瞥见房子四周宽敞凉爽的游廊。几条碎石车道蜿蜒着穿过开阔的草坪通向这座房子，路边是高高的白杨，枝杈交错着。房后甚至比房前更有气势。那里有几座大马厩，有十几个马夫和男仆，有一排排爬满藤蔓的仆人小屋，数不清的外屋排列得井然有序，有长长的葡萄架，有绿色牧场，有果园，有浆果地，还有自流井泵站和大水泥池，米勒法官家的男孩们上午在那里嬉水，炎热的下午在那里乘凉。

巴克统治着这一大片领地。它出生在这里，已经在这里生活了四年。的确，这里还有别的狗。这么辽阔的一个地方不可能没有其他狗，但它们都不重要。它们来来去去，要么住在那些拥挤的狗窝里，要么默默无闻地住在房子的幽深处，像日本哈巴狗托茨和墨西哥秃头狗伊莎贝尔一样——它们是一些很少把鼻子伸出门外或走到外面的怪家伙。另一方面，还有一些猎狐犬，至少有二十条，它们狂吠吓唬托茨和伊莎贝尔，这两条狗只敢从窗户向外看着它们，由许多手拿扫帚和拖把的女仆们保护着。

但是，巴克既不是看门狗，也不是养狗场的狗。整个领地都是它的。它跟法官的儿子们一起跳进游泳池游泳或去打猎；它陪法官的女儿莫利和爱丽丝在漫长的黄昏或早晨散步；冬夜，它卧在法官脚边，在书房烤着熊熊炉火；它要么驮着法官的孙子们，要么跟他们在草地上打滚，保护他们穿过野外去冒险，直至马厩院的水槽边，甚至远到小牧场和浆果地。在猎狐犬中，它昂首阔步、不可一世，而对托茨和伊莎贝尔，它则完全熟视无睹，因为它是首领——主宰着米勒法官住处的所有飞禽走兽，包括人类。

巴克的父亲埃尔莫是一条奇大无比的圣伯纳德大犬，常常形影不离陪伴着法官，巴克有希望步它父亲的后尘。它没有那么大的个头——它只有一百四十磅重——因为它的母亲舍普是一条苏格兰牧羊犬。不过，一百四十磅的体重，再加上养尊处优的生活和大家的尊敬带来的高贵品性，使自己具有了十足的王者风范。在幼年成长的四年里，它过着心满意足的贵族生活；它对自己感到很得意，甚至有点儿自高自大，就像没有见过世面的乡绅们有时表现的那样。但是，它没有沦为一条被矫惯的看门狗。打猎之类的户外娱乐运动减少了它的脂肪，锻炼了它的肌肉；对它来说，像洗冷水浴的物种一样，爱好玩水也起到了强身健体的作用。

这就是一八九七年秋天巴克犬的行为特点，当时“克朗代克发现”把世界各地的人吸引到了冰天雪地的北方。但是，巴克不看报纸，也不知道曼努埃尔——园林主的一个助手——是一个不受欢迎的老相识。曼努埃尔有一个改不掉的恶习。他爱打中国牌九。而且，他在赌博时有一个改不掉的毛病——就是对某种下赌注方法坚信不疑；这也使他注定要倒霉。因为这样赌需要钱，而一个园林主助手的工钱连养活妻子和一大堆孩子都满足不了。

在曼努埃尔背叛的那个难忘之夜，法官在参加“葡萄干种植者协会”的一个会议，男孩们正在忙着组织一个运动俱乐部。谁也没有看到曼努埃尔和巴克穿过果园离开，巴克以为只是去散散步。只有一个人看到他们到了一个叫大学公园的信号停车站。这个人跟曼努埃尔交谈着，接着两人之间就响起了叮叮当当的数钱声。

“你捆一下再交货吧。”那个陌生人粗声地说。于是，曼努埃尔用一条粗绳在巴克项圈下的脖子上绕了两圈。

“拧一下，你就会让它透不过气来的。”曼努埃尔说，陌生人咕哝了一声，算是同意。

巴克不失体面地默默接受了那条绳子。固然，这是一个不同寻常的行动，但它已经学会了信任它认识的人，之所以对他们信任，是因为他们比自己聪明。但是，当绳子的两端放到陌生人手里时，它发出了威胁的低吼。它只是明确表示自己的不满，它自豪地相信，明确表示就是发出命令。但让它吃惊的是，它脖子上的绳子勒得太紧，勒得它喘不过气来。巴克马上勃然大怒，向那个人扑去。那个人极力不让它碰着，勒紧它的脖子，敏捷熟练地拧了一下，就把它仰面摔倒在地。随后，绳子被无情地勒紧，巴克狂怒挣扎，舌头从嘴里伸出来，宽大的胸部徒劳地喘息着。它长这么大，从来没有受过如此虐待，也从来没有发过这么大的火。但是，它的力气越来越小，眼睛变得模糊；当火车到站停下，两个人把它扔进行李车厢后，它就什么也不知道了。

接下来，它知道的是，它模糊感觉到舌头刺痛，它正在某种运输工具里晃来晃去。火车头通过道口时发出的刺耳汽笛声告诉它自己身在何处。它经常跟法官一起旅行，却不知道坐行李车厢是什么感觉。它睁开眼睛，眼里冒出无法控制的怒火，就像被绑架的国王那样。那个人扑向它的脖子，但巴克比他的动作还快，一口咬住他那只手，直到它又一次被勒得失去知觉才松开。

“对，狗病突然发作了。”说着，那个人藏起了他那只血肉模糊的手，以免被搏斗声吸引过来的行李员看到。“我要替老板把它带到旧金山。那里的一个一流兽医认为他能治好这条狗的病。”

在旧金山海边一家酒吧后面的小棚里，那个人口若悬河地说起了那天夜里乘车的经历。

“我只得到五十块，”他抱怨说，“就是给我一千块现金，我也不会再干了。”

他的手上裹着一块血手帕，右腿裤从膝盖撕破到了脚踝。

“那个小子得了多少？”酒吧老板问道。

“一百，”他答道，“少一个子都不行，所以要帮帮我。”

“那要一百五十块，”酒吧老板算道，“它值这么多钱，不然我就是笨蛋。”

绑架者解开血手帕，看着那只受伤的手。“要是我不得到狂犬病药——”

“那是因为你天生就该死，”酒吧老板笑道，“嘿，帮我一把，再拉你的货，”他补充说。

尽管头昏眼花，喉咙和舌头疼痛难忍，勒得半死，但巴克还是极力对付那些折磨它的人。然而，它被一次又一次地打翻在地，勒紧脖子，最后他们终于锉断了它脖子上那个粗大的铜项圈。随后，他们解开绳子，把它扔进了一只笼子似的板条箱里。

那天夜里剩下的时间，它疲倦地躺在板条箱里，自尊受到了伤害，怀恨在心。它不明白这到底是怎么回事。这些陌生人，他们想对他干什么？他们为什么要把它关进这个窄小的板条箱里？它不知道为什么，但它心情压抑，有一种大祸临头的模糊感觉。那天夜里，它一听到棚门咔嗒作响，就跳起来，盼望见到法官，或者至少见到男孩们。但是，每次都是一脸横肉的酒吧老板，借助暗淡的烛光，伸头在凝视着它。每次巴克喉咙颤抖要发出的欢叫，都变成凶猛的低吼。

但是，酒吧老板没有管它；第二天早上，四个人走进来，抬起了板条箱。巴克断定，他们又是来折磨它的人，因为他们一脸凶相，衣衫褴褛，头发蓬乱；于是，它隔着板条箱冲他们狂怒咆哮。他们只是哈哈一笑。用棍子捅它，它马上用牙齿咬住那些棍子，直到明白这正是他们的用意，它才松口。因此，它闷闷不乐地卧下来，任由他们把箱子抬进一辆货车。随后，它和那只囚禁它的箱子经过了好多人的手。先是快运站的业务员们看管它；接着另一辆货车又把它运走；一辆卡车载着它，跟一堆箱子和包裹上了一艘渡轮；下了渡轮后，它又进了一个大火车站，最后被放进了一节快车厢里。

这节快车厢被尖鸣的火车头拖着走了两天两夜，巴克两天两夜没吃没喝。信差们最初向它示好时，它心里有气，就冲他们低吼，他们就通过戏弄它，进行报复。当它浑身颤抖，口吐白沫，扑向箱壁时，他们就嘲笑它、奚落它。他们时而像癞皮狗一样吼叫，时而喵喵叫，挥舞手臂，扬扬得意。它知道，这都非常无聊；但因此也伤害了它的自尊，它的火气越来越大。饥饿它并不是十分在乎，但缺水喝却使它痛苦不堪，这更煽起了它心中的怒火。为此，它高度紧张，极其敏感，虐待已经点燃了它的怒火，加上口干舌燥，喉咙发肿，火烧火燎。

它对一件事感到高兴，那就是去掉了它脖子上的绳子。是绳子使他们得到一种不公平的优势；但既然去掉了，它就要给他们好看。他们绝不能再向它脖子上套绳子了。它对这件事下定了决心。两天两夜，它没吃没喝，在这痛苦煎熬的两天两夜中，它心里蓄满了怒火，所以第一个碰它的人，无论是谁，都会倒霉。它眼睛充满血丝，变成了凶神恶煞。它变得和过去迥然不同，就是法官看到，也不会认出它来；到了西雅图，那些信差把它卸下火车后才松了口气。

四个人小心翼翼地把板条箱从货车上卸下来，抬进一个垒有高墙的小后院。一个身穿领口松垮红毛衣的矮胖子走出来，在车夫的登记簿上签了字。巴克猜想，就是那个人，下一个折磨我的人。于是，它猛地扑向箱壁。那个人咧着嘴冷笑了一声，拿来一把短柄斧和一根棒子。

“你现在不打算把它弄出来吗？”车夫问。

“当然要放。”这个人一边回答，一边用斧头去撬板条箱。

那四个向院子里抬箱子的人顿时散开，爬到了墙头安全的地方，准备看热闹。

巴克冲向那块裂开的木头，牙齿牢牢咬住，连冲带扭。外面的斧头砍向哪里，它就在里面低吼咆哮着冲到哪里，迫不及待想出去，正如红衣人沉着冷静一心要让它出来一样。

“好了，你这红眼鬼。”说着，他已经撬开了一个口子，足以让巴克的身体钻过去。与此同时，他扔下斧头，把棍子换到了右手。

巴克也真的成了红眼鬼，只见它收拢身体，毛发竖起，嘴冒白沫，充血的眼睛闪着疯狂的光芒，纵身跃起，将一百四十磅凶神恶煞般、憋了两天两夜的身体，直接扑向那个人。跃到半空中，就在它的嘴要咬住那个人时，它受到了冲击；这一击拦住了它的身体，使它的牙齿痛苦地碰在一起。它旋转了一圈，倒在地上。它这辈子从来没有挨过棍子，所以不明白是怎么回事。它狂吠一声，这一声一半是咆哮，更多的是尖叫，它又一次站起来，跃向空中，结果再一次被击中，重重地摔倒在地。这一次，它明白原来是那根棍子，但它狂怒不已，无所顾忌。它进攻了十几次，那根棍子一次次阻挡它的冲锋，把它打倒在地。

在受到特别猛烈的一击后，它爬起来，头昏眼花，无法奔跑，踉踉跄跄来回转圈，鲜血从鼻子里、嘴里和耳朵里流了出来，漂亮的毛皮溅满了血。接下来，那个人走上前，蓄意在它的鼻子上狠狠打了一棍。它曾经受到的所有痛苦和这次的剧痛相比不足挂齿。它狂吼一声，简直像猛狮一样凶，又一次扑向那个人。但是，那个人把棍子从右手换到左手，冷静地抓住它的下颌，同时向下向后猛扭。巴克在空中绕了一个圈，接着又绕了半圈，然后头才着地重重摔倒。

巴克最后冲了一次。那个人故意忍了好久，才狠命地打了它一下；巴克缩成一团，倒在地上，被打得完全失去了知觉。

“我说，他驯狗还真有两下。”墙头上有个人热情地叫道。

“德鲁塞哪天不驯马，星期天还要治它们两次呢。”车夫爬上货车赶马启程时答道。

巴克恢复知觉，但没有恢复体力。它卧在倒下的地方，望着那个穿红毛衣的人。

“名叫巴克，”那个人自言自语，引用酒吧老板信上的话，那封信写明了板条箱和内容的交付情况。“好了，巴克，我的伙计，”他接着用亲切的声音说，“我们刚才闹了点儿不愉快，我们所能做的最好的事儿就是让它到此为止。你我都已经了解对方的情况了。做一条好狗，万事大吉，前途有望。做一条坏狗，我就要打得你魂飞魄散。明白吗？”

他一边说，一边无所畏惧地拍着他曾经残酷无情打过的脑袋；虽然那只手一摸巴克的毛发就不由自主地竖起，但它还是乖乖忍受。当那个人给它端来水时，它迫不及待地喝了下去，后来还从那个人手里一块接一块狼吞虎咽地吃下了不少生肉。

它被打败了（它明白这一点），但它没有被打垮。它彻底明白了，它没有希望跟手拿棍子的人斗。它已经吸取了这次教训，而且今后一辈子都绝不会忘记。那根棍子就是一个启示。它把巴克引入了原始法则的统治天地，而且巴克是半路才被引入的。无法更改的种种事实呈现出更残忍的一面；而当它无所畏惧地面对这一面时，它用本性唤起的一切潜在的狡猾也在醒来。随着一天天过去，其他的狗也来了，有的是用板条箱运来的，有的是用绳子牵来的，有的温顺，有的跟它来时一样狂怒咆哮。它看着它们在那个穿红毛衣的人的控制下一个个走过去。巴克一次次看着残忍的场面，教训非常深刻：手拿棍棒的人就是立法者，是必须服从的主人，尽管不一定要博得他的好感。对最后这一点，巴克从不愧疚，尽管它的确见过一些被打败的狗讨好那个人，又是摇尾，又是舔他的手。它还见过一条狗既不讨好也不服从，最后在争夺统治权的斗争中被打死了。

不时会有一些人来这，是一些陌生人，他们眉飞色舞地跟那个穿红毛衣的人说着谎话，千方百计奉承那个人。每当金钱易手时，那些陌生人就会牵走一条或几条狗。巴克不知道这些狗去了哪里，因为它们再也没有回来；但是，它对未来怀着强烈的恐惧，而且每次未被选中，它都非常高兴。

然而，最后终于轮到它了，来的是一个身材矮小、外貌枯槁的小个子，英语说得非常蹩脚，还有巴克听不懂的许多粗俗的怪叫。

“见鬼！”当他的目光落在巴克的身上时，他嚷道，“这条公狗真他妈的棒！呃？多少钱？”

“三百，就算白送了，”穿红毛衣的人马上答道，“既然这是政府的钱，你就不要再压价了，好吗，佩罗？”

佩罗咧嘴笑了笑。因为狗供不应求，且狗价飞涨，所以对这么好的一条狗来说，这价钱不能不算公平。加拿大政府绝不会损失什么，其公文也不会传递得更慢。佩罗懂狗；他看着巴克，就知道这条狗是千里挑一——“万里挑一。”他心里评论说。

巴克看到钱在他们之间转了手。所以，当那个干瘦小个子牵走它和一条性情温和的纽芬兰犬柯莉时，它并不吃惊。这是它最后看到这个穿红毛衣的人，而且当它和柯莉在“独角鲸号”的甲板上望着渐渐远去的西雅图时，也是它最后看到温暖的南方。佩罗把它和柯莉带到底舱，交给一个名叫弗朗索瓦的黑脸大汉。佩罗是法裔加拿大人，皮肤黝黑；而弗朗索瓦是法裔加拿大人混血儿，皮肤要黑上一倍。对巴克来说，他们又是一类人（它注定会见到更多类型的人），尽管它对他们并没有产生任何感情，但它依然真诚地尊重他们。它很快就明白了，佩罗和弗朗索瓦为人公正，执法冷静无私，而且对狗了如指掌，不会被狗欺骗。

在“独角鲸号”的甲板间，巴克和柯莉跟另两条狗待在了一起。其中一条是从斯匹茨卑尔根群岛来的浑身雪白的大家伙，它先被一位捕鲸船船长带走，后来又跟随一支地质勘探队到了北美洲的荒漠。

它很友好，不过也有些奸诈，心里想着什么诡计时会冲你面带笑意；比如，当它第一顿饭偷吃巴克的食物时，就是这样。巴克跳起来要惩罚它时，弗朗索瓦的鞭子啪的一声在空中抽响，先打在肇事者的身上；巴克只需去弄回那块骨头就是了。它断定，弗朗索瓦是公平的；巴克越来越尊重这个混血儿。

另一条狗既不献殷勤，也不搭理他人；它也不企图偷新来者的东西。它是一个郁郁寡欢、闷闷不乐的家伙，还对柯莉明确表示，它想做的就是独自待着，而且进一步表示，要是不让它单独待着，就会有麻烦。它名叫戴夫，吃吃睡睡，偶尔打打哈欠，对什么都不感兴趣，即使在“独角鲸号”穿越夏洛特皇后海峡，像着魔似的摇摆、颠簸和晃动时，也不感兴趣。当巴克和柯莉紧张不安，吓得半疯时，戴夫抬起头，好像受到了打搅似的，淡漠地看了它们一眼，打了个哈欠，又睡去了。

随着螺旋桨不知疲倦地律动着，轮船夜以继日地航行着；尽管每天都非常相似，但巴克明显感到天气越来越冷了。后来一天早晨，螺旋桨平静下来。“独角鲸号”上弥漫着激动的气氛。它感觉到了这种气氛，其他狗也感觉到了，明白不久就有变化了。弗朗索瓦给它们拴上皮带，把它们牵到了甲板上。巴克一踏上寒冷的舱面，蹄子就陷进了一种白乎乎、软绵绵、酷似烂泥的东西。它喷了喷鼻息跳了回去。更多的这种白色东西正在穿越天空向下落。它抖了抖身体，但身上落得越来越多。它好奇地嗅了嗅，然后用舌头舔了一些，感觉像火一样，但转眼就消失了。这使它迷惑不解。它又试了一下，结果还是一样。旁观的人哄笑起来，它感到窘迫，但又不明白为什么，因为这是它第一次见到雪。