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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com - Call Of The Wild by Jack London
As twilight fell the old bull stood with lowered head, watching his
mates-the cows he had known, the calves he had fathered, the
bulls he had mastered-as they shambled on at a rapid pace
through the fading light. He could not follow, for before his nose
leaped the merciless fanged terror that would not let him go. Three
hundredweight more than half a ton he weighed; he had lived a
long, strong life, full of fight and struggle, and at the end he faced
death at the teeth of a creature whose head did not reach beyond
his great knuckled knees.

From then on, night and day, Buck never left his prey, never gave
it a moment’s rest, never permitted it to browse the leaves of the
trees or the shoots of young birch and willow. Nor did he give the
wounded bull opportunity to slake his burning thirst in the slender
trickling streams they crossed. Often, in desperation, he burst into
long stretches of flight. At such times Buck did not attempt to stay
him, but loped easily at his heels, satisfied with the way the game
was played, lying down when the moose stood still, attacking him
fiercely when he strove to eat or drink.

The great head drooped more and more under its tree of horns,
and the shambling trot grew weak and weaker. He took to
standing for long periods, with nose to the ground and dejected
ears dropped limply; and Buck found more time in which to get
water for himself and in which to rest. At such moments, panting
with red lolling tongue and with eyes fixed upon the big bull, it
appeared to Buck that a change was coming over the face of things.
He could feel a new stir in the land. As the moose were coming
into the land, other kinds of life were coming in.

Forest and stream and air seemed palpitant with their presence.
The news of it was borne in upon him, not by sight, or sound, or
smell, but by some other and subtler sense. He heard nothing, saw
nothing, yet knew that the land was somehow different; that
through it strange things were afoot and ranging; and he resolved
to investigate after he had finished the business in hand.

At last, at the end of the fourth day, he pulled the great moose
down. For a day and night he remained by the kill, eating and
sleeping, turn and turn about.

Then, rested, refreshed and strong, he turned his face toward camp
and John Thornton. He broke into the long easy lope, and went on,
hour after hour, never at loss for the tangled way, heading straight
home through strange country with a certitude of direction that put
man and his magnetic needle to shame.
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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com - Call Of The Wild by Jack London



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