"London, Jack - TO BUILD A FIRE" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jack)

air.

At the man's heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the
proper wolf dog, gray-coated and without any visible or
temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The
animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was
no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than
was told to the man by the man's judgement. In reality, it was
not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty
below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since
the freezing point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one
hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know
anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no
sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in
the man's brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a
vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink
along at the man's heels, and that made it question eagerly every
unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp
or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had
learned fire and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow
and cuddle its warmth away from the air

The frozen moisture of its (i.e. the dog's) breathing had
settled on its fur in a fine powder of frost, and especially were
its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its crystalled
breath. The man's red beard and mustache were likewise frosted,
but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and
increasing with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the
man was chewing tobacco and the muzzle of ice held his lips so
rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the
juice. The result was that a crystal beard of the color and
solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he
fell down it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle
fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. It was the penalty
all tobacco chewers paid in that country, and he had been out
before in two cold snaps. they had not been so cold as this, he
knew, but by the spirit thermometer at Sixty Mile he knew they
had registered at fifty below and at fifty-five.

He held on through the level stretch of woods for several
miles, crossed a wide flat of nigger heads, and dropped down a
bank to the frozen bed of a small stream. This was Henderson
Creek, and he knew he was ten miles from the forks. He looked at
his watch. It was ten o'clock. He was making four miles an hour,
and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half-past
twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch
there.

The dog dropped in again at his heels, with a tail drooping
discouragement, as the man sung along the creek bed. The furrow