"London, Jack - The Son of the Wolf and Other Tales of the North" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jack)

his brethren of other days.
Taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and Ruth
watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to
preserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. One after the other,
he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to
the ground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. Then he beat
the dogs into submission and harnessed them to two of the sleds,
loading the same with everything but the furs which enveloped Mason.
These he wrapped and lashed tightly about him, fastening either end of
the robes to the bent pines. A single stroke of his hunting knife
would release them and send the body high in the air.
Ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle.
Poor girl, she had learned the lesson of obedience well. From a child,
she had bowed, and seen all women bow, to the lords of creation, and
it did not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist. The Kid
permitted her one outburst of grief, as she kissed her husband- her
own people had no such custom- then led her to the foremost sled and
helped her into her snowshoes. Blindly, instinctively, she took the
gee pole and whip, and 'mushed' the dogs out on the trail. Then he
returned to Mason, who had fallen into a coma, and long after she
was out of sight crouched by the fire, waiting, hoping, praying for
his comrade to die.
It is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the White
Silence. The silence of gloom is merciful, shrouding one as with
protection and breathing a thousand intangible sympathies; but the
bright White Silence, clear and cold, under steely skies, is pitiless.
An hour passed- two hours- but the man would not die. At high noon
the sun, without raising its rim above the southern horizon, threw a
suggestion of fire athwart the heavens, then quickly drew it back.
Malemute Kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade's side. He cast
one glance about him. The White Silence seemed to sneer, and a great
fear came upon him. There was a sharp report; Mason swung into his
aerial sepulcher, and Malemute Kid lashed the dogs into a wild
gallop as he fled across the snow.
THE SON OF THE WOLF.

MAN RARELY PLACES A PROPER valuation upon his womankind, at least
not until deprived of them. He has no conception of the subtle
atmosphere exhaled by the sex feminine, so long as he bathes in it;
but let it be withdrawn, and an ever-growing void begins to manifest
itself in his existence, and he becomes hungry, in a vague sort of
way, for a something so indefinite that he cannot characterize it.
If his comrades have no more experience than himself, they will
shake their heads dubiously and dose him with strong physic. But the
hunger will continue and become stronger; he will lose interest in the
things of his everyday life and wax morbid; and one day, when the
emptiness has become unbearable, a revelation will dawn upon him.
In the Yukon country, when this comes to pass, the man usually
provisions a poling boat, if it is summer, and if winter, harnesses
his dogs, and heads for the Southland. A few months later, supposing