White Fang (story). The story "White Fang"

Jack London
White Fang

"Jack London. Essays. Volume 2": Pravda Publishing House; Moscow; 1984
Jack London
White Fang

Part one

CHAPTER FIRST
PURSUIT CHASE

A dark spruce forest stood frowning on both banks of the ice-bound river. A recent wind had torn the white cover of frost from the trees, and they, black, ominous, leaned towards each other in the approaching twilight. Deep silence reigned all around. This entire region, devoid of signs of life and its movement, was so deserted and cold that the spirit hovering over it could not even be called the spirit of sorrow. Laughter, but laughter more terrible than sorrow, was heard here - joyless laughter, like the smile of a sphinx, laughter, chilling in its soullessness, like a cold. This eternal wisdom - powerful, elevated above the world - laughed, seeing the futility of life, the futility of struggle. It was a wilderness—a wild Northern wilderness frozen to the very core.
Yet something alive moved within her and challenged her. A team of sled dogs was making its way along the frozen river. Their tousled fur became frosty in the cold, their breath froze in the air and settled in crystals on their skin. The dogs were in leather harnesses, and leather lines ran from them to the sleigh that was trailing behind. The sleigh without runners, made of thick birch bark, lay on the snow with its entire surface. Their front was bent upward, like a scroll, to crush the soft snow waves that rose towards them. On the sleigh stood a narrow, oblong box tightly strapped to it. There were other things there: clothes, an axe, a coffee pot, a frying pan; but what was most striking was the narrow oblong box that occupied most of the sleigh.
A man walked with difficulty in front of the dogs on wide skis. The second one walked behind the sleigh. On the sleigh, in a box, lay the third, for whom earthly labors were over, for the Northern wilderness had overcome, broken him, so that he could no longer move or fight. The northern wilderness does not like movement. She is up in arms against life, for life is movement, and the Northern wilderness strives to stop everything that moves. She freezes the water to delay her run to the sea; she sucks the juices from the tree, and his mighty heart grows numb from the cold; but with particular rage and cruelty, the Northern wilderness breaks the tenacity of man, because man is the most rebellious creature in the world, because man always rebels against her will, according to which all movement must ultimately cease.
And yet, in front and behind the sleigh walked two fearless and rebellious people who had not yet given up their lives. Their clothing was made of fur and soft tanned leather. Their eyelashes, cheeks and lips were so frozen from the breath congealing in the air that their faces could not be seen under the icy crust. This gave them the appearance of some kind of ghostly masks, gravediggers from the other world, burying a ghost. But these were not ghostly masks, but people who penetrated into the land of sorrow, ridicule and silence, daredevils who put all their pitiful strength into a daring plan and decided to compete with the power of a world as distant, deserted and alien to them as the vast expanse of space .
They walked in silence, saving their breath for walking. An almost tangible silence surrounded them on all sides. It pressed on the mind, like water at great depths presses on the body of a diver. It oppressed with the boundlessness and immutability of its law. It reached the innermost recesses of their consciousness, squeezing out of it, like juice from grapes, everything feigned, false, every tendency to be too high self-esteem, characteristic of the human soul, and instilled in them the idea that they were just insignificant, mortal creatures, specks of dust, midges who make their way at random, not noticing the play of the blind forces of nature.
An hour passed, another passed. The pale light of the short, dim day began to fade as a faint, distant howl echoed through the surrounding silence. He quickly soared upward, reached a high note, stayed there, trembling, but without losing strength, and then gradually froze. It could have been mistaken for the lamentation of someone's lost soul, if it had not been heard in it gloomy rage and the bitterness of hunger.
The man walking in front turned around, caught the eye of the one walking behind the sleigh, and they nodded to each other. And again a howl pierced the silence like a needle. They listened, trying to determine the direction of the sound. It came from the snowy expanses they had just passed through.
Soon a response howl was heard, also from somewhere behind, but a little to the left.
“They’re the ones chasing us, Bill,” said the man in front. His voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, and he spoke with obvious difficulty.
“They don’t have much prey,” answered his comrade. “For many days now I haven’t seen a single hare track.”
The travelers fell silent, listening intently to the howl that was constantly heard behind them.
As soon as darkness fell, they turned the dogs towards the spruce trees on the river bank and stopped for a break. The coffin, taken from the sleigh, served them as both a table and a bench. Huddled together on the other side of the fire, the dogs growled and squabbled, but did not show the slightest desire to run away into the darkness.
“They’re huddling too close to the fire,” said Bill.
Henry, who had squatted in front of the fire to set a coffee pot with a piece of ice on the fire, nodded silently. He spoke only after he sat down on the coffin and began to eat.
- They protect their skin. They know that here they will be fed, and there they themselves will go to feed someone. You can't fool dogs.
Bill shook his head.
- Who knows!
The comrade looked at him with curiosity.
“This is the first time I’ve heard you doubt their intelligence.”
“Henry,” Bill said, slowly chewing his
“But didn’t you notice how the dogs were squabbling when I fed them?”
“Indeed, there was more fuss than usual,” Henry confirmed.
- How many dogs do we have, Henry?
- Six.
“So…” Bill paused to give more weight to his words. “I also say that we have six dogs.” I took six fish from the bag and gave each dog one fish. And one was missing, Henry.
- So, I got shortchanged.
“We have six dogs,” Bill repeated blankly. — I took six fish. One Ear didn't have enough fish. I had to take another fish from the bag.
“We only have six dogs,” Henry insisted.
“Henry,” Bill continued, “I’m not saying that they were all dogs, but seven got the fish.”
Henry stopped chewing, looked across the fire at the dogs and counted them.
“There are only six there now,” he said.
“The seventh ran away, I saw,” Bill said with calm insistence. - There were seven of them.
Henry looked at him with compassion and said:
“We wish you and I could get to the place as soon as possible.”
- How is this to be understood?
- And so, because of this luggage that we are carrying, you yourself have become not yourself, so you are imagining God knows what.
“I’ve already thought about that,” Bill answered seriously. “As soon as she ran, I immediately looked at the snow and saw footprints; then I counted the dogs - there were six of them. And the traces - here they are. Would you like to take a look? Let's go - I'll show you.
Henry didn't answer him and continued chewing in silence. Having eaten the beans, he washed them down with hot coffee, wiped his mouth with his hand and said:
- So, in your opinion, this is...
A long, melancholy howl did not allow him to finish. He listened silently, and then finished the sentence he had begun, pointing his finger back into the darkness:
-...is this a guest from there? Bill nodded.
“No matter how you turn around, you can’t think of anything else.” You yourself heard what kind of squabble the dogs started.
A prolonged howl was heard more and more often, answering howls were heard from afar - the silence turned into a living hell. Howls came from all sides, and the dogs huddled in fear so close to the fire that the fire almost scorched their fur.
Bill threw some wood on the fire and lit his pipe.
“I see you’re quite depressed,” said Henry.
“Henry...” Bill sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. “I keep thinking, Henry: he’s much happier than you and me.” - And Bill tapped his finger on the coffin on which they were sitting - When we die, Henry, it’s good if at least a pile of stones lies over our bodies so that the dogs don’t eat them.
“But neither you nor I have any relatives or money,” said Henry. “It’s unlikely that they’ll take you and me to bury you so far away; we can’t afford such a funeral.”
“What I just can’t understand, Henry, is why a man who was a lord or something like that in his homeland and didn’t have to worry about food or warm blankets, why would such a man need to scour the the edge of the world, in this godforsaken country?..
- Yes. If I had stayed at home, I would have lived to an old age,” Henry agreed.
His comrade opened his mouth, but said nothing. Instead, he extended his hand into the darkness, which was approaching them like a wall from all sides. In the darkness no definite shape could be discerned; only a pair of eyes were visible, burning like coals.
Henry silently pointed to the second pair and the third. A circle of burning eyes gathered around their camp. From time to time a couple would change place or disappear, only to reappear a second later.
The dogs became more and more worried and suddenly, overcome with fear, they huddled together almost right next to the fire, crawled up to the people and huddled at their feet. In the dump, one dog fell into a fire; she screamed in pain and horror, and the air smelled of burnt fur. The ring of eyes opened for a minute and even stepped back a little, but as soon as the dogs calmed down, it was back in its original place.
- What a problem, Henry! Not enough cartridges!
Having finished smoking his pipe, Bill helped his companion lay out the fur bed and blanket on top of the spruce branches that he had thrown on the snow before dinner. Henry grunted and began to untie his moccasins.
- How many cartridges do you have left? - he asked.
“Three,” came the answer. - We should have three hundred. I would show them, the devils!
He angrily shook his fist at the burning eyes and began to place his moccasins in front of the fire.
- When will these frosts end! - Bill continued. “It’s been fifty and fifty degrees for the second week now.” And why did I embark on this journey, Henry! I don't like it. Somehow I don't feel at ease. I wish I could come quickly and be done with it! If only you and I were sitting by the fireplace in Fort McGarry right now, playing cribbage... I would give a lot for that!
Henry grumbled something and began to pack up. He had already dozed off when suddenly the voice of his comrade woke him up:
“You know, Henry, what worries me?” Why didn’t the dogs attack the newcomer who also got the fish?
“You’ve become very restless, Bill,” came the sleepy answer. “This has never happened to you before.” Stop talking, go to sleep, and in the morning you will get up as if nothing had happened. You have heartburn, that's why you're worried.
They slept side by side, under the same blanket, breathing heavily in their sleep. The fire went out, and the circle of burning eyes that surrounded the parking lot closed closer and closer.
The dogs huddled together, growling menacingly when any pair of eyes got too close. They growled so loudly that Bill woke up. Carefully, trying not to wake up his comrade, he crawled out from under the blanket and threw some brushwood on the fire. The fire flared brighter, and the ring of eyes moved back.
Bill looked at the huddled group of dogs, rubbed his eyes, took a closer look, and climbed back under the covers.
- Henry! - he called out to his comrade. - Henry! Henry groaned as he woke up and asked:
- Well, what's there?
“Nothing,” he heard, “only there are seven of them again.” I've counted it now.
Henry greeted this news with a grumble, which immediately turned into snoring, and fell back into sleep.
In the morning he woke up first and woke up his comrade. There were still three hours left before dawn, although it was already six o'clock in the morning. In the dark, Henry busied himself preparing breakfast, while Bill rolled up the bed and began packing his things into the sleigh.
“Listen, Henry,” he asked suddenly, “how many dogs do you say we had?”
- Six.
- That’s wrong! - he declared triumphantly.
- Seven again? - Henry asked.
- No, five. One is missing.
- What a devil! - Henry shouted angrily, and, abandoning the cooking, went to count the dogs.
“That's right, Bill,” he said. - Fatty ran away.
“He slipped away so quickly that they didn’t even notice.” Go find him now.
“It’s a lost cause,” Henry replied. - Eaten alive. He probably squealed more than once when these devils began to tear at him.
“Fatty was always a little stupid,” said Bill.
“The stupidest dog will still have enough sense not to go to certain death.”
He looked around at the other dogs, quickly assessing the merits of each in his mind.
“These guys are smarter, they won’t do something like that.”
“You can’t drive them away from the fire with a stick,” Bill agreed. “I always thought that Fatty was not all right.”
Such was the funeral oration dedicated to the dog who died on the Northern Route - and it was no more stingy than many other epitaphs for dead dogs, and, perhaps, for people.

CHAPTER TWO
WOLF

After having breakfast and packing their meager belongings into the sleigh, Bill and Henry left the welcoming fire and moved into the darkness. And immediately a howl was heard - a wild, mournful howl; through the darkness and cold it reached them from everywhere. The travelers walked in silence. It dawned at nine o'clock.
At noon, the sky in the south turned pink - in the place where the bulge of the globe stands as a barrier between the midday sun and the country of the North. But the pink glow quickly faded. The gray daylight that replaced it lasted until three o'clock, then it too went out, and the canopy of arctic night fell over the deserted, silent region.
As soon as darkness fell, the howl that pursued the travelers to the right, and to the left, and from behind, was heard closer; at times it sounded so close that the dogs could not stand it and began to rush about in the tracks.
After one of these attacks panic fear When Bill and Henry got the team in order again, Bill said:
“It would be nice if they attacked some game and left us alone.”
“Yes, it’s not pleasant to listen to them,” Henry agreed. And they fell silent until the next halt.
Henry was standing bent over a boiling pot of beans, adding crushed ice, when suddenly behind him he heard the sound of a blow, Bill's exclamation and a piercing squeal.

CHAPTER FIRST
PURSUIT CHASE

A dark spruce forest stood frowning on both banks of the ice-bound river. A recent wind had torn the white cover of frost from the trees, and they, black, ominous, leaned towards each other in the approaching twilight. Deep silence reigned all around. This entire region, devoid of signs of life and its movement, was so deserted and cold that the spirit hovering over it could not even be called the spirit of sorrow. Laughter, but laughter more terrible than sorrow, was heard here - joyless laughter, like the smile of a sphinx, laughter, chilling in its soullessness, like a cold. This eternal wisdom - powerful, elevated above the world - laughed, seeing the futility of life, the futility of struggle. It was a wilderness - a wild Northern wilderness frozen to the very core.

Yet something alive moved within her and challenged her. A team of sled dogs was making its way along the frozen river. Their tousled fur became frosty in the cold, their breath froze in the air and settled in crystals on their skin. The dogs were in leather harnesses, and leather lines ran from them to the sleigh that was trailing behind. The sleigh without runners, made of thick birch bark, lay on the snow with its entire surface. Their front was bent upward, like a scroll, to crush the soft snow waves that rose towards them. On the sleigh stood a narrow, oblong box tightly strapped to it. There were other things there: clothes, an axe, a coffee pot, a frying pan; but what was most striking was the narrow oblong box that occupied most of the sleigh.

A man walked with difficulty in front of the dogs on wide skis. The second one walked behind the sleigh. On the sleigh, in a box, lay the third, for whom earthly labors were over, for the Northern wilderness had overcome, broken him, so that he could no longer move or fight. The northern wilderness does not like movement. She is up in arms against life, for life is movement, and the Northern wilderness strives to stop everything that moves. She freezes the water to delay her run to the sea; she sucks the juices from the tree, and his mighty heart grows numb from the cold; but with particular rage and cruelty, the Northern wilderness breaks the tenacity of man, because man is the most rebellious creature in the world, because man always rebels against her will, according to which all movement must ultimately cease.

And yet, in front and behind the sleigh walked two fearless and rebellious people who had not yet given up their lives. Their clothing was made of fur and soft tanned leather. Their eyelashes, cheeks and lips were so frozen from the breath congealing in the air that their faces could not be seen under the icy crust. This gave them the appearance of some kind of ghostly masks, gravediggers from the other world, burying a ghost. But these were not ghostly masks, but people who penetrated into the land of sorrow, ridicule and silence, daredevils who put all their pitiful strength into a daring plan and decided to compete with the power of a world as distant, deserted and alien to them as the vast expanse of space .

They walked in silence, saving their breath for walking. An almost tangible silence surrounded them on all sides. It pressed on the mind, like water at great depths presses on the body of a diver. It oppressed with the boundlessness and immutability of its law. It reached the innermost recesses of their consciousness, squeezing out from it, like juice from grapes, everything feigned, false, every tendency towards too high self-esteem characteristic of the human soul, and instilled in them the idea that they were just insignificant, mortal creatures, specks of dust, midges that make their way at random, not noticing the play of the blind forces of nature.

An hour passed, another passed. The pale light of the short, dim day began to fade as a faint, distant howl echoed through the surrounding silence. He quickly soared upward, reached a high note, stayed there, trembling, but without losing strength, and then gradually froze. It could have been mistaken for the lamentation of someone's lost soul, if it had not been heard in it gloomy rage and the bitterness of hunger.

The man walking in front turned around, caught the eye of the one walking behind the sleigh, and they nodded to each other. And again a howl pierced the silence like a needle. They listened, trying to determine the direction of the sound. It came from the snowy expanses they had just passed through.

Soon a response howl was heard, also from somewhere behind, but a little to the left.

“They’re the ones chasing us, Bill,” said the one walking in front. His voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, and he spoke with obvious difficulty.

“They have little prey,” answered his comrade. “For many days now I have not seen a single hare’s footprint.”

The travelers fell silent, listening intently to the howl that was constantly heard behind them.

As soon as darkness fell, they turned the dogs towards the spruce trees on the river bank and stopped for a break. The coffin, taken from the sleigh, served them as both a table and a bench. Huddled together on the other side of the fire, the dogs growled and squabbled, but did not show the slightest desire to run away into the darkness.

“They’re huddling too close to the fire,” Bill said.

Henry, who had squatted in front of the fire to set a coffee pot with a piece of ice on the fire, nodded silently. He spoke only after he sat down on the coffin and began to eat.

They protect their skin. They know that here they will be fed, and there they themselves will go to feed someone. You can't fool dogs.

Bill shook his head.

Who knows!

The comrade looked at him with curiosity.

This is the first time I've heard you doubt their intelligence.

“Henry,” Bill said, slowly chewing his

“But didn’t you notice how the dogs were squabbling when I fed them?”

White Fang's father was a wolf, and his mother, Kichi, was half wolf and half dog. He was born in the Northern Wilderness and was the only one of the entire brood to survive. In the North one often has to go hungry, and this is what killed his sisters and brothers. The father, a one-eyed wolf, soon dies in an unequal fight with a lynx. The wolf cub and mother are left alone. The world is full of surprises, and one day, on the way to the stream, the wolf cub stumbles upon unfamiliar creatures - people. It turns out that the wolf's name is Kichi and she has an owner - Gray Beaver. Gray Beaver again becomes Kichi's master. He now also owns a wolf cub, to which he gives the name White Fang. It is difficult for White Fang to get used to his new life in the Indian camp: he is constantly forced to repel the attacks of dogs, he has to strictly observe the laws of people whom he considers gods, often cruel, sometimes fair. Evoking only one hatred among his brothers and people and always at enmity with everyone, White Fang develops quickly, but one-sidedly. While changing the location of the camp, White Fang runs away, but, finding himself alone, he feels fear and loneliness. Driven by them, he searches for the Indians. White Fang becomes a sled dog. After some time, he is placed at the head of the team, which further increases the hatred of his brothers, whom he rules with ferocious inflexibility. Hard work in harness strengthens White Fang's strength, and his mental development ends. Devotion to a person becomes a law for him, and a wolf cub born in the wild produces a dog in which there is much of the wolf, and yet it is a dog, not a wolf. One day, after getting Gray Beaver drunk, Handsome Smith buys White Fang from him and, with severe beatings, makes him understand who his new owner. White Fang hates this crazy god, but is forced to obey him. Handsome Smith turns White Fang into a real professional fighter and organizes dog fights. But a fight with a bulldog almost becomes fatal for White Fang. The bulldog grabs him in the chest and, without opening his jaws, hangs on him, grabbing him with his teeth higher and higher and getting closer to his throat. Seeing that the battle is lost, Handsome Smith, having lost the remnants of his mind, begins to beat White Fang and trample him underfoot. The dog is saved by a tall young man, a visiting engineer from the mines, Weedon Scott. Unclenching the bulldog's jaws with the help of a revolver barrel, he frees White Fang from the enemy's deadly grip. Then he buys the dog from Handsome Smith. White Fang soon comes to his senses and shows his anger and rage to the new owner. But Scott has the patience to tame the dog with affection, and this awakens in White Fang all those feelings that were dormant and already half-dead in him. Then his new owner brings him to California. In California, White Fang has to get used to completely new conditions, and he succeeds. The Collie Sheepdog, who has been annoying the dog for a long time, eventually becomes his friend. White Fang begins to love Scott's children, and he also likes Weedon's father, the judge. Judge Scott White Fang manages to save one of his convicts, the inveterate criminal Jim Hall, from revenge. White Fang bit Hall to death, but he put three bullets into the dog; in the fight, the dog's back leg and several ribs were broken. After a long recovery, all the bandages are removed from White Fang, and he staggers out onto the sunny lawn. And soon he and Collie have little cute puppies...

Year of publication of the book: 1906

Jack London's story "White Fang" is one of the most famous works writer. It has been filmed more than once in a wide variety of interpretations all over the world. The book "White Fang" is included in the school curriculum of many educational institutions throughout the world and has become a unique example of the relationship between humans and animals.

The story "White Fang" summary

In Jack London's story "White Fang" summary you will learn about the life of a puppy who was born to a half-wolf, half-dog - Kichi and a wolf. The puppy's father died in a battle with a lynx, and the puppy's siblings died of starvation. Therefore, he and his mother comprehend the “law of prey” - eat or you will be eaten. But one day he sees unfamiliar creatures - people. He crouches to the ground, but when they try to pet him, he bites his hand. For this he receives a painful blow to the head. His mother rushes to his aid, but then hears the cry of “Kichi!” It was one of the Indians who recognized his dog, which had gone into the forest in the last hungry year. With surprise, the puppy watches as the mother crawls on her belly towards the Indian. So the puppy, along with Kichi, becomes the property of the Gray Beaver. And the puppy receives the nickname White Fang.

Further in Jack London's story "White Fang" you can read about the formation of White Fang in the Indian camp. Neither dogs nor people liked him here. Therefore, he quickly had to become a good fighter and acquire cunning. At the same time, he clearly learned the lesson of human integrity. One day, during a change of camp, he ran away. But he became so lonely that he returned to people. Soon main character In the story "White Fang" London becomes a sled dog, and then the leader of the team. This makes the other dogs hate him even more, but he controls them relentlessly.

The life of the main character in Jack London's book White Fang changes when Gray Beaver brings furs, moccasins and mittens to Fort Yukon. He decides not to rush and sell everything at a higher price. Here White Fang sees white people for the first time and concludes that white people are even more powerful gods than the Indians. White people having fun dog fights and White Fang is a master at this. One day, a coward and a freak obsessed with fighting, Handsome Smith gets Gray Beaver drunk and buys a dog from him. By beating him, he makes White Fang realize that he is now his master. Handsome Smith trains him and sends him to fights. For White Fang, this is the only way to prove himself and he has no equal. And Handsome Smith is collecting money. But one day White Fang gets into a fight with a bulldog. He grabs him by the chest and begins to move closer to his throat. White Fang can't do anything. Handsome Smith understands this and begins to beat the dog. White Fang is saved from imminent death by a young engineer from the mines, Weedon Scott. With a revolver, he unclenches the bulldog's jaw and gives the dog a bath.

Further in London's book "White Fang" you can read about how the main character quickly recovers from his wounds. He demonstrates his rage to his new owner. But Whedon wants to atone to the dog for all the torment that people caused him. Therefore, he tries to tame the dog with affection. He succeeds in this only after he leaves home for a long period of time and White Fang realizes how lonely he is without this person. But the dog gave Handsome Smith what he deserved when he tried to steal White Clack. But Smith's contract is coming to an end and he must return to California. He fears that the dog will not survive climate change and decides to leave it here. But White Fang breaks the window and runs to the pier. Touched by Whedon, he can’t help but take the main character with him.

This is how it begins for the protagonist of Jack London's story "White Fang" new stage life. He gets used to the climate quite quickly. And here he makes a girlfriend, Collie, who at first did not welcome him very warmly. He fell in love with the Scott family and even saved Whedon's father from death. The fact is that he was a judge and one day repeat offender Jim Hall decided to take revenge on him. But White Fang did not let him do this. Although in the struggle he received three bullet wounds and broke hind paw. Doctors said he would not survive. But White Fang survived and was met on the lawn near the house by Collie and their puppies together.

The book “White Fang” on the Top books website

Jack London's book "White Fang" is so popular to read that this is not the first time it has been included in our rating. And given its presence in school curriculum, as well as a fairly stable interest in her, she has established herself in this ranking seriously and for a long time.

Jack London

White Fang

Part one

CHAPTER FIRST. PURSUIT CHASE

A dark spruce forest stood frowning on both banks of the ice-bound river. A recent wind had torn the white cover of frost from the trees, and they, black, ominous, leaned towards each other in the approaching twilight. Deep silence reigned all around. This entire region, devoid of signs of life and its movement, was so deserted and cold that the spirit hovering over it could not even be called the spirit of sorrow. Laughter, but laughter more terrible than sorrow, was heard here - joyless laughter, like the smile of a sphinx, laughter, chilling in its soullessness, like a cold. This eternal wisdom - powerful, elevated above the world - laughed, seeing the futility of life, the futility of struggle. It was a wilderness - a wild Northern wilderness frozen to the very core.

Yet something alive moved within her and challenged her. A team of sled dogs was making its way along the frozen river. Their tousled fur became frosty in the cold, their breath froze in the air and settled in crystals on their skin. The dogs were in leather harnesses, and leather lines ran from them to the sleigh that was trailing behind. The sleigh without runners, made of thick birch bark, lay on the snow with its entire surface. Their front was bent upward, like a scroll, to crush the soft snow waves that rose towards them. On the sleigh stood a narrow, oblong box tightly strapped to it. There were other things there: clothes, an axe, a coffee pot, a frying pan; but what was most striking was the narrow, oblong box that occupied most of the sleigh.

A man walked with difficulty in front of the dogs on wide skis. The second one walked behind the sleigh. On the sleigh, in a box, lay the third, for whom earthly labors were over, for the Northern wilderness had overcome, broken him, so that he could no longer move or fight. The northern wilderness does not like movement. She is up in arms against life, for life is movement, and the Northern wilderness strives to stop everything that moves. She freezes the water to delay her run to the sea; she sucks the juices from the tree, and his mighty heart grows numb from the cold; but with particular rage and cruelty, the Northern wilderness breaks the tenacity of man, because man is the most rebellious creature in the world, because man always rebels against her will, according to which all movement must ultimately cease.

And yet, in front and behind the sleigh walked two fearless and rebellious people who had not yet given up their lives. Their clothing was made of fur and soft tanned leather. Their eyelashes, cheeks and lips were so frozen from the breath congealing in the air that their faces could not be seen under the icy crust. This gave them the appearance of some kind of ghostly masks, gravediggers from the other world, burying a ghost. But these were not ghostly masks, but people who penetrated into the land of sorrow, ridicule and silence, daredevils who put all their pitiful strength into a daring plan and decided to compete with the power of a world as distant, deserted and alien to them as the vast expanse of space .

They walked in silence, saving their breath for walking. An almost tangible silence surrounded them on all sides. It pressed on the mind, like water at great depths presses on the body of a diver. It oppressed with the boundlessness and immutability of its law. It reached the innermost recesses of their consciousness, squeezing out from it, like juice from grapes, everything feigned, false, every tendency towards too high self-esteem characteristic of the human soul, and instilled in them the idea that they were just insignificant, mortal creatures, specks of dust, midges that make their way at random, not noticing the play of the blind forces of nature.

An hour passed, another passed. The pale light of the short, dim day began to fade as a faint, distant howl echoed through the surrounding silence. He quickly soared upward, reached a high note, stayed there, trembling, but without losing strength, and then gradually froze. It could have been mistaken for the lamentation of someone's lost soul, if it had not been heard in it gloomy rage and the bitterness of hunger.

The man walking in front turned around, caught the eye of the one walking behind the sleigh, and they nodded to each other. And again a howl pierced the silence like a needle. They listened, trying to determine the direction of the sound. It came from the snowy expanses they had just passed through.

Soon a response howl was heard, also from somewhere behind, but a little to the left.

“They’re the ones chasing us, Bill,” said the one walking in front. His voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, and he spoke with obvious difficulty.

“They don’t have much booty,” his comrade answered. - I haven’t seen a single hare footprint for many days now.

The travelers fell silent, listening intently to the howl that was constantly heard behind them.

As soon as darkness fell, they turned the dogs towards the spruce trees on the river bank and stopped for a break. The coffin, taken from the sleigh, served them as both a table and a bench. Huddled together on the other side of the fire, the dogs growled and squabbled, but did not show the slightest desire to run away into the darkness.

“They’re huddling too close to the fire,” Bill said.

Henry, who had squatted in front of the fire to set a coffee pot with a piece of ice on the fire, nodded silently. He spoke only after he sat down on the coffin and began to eat.

They protect their skin. They know that here they will be fed, and there they themselves will go to feed someone. You can't fool dogs.

Bill shook his head.

Who knows! The comrade looked at him with curiosity.

This is the first time I've heard you doubt their intelligence.

Henry,” said Bill, slowly chewing the beans, “didn’t you notice how the dogs squabbled when I fed them?”

Indeed, there was more fuss than usual,” Henry confirmed.

How many dogs do we have? Henry?

So... - Bill paused to give more weight to his words. - I also say that we have six dogs. I took six fish from the bag and gave each dog one fish. And one was not enough. Henry.

So, I miscalculated.

“We have six dogs,” Bill repeated blankly. - I took six fish. One Ear didn't have enough fish. I had to take another fish from the bag.

“We only have six dogs,” Henry insisted.

Henry,” Bill continued, “I’m not saying that they were all dogs, but seven got the fish.

Henry stopped chewing, looked across the fire at the dogs and counted them.

There are only six there now,” he said.

The seventh ran away, I saw,” Bill said with calm insistence. - There were seven of them.

Henry looked at him with compassion and said:

We wish we could get to the place as quickly as possible.

How is this to be understood?

And so, because of this luggage that we are carrying, you yourself have become not yourself, so you are imagining God knows what.

“I’ve already thought about that,” Bill answered seriously. “As soon as she ran, I immediately looked at the snow and saw footprints; then I counted the dogs - there were six of them. And the traces - here they are. Would you like to take a look? Let's go - I'll show you.

Henry didn't answer him and continued chewing in silence. Having eaten the beans, he washed them down with hot coffee, wiped his mouth with his hand and said:

So, in your opinion, this is...

A long, melancholy howl did not allow him to finish.

He listened silently, and then finished the sentence he had begun, pointing his finger back into the darkness:

-...is this a guest from there?

Bill nodded.

No matter how you turn, you can’t come up with anything else. You yourself heard what kind of squabble the dogs started.

A prolonged howl was heard more and more often, answering howls were heard from afar - the silence turned into a living hell. Howls came from all sides, and the dogs huddled in fear so close to the fire that the fire almost scorched their fur.

Bill threw some wood on the fire and lit his pipe.

“I see you’re completely depressed,” said Henry.

Henry... - Bill sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. - I keep thinking. Henry: he's much happier than you and me. - And Bill tapped his finger on the coffin on which they were sitting. - When we die. Henry, it would be good if at least a pile of stones lay over our bodies so that the dogs don’t eat them.

“But neither you nor I have any relatives or money,” said Henry. “It’s unlikely that they’ll take you and me to bury you so far away; we can’t afford such a funeral.”