“Where’s Wolf?” she asked.
“He was here a moment ago.” Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed the landscape. “He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him.”
“Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!” she called, as they left the clearing and took the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the county road.
Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent to her efforts a shrill2 whistling.
She covered her ears hastily and made a wry3 grimace4.
“My! for a poet, delicately attuned5 and all the rest of it, you can make unlovely noises. My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle—”
“Orpheus.”
“I was about to say a street-arab,” she concluded severely6.
“Poesy does not prevent one from being practical—at least it doesn’t prevent me. Mine is no futility7 of genius that can’t sell gems8 to the magazines.”
He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on:
“I am no attic9 singer, no ballroom10 warbler. And why? Because I am practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute11 itself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove12 of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook13. I am a beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursue utility, dear Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine editors I transmute my song into a waft14 of the west wind sighing through our redwoods, into a murmur15 of waters over mossy stones that sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the same song wonderfully—er—transmuted16.”
“O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!” she laughed.
“Name one that wasn’t.”
“Those two beautiful sonnets18 that you transmuted into the cow that was accounted the worst milker in the township.”
“She was beautiful—” he began,
“But she didn’t give milk,” Madge interrupted.
“But she was beautiful, now, wasn’t she?” he insisted.
“And here’s where beauty and utility fall out,” was her reply. “And there’s the Wolf!”
From the thicket20-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, appeared a wolf’s head and shoulders. His braced21 fore22 paws dislodged a pebble23, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at them.
“You Wolf, you!” and “You blessed Wolf!” the man and woman called out to him.
The ears flattened24 back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to snuggle under the caress26 of an invisible hand.
They watched him scramble27 backward into the thicket, then proceeded on their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature avalanche28 of pebbles29 and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing30 from the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding31 effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion.
In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. There the dog unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath32 to a yellow that was dingy33 because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the persistent34 and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin topazes, golden and brown.
The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain cottage. Footsore and famished35, he had killed a rabbit under their very noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled36 at for his pains, and Madge likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk.
A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs38 and bristling39 hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at a safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained why he lingered; and when he had recuperated40, after several days’ sojourn41, he disappeared.
And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away into the northern part of the state. Riding along on the train, near to the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon42 road, brown and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred miles of travel.
Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the vagrant43 on the outskirts44 of the town. The return trip was made in the baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. Here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. But it was very circumspect45 love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He never barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark.
To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate made, on which was stamped: Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma County, California. This was riveted46 to a collar and strapped47 about the dog’s neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly48 he disappeared. A day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when captured.
He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed49 of an obsession50 that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, after he had expended51 the selling price of a sonnet17 in getting the animal back from northern Oregon.
Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was picked up and returned “Collect.” A remarkable52 thing was the speed with which he travelled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he devoted53 all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first day’s run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He always arrived back lean and hungry and savage54, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving55 his way northward56 in response to some prompting of his being that no one could understand.
But at last, after a futile57 year of flight, he accepted the inevitable58 and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to him. A low growl59 greeted such approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl37—a snarl so terrible and malignant60 that it awed61 the stoutest62 of them, as it likewise awed the farmers’ dogs that knew ordinary dog-snarling, but had never seen wolf-snarling before.
He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. Her brother was burrowing63 for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject.
But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf’s ears, obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated over his past, and tried to conjure64 up (from what they had read and heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament65 which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation66 was great enough to draw from him that canine67 cry.
Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge’s skirts were something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach him at all.
On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then it was that Walt put forth68 special effort, making it a practice to have Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred69 that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Wait properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to exercise a natural taste and an unbiassed judgment70.
“It’s about time I heard from those triolets,” Walt said, after a silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily71 down the trail. “There’ll be a check at the post-office, I know, and we’ll transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple72 syrup73, and a new pair of overshoes for you.”
“And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson’s beautiful cow,” Madge added. “To-morrow’s the first of the month, you know.”
Walt scowled74 unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his hand to his breast pocket.
“Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milker in California.”
“When did you write it?” she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, “And you never showed it to me.”
“I saved it to read to you on the way to the post-office, in a spot remarkably75 like this one,” he answered, indicating, with a wave of his hand, a dry log on which to sit.
A tiny stream flowed out of a dense76 fern-brake, slipped down a mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the valley arose the mellow77 song of meadow-larks, while about them, in and out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies.
Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly from his manuscript. It was a crunching78 of heavy feet, punctuated79 now and again by the clattering80 of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of the trail. He was bare-headed and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted81 starched82 collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore.
“Warm day,” Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and never missed an opportunity to practise it.
The man paused and nodded.
“I guess I ain’t used much to the warm,” he vouchsafed83 half apologetically. “I’m more accustomed to zero weather.”
“You don’t find any of that in this country,” Walt laughed.
“Should say not,” the man answered. “An’ I ain’t here a-lookin’ for it neither. I’m tryin’ to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. Her name’s Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson.”
“You’re not her Klondike brother!” Madge cried, her eyes bright with interest, “about whom we’ve heard so much?”
“Yes’m, that’s me,” he answered modestly. “My name’s Miller84, Skiff Miller. I just thought I’d s’prise her.”
“You are on the right track then. Only you’ve come by the foot-path.” Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon85 a quarter of a mile. “You see that blasted redwood? Take the little trail turning off to the right. It’s the short cut to her house. You can’t miss it.”
“Yes’m, thank you, ma’am,” he said. He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her with an open admiration86 of which he was quite unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of embarrassment87 in which he floundered.
“We’d like to hear you tell about the Klondike,” Madge said. “Mayn’t we come over some day while you are at your sister’s? Or, better yet, won’t you come over and have dinner with us?”
“Yes’m, thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled88 mechanically. Then he caught himself up and added: “I ain’t stoppin’ long. I got to be pullin’ north again. I go out on to-night’s train. You see, I’ve got a mail contract with the government.”
When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel uncomfortable.
It was at this juncture89, when Walt had just decided90 it was time for him to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been away nosing through the brush, trotted91 wolf-like into view.
Skiff Miller’s abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a great wonder came into his face.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he enunciated93 slowly and solemnly.
He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing94. At the sound of his voice, Wolf’s ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue.
Skiff Miller patted the dog’s head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said the next moment “I was just s’prised some, that was all.”
“We’re surprised, too,” she answered lightly. “We never saw Wolf make up to a stranger before.”
“Is that what you call him—Wolf?” the man asked.
Madge nodded. “But I can’t understand his friendliness95 toward you—unless it’s because you’re from the Klondike. He’s a Klondike dog, you know.”
“Yes’m,” Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf’s fore legs and examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting96 them with his thumb. “Kind of soft,” he remarked. “He ain’t been on trail for a long time.”
“I say,” Walt broke in, “it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him.”
Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, “How long have you had him?”
But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer’s legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and joyous97, but a bark.
“That’s a new one on me,” Skiff Miller remarked.
Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had barked.
“It’s the first time he ever barked,” Madge said.
“First time I ever heard him, too,” Miller volunteered.
Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist.
“Of course,” she said, “since you have only seen him for five minutes.”
Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile98 her words had led him to suspect.
“I thought you understood,” he said slowly. “I thought you’d tumbled to it from his makin’ up to me. He’s my dog. His name ain’t Wolf. It’s Brown.”
“Oh, Walt!” was Madge’s instinctive99 cry to her husband.
Walt was on the defensive100 at once.
“How do you know he’s your dog?” he demanded.
“Because he is,” was the reply.
“Mere101 assertion,” Walt said sharply.
In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, with a nod of his head toward Madge:
“How d’you know she’s your wife? You just say, ‘Because she is,’ and I’ll say it’s mere assertion. The dog’s mine. I bred ’m an’ raised ’m, an’ I guess I ought to know. Look here. I’ll prove it to you.”
Skiff Miller turned to the dog. “Brown!” His voice rang out sharply, and at the sound the dog’s ears flattened down as to a caress. “Gee!” The dog made a swinging turn to the right. “Now mush-on!” And the dog ceased his swing abruptly102 and started straight ahead, halting obediently at command.
“I can do it with whistles,” Skiff Miller said proudly. “He was my lead dog.”
“But you are not going to take him away with you?” Madge asked tremulously.
The man nodded.
“Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?”
He nodded and added: “Oh, it ain’t so bad as all that. Look at me. Pretty healthy specimen103, ain’t I?”
“But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil104, the starvation, the frost! Oh, I’ve read about it and I know.”
“I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River,” Miller volunteered grimly. “If I hadn’t got a moose that day was all that saved ’m.”
“I’d have died first!” Madge cried.
“Things is different down here,” Miller explained. “You don’t have to eat dogs. You think different just about the time you’re all in. You’ve never ben all in, so you don’t know anything about it.”
“That’s the very point,” she argued warmly. “Dogs are not eaten in California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He’ll never want for food—you know that. He’ll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather—why, it never snows here.”
“But it’s all-fired hot in summer, beggin’ your pardon,” Skiff Miller laughed.
“But you do not answer,” Madge continued passionately105. “What have you to offer him in that northland life?”
“Grub, when I’ve got it, and that’s most of the time,” came the answer.
“And the rest of the time?”
“No grub.”
“And the work?”
“Yes, plenty of work,” Miller blurted106 out impatiently. “Work without end, an’ famine, an’ frost, an all the rest of the miseries—that’s what he’ll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He knows that life. He was born to it an’ brought up to it. An’ you don’t know anything about it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s where the dog belongs, and that’s where he’ll be happiest.”
“The dog doesn’t go,” Walt announced in a determined107 voice. “So there is no need of further discussion.”
“What’s that?” Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an obstinate108 flush of blood reddening his forehead.
“I said the dog doesn’t go, and that settles it. I don’t believe he’s your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration109 that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly110 a valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you’ve got to prove property.”
Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging111 under the black cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the strength of his slenderness.
The Klondiker’s face took on a contemptuous expression as he said finally, “I reckon there’s nothin’ in sight to prevent me takin’ the dog right here an’ now.”
Walt’s face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders seemed to stiffen112 and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively113 into the breach114.
“Maybe Mr. Miller is right,” she said. “I am afraid that he is. Wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of ‘Brown.’ He made friends with him instantly, and you know that’s something he never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller.”
Walt’s striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop115 with hopelessness.
“I guess you’re right, Madge,” he said. “Wolf isn’t Wolf, but Brown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller.”
“Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him,” she suggested. “We can buy him.”
Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent116, but kindly117, quick to be generous in response to generousness.
“I had five dogs,” he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper his refusal. “He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. Nothin’ could touch ’em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn’t what made the fancy price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve hundred for ’m. I didn’t sell ’m then, an’ I ain’t a-sellin’ ’m now. Besides, I think a mighty118 lot of that dog. I’ve ben lookin’ for ’m for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he’d ben stole—not the value of him, but the—well, I liked ’m like hell, that’s all, beggin’ your pardon. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I seen ’m just now. I thought I was dreamin’. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put ’m to bed, snug25 every night. His mother died, and I brought ’m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn’t afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular, the darn little cuss—that finger right there!”
And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger for them to see.
“That very finger,” he managed to articulate, as though it somehow clinched119 the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.
He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak.
“But the dog,” she said. “You haven’t considered the dog.”
Skiff Miller looked puzzled.
“Have you thought about him?” she asked.
“Don’t know what you’re drivin’ at,” was the response.
“Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter,” Madge went on. “Maybe he has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay.”
This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision.
“If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your happiness also,” she urged.
Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance of exultation120 to her husband, who looked back warm approval.
“What do you think?” the Klondiker suddenly demanded.
It was her turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“D’ye think he’d sooner stay in California?”
She nodded her head with positiveness. “I am sure of it.”
Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the same time running his gaze in a judicial121 way over the mooted122 animal.
“He was a good worker. He’s done a heap of work for me. He never loafed on me, an’ he was a joe-dandy at hammerin’ a raw team into shape. He’s got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say to him. Look at ’m now. He knows we’re talkin’ about him.”
The dog was lying at Skiff Miller’s feet, head close down on paws, ears erect123 and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other.
“An’ there’s a lot of work in ’m yet. He’s good for years to come. An’ I do like him. I like him like hell.”
Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Finally he said:
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Your remarks, ma’am, has some weight in them. The dog’s worked hard, and maybe he’s earned a soft berth124 an’ has got a right to choose. Anyway, we’ll leave it up to him. Whatever he says, goes. You people stay right here settin’ down. I’ll say good-by and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants to come with me, let ’m come. I won’t call ’m to come an’ don’t you call ’m to come back.”
He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, “Only you must play fair. No persuadin’ after my back is turned.”
“We’ll play fair,” Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her assurances.
“I know the ways of women,” he announced. “Their hearts is soft. When their hearts is touched they’re likely to stack the cards, look at the bottom of the deck, an’ lie like the devil—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. I’m only discoursin’ about women in general.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Madge quavered.
“I don’t see as you’ve got any call to thank me,” he replied. “Brown ain’t decided yet. Now you won’t mind if I go away slow? It’s no more’n fair, seein’ I’ll be out of sight inside a hundred yards.”—Madge agreed, and added, “And I promise you faithfully that we won’t do anything to influence him.”
“Well, then, I might as well be gettin’ along,” Skiff Miller said in the ordinary tones of one departing.
At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He sprang up on his hind125 legs, resting his fore paws on her hip19 and at the same time licking Skiff Miller’s hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men’s hands.
“It ain’t no picnic, I can tell you that,” were the Klondiker’s last words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail.
For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all eagerness and expectancy126, as though waiting for the man to turn and retrace127 his steps. Then, with a quick low whine128, Wolf sprang after him, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause.
Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching129 his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the retreating man.
Wolf’s perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines130 and beginning to pant.
He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening wider. These jerking movements were in unison131 with the recurrent spasms133 that attacked the throat, each spasm132 severer and more intense than the preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling.
But just as the howl was on the verge134 of bursting from the full throat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and no clew as to what his conduct should be.
A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his nose—an old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away from her and began writhing135 and twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing136, half rearing and striking his fore paws to the earth, struggling with all his body, from the wheedling137 eyes and flattening138 ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance139.
This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed140 by the coldness of these humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as dead.
He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never turned his head, plodding141 straight onward142, slowly and methodically, as though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back.
And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, as though turned to stone—withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt Irvine. He sniffed143 his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, watching the trail where it curved emptily from view.
The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow-larks, there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy144 shadows. Madge gazed triumphantly145 at her husband.
A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes were fixed146 up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal147 had just begun.
He broke into a trot92, and Madge’s lips pursed, forming an avenue for the caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the caressing sound was not made. She was impelled148 to look at her husband, and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly.
Wolf’s trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. Not once did he turn his head, his wolf’s brush standing out straight behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone.
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收听单词发音
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1
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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2
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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3
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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4
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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5
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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6
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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7
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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8
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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9
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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10
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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11
transmute
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| vt.使变化，使改变 | |
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12
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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13
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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14
waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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15
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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16
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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18
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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19
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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20
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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21
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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22
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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23
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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24
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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25
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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26
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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27
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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28
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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29
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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30
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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31
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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32
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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33
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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34
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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35
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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36
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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37
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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38
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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39
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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40
recuperated
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| v.恢复（健康、体力等），复原( recuperate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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42
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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43
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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44
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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45
circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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46
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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47
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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48
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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49
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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50
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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51
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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52
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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53
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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54
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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55
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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56
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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57
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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58
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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59
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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60
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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61
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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63
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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64
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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65
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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66
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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67
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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68
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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69
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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70
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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71
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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72
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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73
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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74
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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76
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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77
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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78
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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79
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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80
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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81
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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84
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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85
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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86
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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87
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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88
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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90
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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91
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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92
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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93
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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94
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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95
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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96
denting
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的现在分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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97
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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98
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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99
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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100
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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101
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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102
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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103
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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104
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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105
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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106
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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108
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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109
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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110
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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111
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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112
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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113
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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114
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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115
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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116
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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117
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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118
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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119
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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120
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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121
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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122
mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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124
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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127
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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128
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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129
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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130
whines
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| n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 )；哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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132
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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133
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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134
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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135
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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136
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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137
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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138
flattening
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| n. 修平 动词flatten的现在分词 | |
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139
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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142
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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143
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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144
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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145
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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148
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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