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1Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to
2face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar
3from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cagelike crate. There he lay for the remainder of
4the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with
5him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt
6oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed
7door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the
8saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled
9in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl. But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men
10entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and
11unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly
12assailed with his teeth till he realized that that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the
13crate to be lifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands.
14Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an
15assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and
16finally he was deposited in an express car. For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of
17shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first
18advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himself against
19the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs,
20mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity,
21and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and
22fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into
23a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue. He was glad for one thing: the
24rope was off his neck. That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would
25never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and
26during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul
27of him. His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge
28himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the
29train at Seattle. Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back yard. A stout man,
30with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That was the man,
31Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a
32hatchet and a club. "You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked. "Sure," the man replied, driving the
33hatchet into the crate for a pry. There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and from
34safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance. Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his
35teeth into it, surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside,
36snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him
37out. "Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the
38same time he dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand. And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew
39himself together for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes. Straight at the
40man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In
41mid air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and brought his
42teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been
43struck by a club in his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on
44his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he
45was aware that it was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke
46the charge and smashed him down. After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He
47staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with
48bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he had
49endured was as nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lionlike in its ferocity,
50he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left, coolly caught him by the under
51jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward. Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another,
52then crashed to the ground on his head and chest. For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he had
53purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless. "He's no slouch at
54dog-breakin', that's wot I say," one of the men on the wall cried enthusiastically. "Druther break cayuses any day, and
55twice on Sundays," was the reply of the driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses. Buck's senses came
56back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater.
57"'Answers to the name of Buck,'" the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the
58consignment of the crate and contents. "Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, "we've had our little
59ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog
60and all 'll go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin' outa you. Understand?" As he
61spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at
62touch of the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water he drank eagerly, and later bolted a
63generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.
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