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The Floating Press - Jack London

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100 pages

English

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Description

Although best known as a master of the action-adventure genre, Jack London's interests were wide-ranging, and the topics he addressed in his prodigious body of work varied significantly, as well. In this engaging collection of tales, London spans the gamut between romance, exploration of unknown lands, and much in between.

Sujets

Love

Love (disambiguation)

Short story

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775419587
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

LOVE OF LIFE AND OTHER STORIES
* * *
JACK LONDON

*

Love of Life and Other Stories First published in 1905 ISBN 978-1-775419-58-7 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Love of Life A Day's Lodging The White Man's Way The Story of Keesh The Unexpected Brown Wolf The Sun-Dog Trail Negore, the Coward
Love of Life
*
"This out of all will remain— They have lived and have tossed: So much of the game will be gain, Though the gold of the dice has been lost."
They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two menstaggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They were tired and weak, andtheir faces had the drawn expression of patience which comes of hardshiplong endured. They were heavily burdened with blanket packs which werestrapped to their shoulders. Head-straps, passing across the forehead,helped support these packs. Each man carried a rifle. They walked in astooped posture, the shoulders well forward, the head still fartherforward, the eyes bent upon the ground.
"I wish we had just about two of them cartridges that's layin' in thatcache of ourn," said the second man.
His voice was utterly and drearily expressionless. He spoke withoutenthusiasm; and the first man, limping into the milky stream that foamedover the rocks, vouchsafed no reply.
The other man followed at his heels. They did not remove theirfoot-gear, though the water was icy cold—so cold that their ankles achedand their feet went numb. In places the water dashed against theirknees, and both men staggered for footing.
The man who followed slipped on a smooth boulder, nearly fell, butrecovered himself with a violent effort, at the same time uttering asharp exclamation of pain. He seemed faint and dizzy and put out hisfree hand while he reeled, as though seeking support against the air.When he had steadied himself he stepped forward, but reeled again andnearly fell. Then he stood still and looked at the other man, who hadnever turned his head.
The man stood still for fully a minute, as though debating with himself.Then he called out:
"I say, Bill, I've sprained my ankle."
Bill staggered on through the milky water. He did not look around. Theman watched him go, and though his face was expressionless as ever, hiseyes were like the eyes of a wounded deer.
The other man limped up the farther bank and continued straight onwithout looking back. The man in the stream watched him. His lipstrembled a little, so that the rough thatch of brown hair which coveredthem was visibly agitated. His tongue even strayed out to moisten them.
"Bill!" he cried out.
It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but Bill's head didnot turn. The man watched him go, limping grotesquely and lurchingforward with stammering gait up the slow slope toward the soft sky-lineof the low-lying hill. He watched him go till he passed over the crestand disappeared. Then he turned his gaze and slowly took in the circleof the world that remained to him now that Bill was gone.
Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost obscured byformless mists and vapors, which gave an impression of mass and densitywithout outline or tangibility. The man pulled out his watch, the whileresting his weight on one leg. It was four o'clock, and as the seasonwas near the last of July or first of August,—he did not know theprecise date within a week or two,—he knew that the sun roughly markedthe northwest. He looked to the south and knew that somewhere beyondthose bleak hills lay the Great Bear Lake; also, he knew that in thatdirection the Arctic Circle cut its forbidding way across the CanadianBarrens. This stream in which he stood was a feeder to the CoppermineRiver, which in turn flowed north and emptied into Coronation Gulf andthe Arctic Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, ona Hudson Bay Company chart.
Again his gaze completed the circle of the world about him. It was not aheartening spectacle. Everywhere was soft sky-line. The hills were alllow-lying. There were no trees, no shrubs, no grasses—naught but atremendous and terrible desolation that sent fear swiftly dawning intohis eyes.
"Bill!" he whispered, once and twice; "Bill!"
He cowered in the midst of the milky water, as though the vastness werepressing in upon him with overwhelming force, brutally crushing him withits complacent awfulness. He began to shake as with an ague-fit, tillthe gun fell from his hand with a splash. This served to rouse him. Hefought with his fear and pulled himself together, groping in the waterand recovering the weapon. He hitched his pack farther over on his leftshoulder, so as to take a portion of its weight from off the injuredankle. Then he proceeded, slowly and carefully, wincing with pain, tothe bank.
He did not stop. With a desperation that was madness, unmindful of thepain, he hurried up the slope to the crest of the hill over which hiscomrade had disappeared—more grotesque and comical by far than thatlimping, jerking comrade. But at the crest he saw a shallow valley,empty of life. He fought with his fear again, overcame it, hitched thepack still farther over on his left shoulder, and lurched on down theslope.
The bottom of the valley was soggy with water, which the thick moss held,spongelike, close to the surface. This water squirted out from under hisfeet at every step, and each time he lifted a foot the action culminatedin a sucking sound as the wet moss reluctantly released its grip. Hepicked his way from muskeg to muskeg, and followed the other man'sfootsteps along and across the rocky ledges which thrust like isletsthrough the sea of moss.
Though alone, he was not lost. Farther on he knew he would come to wheredead spruce and fir, very small and weazened, bordered the shore of alittle lake, the titchin-nichilie , in the tongue of the country, the"land of little sticks." And into that lake flowed a small stream, thewater of which was not milky. There was rush-grass on that stream—thishe remembered well—but no timber, and he would follow it till its firsttrickle ceased at a divide. He would cross this divide to the firsttrickle of another stream, flowing to the west, which he would followuntil it emptied into the river Dease, and here he would find a cacheunder an upturned canoe and piled over with many rocks. And in thiscache would be ammunition for his empty gun, fish-hooks and lines, asmall net—all the utilities for the killing and snaring of food. Also,he would find flour,—not much,—a piece of bacon, and some beans.
Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle away southdown the Dease to the Great Bear Lake. And south across the lake theywould go, ever south, till they gained the Mackenzie. And south, stillsouth, they would go, while the winter raced vainly after them, and theice formed in the eddies, and the days grew chill and crisp, south tosome warm Hudson Bay Company post, where timber grew tall and generousand there was grub without end.
These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward. But hard as hestrove with his body, he strove equally hard with his mind, trying tothink that Bill had not deserted him, that Bill would surely wait for himat the cache. He was compelled to think this thought, or else therewould not be any use to strive, and he would have lain down and died. Andas the dim ball of the sun sank slowly into the northwest he coveredevery inch—and many times—of his and Bill's flight south before thedowncoming winter. And he conned the grub of the cache and the grub ofthe Hudson Bay Company post over and over again. He had not eaten fortwo days; for a far longer time he had not had all he wanted to eat.Often he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into his mouth,and chewed and swallowed them. A muskeg berry is a bit of seed enclosedin a bit of water. In the mouth the water melts away and the seed chewssharp and bitter. The man knew there was no nourishment in the berries,but he chewed them patiently with a hope greater than knowledge anddefying experience.
At nine o'clock he stubbed his toe on a rocky ledge, and from sheerweariness and weakness staggered and fell. He lay for some time, withoutmovement, on his side. Then he slipped out of the pack-straps andclumsily dragged himself into a sitting posture. It was not yet dark,and in the lingering twilight he groped about among the rocks for shredsof dry moss. When he had gathered a heap he built a fire,—asmouldering, smudgy fire,—and put a tin pot of water on to boil.
He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count hismatches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to makesure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in oil paper,disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of another bunch inthe inside band of his battered hat, of a third bunch under his shirt onthe chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, and he unwrappedthem all and counted them again. There were still sixty-seven.
He dried his wet foot-gear by the fire. The moccasins were in soggyshreds. The blanket socks were worn through in places, and his feet wereraw and bleeding. His ankle was throbbing, and he gave it anexamination. It had swollen to the size of his knee. He tore a longstrip from one of his two blankets and bound the ankle tightly. He toreother strips and bound them about his feet to serve for both moccasinsand socks. Then he drank the pot of water, steaming hot, woun