The Call of the Wild

by Jack London

Chapter I. Into the Primitive

Old wild feelings come back.
They pull against the rules we know.
The wild part inside wakes up again.

Buck did not read newspapers. If he had, he would have known that trouble was coming. Not just for him — for every big, strong dog with warm, long fur, all along the coast. Men had found gold far up in the icy north. Ships and companies made a big deal about it. So thousands of men rushed north to find gold. These men needed dogs. They wanted big, strong dogs with thick fur to keep warm in the cold.

Buck lived in a big house in a sunny valley called Santa Clara. It was Judge Miller's home. The house sat back from the road, half-hidden by trees. It had a wide porch that wrapped all the way around. Gravel paths wound through green lawns and under tall trees. Behind the house, things were even bigger. There were big stables (barns for horses) with workers to care for them. There were little houses for the workers, sheds, grape vines, fields, orchards, and berry patches. There was also a water pump and a big cement pool where Judge Miller's sons swam every morning and cooled off in the afternoon.

Buck ruled over all of this. He was born here and had lived here for four years. There were other dogs, of course — a place this big always has more dogs. But they didn't matter much. Some came and went. Some, like Toots the little Japanese dog and Ysabel the hairless dog, barely ever went outside. Then there were the fox terriers — lots of little dogs that barked loudly at Toots and Ysabel through the windows. Maids with brooms kept them in line.

But Buck was not just a house dog or a barn dog. The whole place belonged to him. He swam in the pool. He went hunting with the Judge's sons. He walked with the Judge's daughters, Mollie and Alice, in the early morning or evening. On cold nights, he lay by the Judge's feet near the fire. He gave the Judge's grandchildren rides on his back and rolled with them in the grass. He watched over them on their adventures around the yard, and even out to the fields and berry patches. He walked proudly past the little terriers, and he ignored Toots and Ysabel completely. He was king — king of every living thing on Judge Miller's land, even the people.

His father, Elmo, was a huge dog called a St. Bernard, and had always been close to the Judge. Buck was following in his father's footsteps. Buck was not quite as big — he weighed 140 pounds — because his mother, Shep, was a Scotch sheepdog, a smaller kind of dog. Still, 140 pounds, plus his proud and confident manner, made him seem like a king. For four years, since he was a puppy, he had lived like a spoiled, well-off gentleman. He was proud of himself — maybe even a little too proud, the way some people get when they live away from the rest of the world. But hunting and playing outside kept him fit and strong, not lazy and fat. And, like some people who love cold baths, he loved swimming — it kept him healthy.

This is the kind of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when men rushed to the frozen north to search for gold in a place called the Klondike. But Buck did not read newspapers. He did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was not to be trusted. Manuel had one big weakness: he loved to gamble on a game called Chinese lottery. Worse, he believed he had a special "system" to win — and this made things certain to go wrong. Because playing his system took money, and a gardener's helper did not make enough money for that, especially with a wife and many children to feed.

One important night, the Judge was away at a meeting, and the boys were busy planning a sports club. No one saw Manuel take Buck through the orchard — Buck thought they were just going for a walk. No one saw them arrive at a small train stop called College Park — except one stranger. This man talked with Manuel, and money changed hands between them.

"You should tie him up before you hand him over," the stranger said roughly. Manuel wrapped a thick rope around Buck's neck, under his collar.

"Twist it tight, and it'll choke him good," said Manuel. The stranger agreed.

Buck accepted the rope calmly. It was strange, but he trusted people he knew, and believed they knew better than he did. But when the stranger took hold of the rope's ends, Buck growled — a warning. He believed that showing he was upset would be enough to stop them. But instead, the rope pulled tight around his neck, cutting off his air. Furious, Buck jumped at the man. But the man grabbed him by the throat and flipped him onto his back. The rope pulled tighter and tighter while Buck struggled, his tongue hanging out and his chest heaving for air. He had never been treated so badly, and he had never been so angry. But soon his strength faded, his eyes grew dim, and he passed out just as the two men threw him onto a train's baggage car.

The next thing Buck knew, his tongue hurt and he was being bounced around inside something moving. The loud whistle of a train told him where he was. He had ridden in baggage cars before with the Judge, so he recognized the feeling. He opened his eyes, full of the fury of a stolen king. The man reached for his throat again, but Buck was faster. He bit down hard on the man's hand and held on until he passed out again.

"Yep, he has fits," the man told the baggage worker, hiding his torn-up hand. "I'm bringing him to my boss in San Francisco. A dog doctor there says he can fix him up."

Later that night, in a shed behind a bar near the San Francisco docks, the man complained loudly about what had happened.

"All I got was fifty dollars for this," he grumbled. "I wouldn't do it again for a thousand."

His hand was wrapped in a bloody cloth, and his pants were torn from knee to ankle.

"How much did the other guy get?" the bar owner asked.

"A hundred," the man said. "Wouldn't take a cent less."

"That's a hundred fifty total," said the bar owner. "And he's worth it, believe me."

The man unwrapped his hurt hand and looked at it. "If I don't get an infection from this bite..."

"If you do, it's because you were born for trouble," the bar owner laughed. "Here, help me before you go," he added.

Dazed and in terrible pain from his throat and tongue, half-choked, Buck tried to fight back against the men hurting him. But they threw him down and choked him again and again, until they managed to file off the heavy collar around his neck. Then they took off the rope and shoved him into a cage-like crate.

Buck lay there the rest of that long night, angry and hurt in his pride. He couldn't understand what was happening. What did these strange men want with him? Why were they keeping him locked in this tiny box? He didn't know why, but he felt like something terrible was about to happen. Several times that night, he jumped up when the shed door creaked open, hoping to see the Judge or the boys. But each time, it was only the bar owner's face peeking in by candlelight. Each time, the happy bark rising in Buck's throat turned into an angry growl instead.

The bar owner left him alone, though. In the morning, four rough-looking men came and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck thought. He barked and snarled at them through the bars. They just laughed and poked sticks at him. He bit at the sticks until he realized that was exactly what they wanted him to do. So he lay down quietly and let them load the crate onto a wagon.

From then on, Buck and his crate passed through many hands. Workers at a delivery office took charge of him. He was carried in another wagon, then loaded onto a ferry boat along with boxes and packages. He was moved off the ferry and into a big train station, and finally placed in a train car for cargo.

For two days and two nights, the train car rattled along behind loud, screeching trains. For two days and nights, Buck ate nothing and drank nothing. Angry, he had growled at the workers who came near him, and they teased him back. When he threw himself against the bars, shaking and foaming at the mouth, they laughed and mocked him. They growled and barked like mean dogs, and made silly noises at him. It was foolish, he knew — but that only made him angrier, because it hurt his pride. He didn't mind being hungry as much, but not having water made him suffer terribly and made his anger burn even hotter. Being sensitive and high-strung, the bad treatment gave him a fever, made worse by his swollen, dry throat and tongue.

At least one thing made him glad: the rope was off his neck. That rope had given them an unfair advantage. Now that it was gone, he was determined that no one would ever put a rope around his neck again. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and in that time, his anger built up into something dangerous for whoever crossed him first. His eyes turned red, and he became like a wild, raging creature. He had changed so much that even Judge Miller wouldn't have known him. The train workers were relieved when they finally unloaded him in Seattle.

Four men carefully carried the crate from the wagon into a small yard with high walls. A heavy man wearing a red sweater came out and signed some papers for the delivery man. Buck guessed this was the next person who would torment him, and he threw himself furiously against the bars. The man just smiled coldly and went to get a hatchet (a small axe) and a club.

"You're not going to let him out now, are you?" the driver asked.

"Sure I am," the man said, jamming the hatchet into the crate to pry it open.

The four men who had carried the crate scattered instantly, and from...