Chapter 10 Brown Wolf by Jack London Madge Irvine pulled on her shoes and rushed out of the house.
"'Where's Wolf?' she asked her husband, who was eyeing a bursting almond bud.
Madge cast a glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees.
He was here a minute ago, Walt Irvine said.
He was running after a rabbit when I saw him last.
Here, Wolf.
Here, boy, Madge called.
She left the clearing and followed the trail that led through the forest to the county road.
Walt gave a shrill, loud whistle.
Madge put her hands over her ears to drown out the piercing sound.
There's Wolf, she cried happily.
From the thicket-covered hillside.
Forty feet above them, on the edge of a cliff, Wolf's head and shoulders came crashing out of the underbrush.
He gazed below at the man and the woman, his mouth open.
He looked like he was smiling at them.
"'You blessed Wolf!' they called up to him.
His ears flattened back and down at the sound of their voices, as if to snuggle under an invisible hand.
They walked up and met him along the trail.
He did not require much petting a pat and a rub around the ears from the man, a longer stroke from the woman.
Then he was on his way along the trail, gliding in front of them in true wolf fashion.
He looked like a huge wolf with his thick coat and large build, but he had the unmistakable coloring of a dog.
He was brown, not just any brown, but a deep brown, a red brown, a collection of all sorts of browns.
His back and shoulders were a warm brown.
On the sides he was a pale brown, and his underbelly was a yellow dingy brown.
There was white fur at his throat and paws, and white spots surrounded his golden brown eyes.
The man and the woman loved the dog very much.
It had been very hard for them to win his love.
Wolf had drifted into their lives mysteriously from nowhere to their little mountain cottage.
Nearly starving, he had killed a rabbit right under their window.
Then he crawled away and slept by a small spring at the foot of their blackberry bushes.
When Walt Irvine had gone down to see the dog, Wolf had snarled at him.
When Madge Irvine offered him bread and a pan of milk, he snarled at her, too.
For a long time, Wolf refused their kindness.
He wouldn't let them pet him.
He threatened them with his bare fangs.
Nevertheless, he stayed beside their spring, resting and eating the food they brought him.
After several days when he was feeling and looking better, he disappeared.
This could have been the end of the relationship among Madge Walt and the dog, but then Walt was called away to work.
And while traveling on the train, he looked out the window and saw Wolf running alongside.
He was tireless, dust-covered, and two hundred miles away from Walt's mountain cottage.
Without thinking, Walt hopped off the train at the next station and bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop.
He enticed the dog with the meat, captured him, and traveled with him in the baggage car.
He brought him back to the mountain cottage.
Walt and Madge tied up Wolf so that he could not escape.
They spent the next week giving him as much love and attention as they could.
Wolf snarled at their soft-spoken words.
He growled at their attempts to pet him.
He never barked, though.
In all the time they knew him, he never once barked.
Winning Wolfe's affections was a problem, but Walt Irvine liked problems.
He made a collar with a silver plate that read, Return to Walt Irvine, Sonoma County, California.
Then Walt let Wolfe loose, and again Wolfe disappeared.
He made it more than a hundred miles up to Oregon before Walt received a telegram telling him that Wolfe had been captured.
The dog went back by Wells Fargo Express that evening and the couple tied him up for three more days.
On the fourth day, when Walt let him loose, he disappeared.
Again, Walt got a call that someone had captured Wolf.
This time, he got farther north.
Wolf always headed north.
Some kind of instinct, I guess, Walt said to Madge.
The next time Wolf wandered off.
He made it all the way up past California, Oregon and halfway into Washington State.
Again, someone picked him up and returned him to the Irvines.
Wolf traveled with remarkable speed.
On a one-day run, he could travel close to 150 miles, Walt figured.
But no matter how far Wolf got, when he was brought back, he was always lean, hungry, and wild.
He always left when he was fresh and strong again, and he always headed north, although no one understood why.
After one last time running away, Wolf accepted his fate.
He stayed at the mountain cottage with Walt and Madge.
It took another several weeks before Wolf would allow Madge and Walt and only them to pet him.
Wolf never cared much for strangers.
If anyone dared to come near him, they were greeted with a low growl, which quickly became a snarl.
He had a snarl so terrible and deadly-looking that it frightened the bravest of men and dogs.
Wolf had no history.
His life began and ended with Walt and Madge.
He had come up from the South, but that's all they knew.
Mrs. Johnson, the Irvine's nearest neighbor, called Wolf a Klondike dog.
She was an authority on the frozen part of the country called the Klondike.
Her brother was working up there and sent her regular letters about it.
Walter and Madge agreed with Mrs. Johnson.
It looked like the tips of Wolf's ears had been severely frozen at one time and never healed right.
He looked like those dogs they saw in magazines about Alaska.
They spent many afternoons trying to imagine a past for Wolf.
At night they would hear him crying softly.
When the north wind blew and there was a bite of frost in the air, Wolf became restless.
He would lift his head and give a long howl.
It was so sad and so lonely that it gave them goosebumps.
Yet he never barked.
Never.
Walt and Madge would half argue about whose dog Wolf really was, his or hers.
Walt was sure that Wolf cared more for him.
After all, what did Wolf know about women?
The swish of Madge's skirts made him shudder.
On the other hand, Madge was the one who fed him.
She ruled the kitchen, and only with her permission was he allowed to enter it.
Walt claimed that Wolf would lie at his feet when he was writing.
He said he spent more time petting Wolf than he did getting any writing done.
In the end Walt won, but Madge insisted that if Walt had actually been writing, Wolf would have probably spent more time with her.
So, one lovely day, Walt and Madge were on their way to the post office.
Walt was going to mail off another piece of writing and pick up a check for his last one.
Just then, a large and strong-looking man, sweating in his tight-fitting black suit, greeted them along the road.
I'm looking for my sister, Mrs. Johnson, the stranger said.
Do you know her?
You're her Klondike brother, Madge exclaimed.
The name's Skiff Miller.
Thought I'd just up and surprise her by coming to visit, he said.
So Madge and Walt directed Mrs. Johnson's brother to the trail that led to her house.
But Skiff Miller was staring.
He was so taken with Madge's beauty that he was unable to move.
Just as Walt decided it was time for him to send this Skiff on his way, Wolf trotted toward them.
Skiff's expression changed immediately.
He was no longer interested in Madge.
He had eyes only for the dog.
Great wonder washed over his face.
Well, I'll be darned, he said slowly.
Then he sat down with a heavy thump on a nearby log.
At the sound of Skiff's voice, Wolf's ears flattened.
His mouth opened in a laugh.
He trotted slowly to the stranger and smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue.
Skiff Miller patted the dog's head.
Slowly and solemnly, he repeated his words.
"'Well, I'll be darned.'
Then he remembered the pretty woman beside him.
"'Sorry, ma'am.
I'm just mighty surprised.'
"'We're surprised, too,' Madge said.
"'We've never seen Wolf act so kindly to a stranger.'
Is that what you call him?
Wolf?
Skiff Miller asked.
Madge nodded.
But I can't understand this, unless it's because he's a Klondike dog and somehow he knows you're from the Klondike.
Skiff Miller lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and examined the paw pads.
He pressed them and dented them with his thumb.
Kind of soft, he remarked.
He hasn't been on the trail for a long time.
It's quite remarkable how he allows you to touch him, Walt exclaimed.
Skiff Miller stood up abruptly, completely forgetting about Madge.
In a sharp and business-like tone, he asked, How long have you had him?
Just then, Wolf rubbed against Skiff's legs.
Then the dog opened his mouth and barked.
It was loud, sharp bark, brief and full of joy.
Walt and Madge stared at each other.
The miracle had happened.
Wolf had barked.
It's the first time he's ever barked, Walt explained.
First time I ever heard him bark, too, Skiff said.
Course it is, Madge said with a smile.
You've only known him for five minutes.
Skiff Miller gave Madge a funny look.
I thought you understood. he said slowly.
This is my dog.
His name isn't Wolf.
It's Brown.
Oh, Walt, Madge said in dismay, grabbing her husband's arm.
How do you know he's your dog?
Walt demanded.
Because he is, Skiff replied.
You don't know that for sure, Walt said.
Skiff gazed at Walt and Madge for a moment.
Look, the dog's mine.
I raised him from when he was a pup.
See, I'll prove it to you.
Then Skiff turned to the dog and said, Brown, gee, turn to the right.
The dog made a swinging turn to the right.
Now, mush on, Skiff's voice rang out.
The dog stopped turning and started moving straight ahead.
Brown, halt, Skiff commanded.
The dog stopped immediately.
I can even make him follow with whistles, Skiff said proudly.
He was my lead sled dog.
But you can't take him away, Madge said.
Not back to that awful Klondike world of suffering.
I am, Skiff Miller said.
Then he added.
It's not as bad as all that, though.
Look at me, I'm fit as a fiddle.
But it's an awful life for dogs.
Backbreaking work, starvation, frost.
I've read about it, I know, Madge said.
Brown knows that life.
He likes it, he's used to it.
He was born and brought up in it.
That's where the dog belongs and that's where he'll be happiest.
Dog does not go, Walt said in a stern voice.
Just because he obeys the ordinary commands of the Alaskan Trail doesn't mean he's yours.
He's probably valuable, and that's why you want him.
You haven't proven that he belongs to you, and you can't take him.
Skiff Miller looked Walt up and down.
His face flushed with anger.
His muscles bulged under the black cloth of his suit.
He eyed the thin rider and said in a threatening voice There's nothing in sight that can keep me from taking the dog right, here and now.
Walt's face, too, reddened in anger.
His shoulders went up and he balled his hands into fists.
Maybe Mr Miller is right.
Madge said does seem to know him and the dog does answer to the name Brown.
They made friends instantly, and Wolf never does that.
Besides, he barked with joy because he had found Mr. Miller again, Madge told Walter.
Walter's hands dropped and his shoulders drooped with hopelessness.
I guess you're right, Madge, Walt agreed.
Perhaps we can buy him?
Madge asked Skiff hopefully.
I had five dogs, Skiff said, trying to find a nice way to turn down Madge's offer.
Brown was the leader.
They were the best team in Alaska.
Nothing could touch them.
I've said no to the last person who offered me $5,000 for them.
Brown is the best on my team.
I said no to $1,200 that was offered just for him.
I wouldn't sell him then, and I won't sell him now.
I've been looking for him for three years.
I was sad when he was stolen from me, and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him just now.
I thought I was dreaming.
I thought it was too good to be true.
I was his master.
I put him to bed every night.
He was just a pup when his mother died.
I brought him up on condensed milk in a can when I couldn't afford my own coffee.
Brown never knew any mother above me.
Skiff told them, looking like he might cry.
But what about what's best for the dog?
Madge said.
What do you mean?
Skiff asked.
Perhaps the dog prefers California to Alaska.
Did you ever consider that?
Madge asked.
If you really love him, you should do what would make the dog happiest.
You shouldn't simply choose a hard life for him because it suits you.
Skiff Miller considered what Madge had said.
Madge and Walt exchanged a look.
Well, he was a really good worker and he's got a good head on him.
He can do everything but talk.
He knows what you say to him.
Look, he knows we're talking about him right now, said Skiff, pointing to the dog.
Madge and Walt looked at Wolf.
The dog was lying at Skiff's feet, his head close down on his paws, ears up.
His eyes were quick, listening to each of them as they spoke.
"'And there's a lot of work left in him,' Skiff added.
Then he looked at the dog.
Skiff opened and closed his mouth several times as if not sure of what to say next.
Finally he spoke.
"'I'll tell you what, ma'am,' Skiff began.
"'The dog's worked hard.
He's earned his right to choose.
We'll leave it up to him.
Whatever he says goes.'
You people stay right here, sitting down, and I'll say goodbye and walk off real casually.
If the dog wants to stay, he can stay.
If he wants to come with me, let him come.
I won't call him to come to me.
You don't call him to come to you.
Then Skiff peered hard into Madge's face.
Now, play fair.
No waving to him to come to you once my back is turned, he warned.
We'll play fair, Madge promised.
Well then, I guess I might as well be getting along, Skiff said.
At the change of tone in Skiff's voice, Wolf lifted his head.
As Madge and Skiff shook hands, Wolf sprang up on his hind legs, resting his front paws on Madge's hip while licking Skiff Miller's hand.
Then Skiff shook hands with Walt, and Wolf did the same thing again.
With a long, sad sigh, Skiff turned away and began to walk slowly along the path to Mrs Johnson's house.
For twenty feet, Wolf watched him go, expecting at any moment for Skiff to turn around and return.
Then, with a quick, low whine, the dog sprang after him and gently took Skiff's hand in his mouth to make him stop.
Skiff kept on going.
Wolf raced back to where Walt sat.
He caught Walt's coat sleeve in his teeth and tried to drag him after Skiff.
Wolf became more and more upset.
He wanted to be in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new ones.
He ran about, going back and forth between them in short, nervous leaps and twists.
He was unable to choose, and he uttered quick, sharp whines.
Wolf sat down on his hind legs.
He raised his head in the air, about to let out a long, loud howl.
But before he did, he closed his mouth and looked long and steadily at Skiff's back.
Then he turned his head and looked directly into Walt's eyes.
Neither Walt nor Skiff gave the dog a sign or a clue as to what he should do.
As Skiff began to disappear around a bend in the trail, the dog looked over at Madge.
He went over to her.
He snuggled his head into her lap, nudging her arm with his nose.
Then he backed away from her, twisting playfully on the ground at her feet.
He was trying to get someone to tell him what he should do, but none of the humans would respond at all.
He turned and silently gazed after Skiff.
In a moment, the man would be gone from view.
Skiff never turned his head to see what was happening behind his back.
When Skiff disappeared around the bend, Wolf waited for him to reappear.
He waited and waited and waited.
He barked once, then waited some more.
It was as if the dog had turned to stone.
Finally, he turned and trotted back to Walt.
He sniffed Walt's hand and dropped down heavily at his feet.
He kept watching the trail where Skip had disappeared from view.
A tiny stream gurgled nearby.
Meadowlucks chirped.
There was no other sound.
Great yellow butterflies darted silently through the slices of sunshine and shadows.
Madge gazed in victory at Walt.
A few minutes later, Wolf stood up.
He did not glance at the man and woman.
His eyes were fixed upon the trail.
He had made up his mind.
They knew it.
The dog broke into a trot.
Madge tensed her lips to make the whistling sound she used to call Wolf to her.
Walt gave her a stern look.
Madge did not whistle.
Wolf broke into a run.
Wider and wider he leaped along the trail.
He did not turn his head once to look at Madge and Walt.
His wolf's tail stood out straight behind him.
He cut sharply across the curve of the trail, and in an instant, Wolf was gone.
