life. A dainty eater, he found that his mates, finishing first, robbed
him of his unfinished ration. There was no defending it. While he was
fighting off two or three, it was disappearing down the throats of the
others. To remedy this, he ate as fast as they; and, so greatly did
hunger compel him, he was not above taking what did not belong to him.
He watched and learned. When he saw Pike, one of the new dogs, a clever
malingerer and thief, slyly steal a slice of bacon when Perrault s back
was turned, he duplicated the performance the following day, getting
away with the whole chunk. A great uproar was raised, but he was
unsuspected; while Dub, an awkward blunderer who was always getting
caught, was punished for Buck s misdeed.
This first theft marked Buck as fit to survive in the hostile Northland
environment. It marked his adaptability, his capacity to adjust himself
to changing conditions, the lack of which would have meant swift and
terrible death. It marked, further, the decay or going to pieces of his
moral nature, a vain thing and a handicap in the ruthless struggle for
existence. It was all well enough in the Southland, under the law of
love and fellowship, to respect private property and personal feelings;
but in the Northland, under the law of club and fang, whoso took such
things into account was a fool, and in so far as he observed them he
would fail to prosper.
Not that Buck reasoned it out. He was fit, that was all, and
unconsciously he accommodated himself to the new mode of life. All his
days, no matter what the odds, he had never run from a fight. But the
club of the man in the red sweater had beaten into him a more
fundamental and primitive code. Civilized, he could have died for a
moral consideration, say the defence of Judge Miller s riding-whip; but
the completeness of his decivilization was now evidenced by his ability
to flee from the defence of a moral consideration and so save his hide.
He did not steal for joy of it, but because of the clamor of his
stomach. He did not rob openly, but stole secretly and cunningly, out
of respect for club and fang. In short, the things he did were done
because it was easier to do them than not to do them.
His development (or retrogression) was rapid. His muscles became hard
as iron, and he grew callous to all ordinary pain. He achieved an
internal as well as external economy. He could eat anything, no matter
how loathsome or indigestible; and, once eaten, the juices of his
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