Call of The Wild, White Fang

Call of The Wild, White Fang

by Jack London

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Overview

The Call Of The Wild is the  story of Buck, a dog stolen from his home and thrust  into the merciless life of the Arctic north to  endure hardship, bitter cold, and the savage  lawlessness of man and beast. White Fang  is the adventure of an animal -- part dog, part  wolf --turned vicious by cruel abuse, then  transformed by the patience and affection of one man.

  Jack London's superb ability as a storyteller and  his uncanny understanding of animal and human  natures give these tales a striking vitality and  power, and have earned him a reputation as a  distinguished American writer.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780307808295
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 11/02/2011
Sold by: Random House
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 320
Sales rank: 262,955
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

Jack London (1876–1916) was born John Chaney in Pennsylvania, USA. In 1896 he was caught up in the gold rush to the Klondike River in northwest Canada, which became the inspiration for The Call of the Wild (1903) and White Fang (1906). London is one of the most widely read writers in the world.

Read an Excerpt

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tidewater dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide, cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by graveled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless--strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house dog nor kennel dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early-morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the padlocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king--king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was not so large--he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds--for his mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting weakness--faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.

The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers' Association, and the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between them.

'You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm,' the stranger said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck under the collar.

'Twist it, an' you'll choke 'm plentee,' said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a ready affirmative.

Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.

The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had traveled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnaped king. The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of him once more.

'Yep, has fits,' the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the bag gageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. 'I'm takin' 'm up for the boss to 'Frisco. A crack dog doctor there thinks that he can cure 'm.'

Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco waterfront.

'All I get is fifty for it,' he grumbled; 'an' I wouldn't do it over for a thousand, cold cash.'

His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.

'How much did the other mug get?' the saloonkeeper demanded.

'A hundred,' was the reply. 'Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me.'

'That makes a hundred and fifty,' the saloonkeeper calculated; 'and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead.'

The kidnaper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand. 'If I don't get the hydrophoby--'

'It'll be because you was born to hang,' laughed the saloonkeeper. 'Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight,' he added.

Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cagelike crate.

There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the saloonkeeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl.

But the saloonkeeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car.

For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue.
He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had given the man unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turned bloodshot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.

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The Call of the Wild, White Fang 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 7 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book, published by Bantam Classics, is a combination of two of Jack London¿s greatest fictitious works The Call of the Wild and White Fang. Both novellas deal with the idea of survival of the fittest, and both have a recurring theme of fighting for dominance. Both also have a dog as the main character, and the reader gets to follow these dogs as they fight to stay alive in the Yukon wilderness. In The Call of the Wild, the main character is a dog named Buck, a big St. Bernard-Scotch shepherd dog mix. He starts off life in the Santa Clara valley in California , where he leads a leisurely, relaxing life, only to have it snatched away from him when a worker in his owner¿s house sells him to a man heading north for gold in the Yukon . The rest of the story is all about Buck¿s struggle to gain dominance over not just the other dogs, but life itself. In White Fang, London took the first five chapters to even introduce the main character, White Fang. The way he writes it, however, caught my attention and held it, despite the fact that I didn¿t even know who the story was really about yet. Once you meet White Fang, the story becomes all about his struggles in life, especially with man. He was born a wild and free wolf, so being thrust into the busy and confining world of the Indians was a shock he never quite got over. He is bought and sold to various men seeking gold in the Alaskan wilderness, until he lands with a dog fighter named ¿Beauty Smith¿. The rest of the novella explains White Fang¿s hardships at the hands of this dog fighter, and his life afterwards. Both stories have very similar themes, and use many of the same writing elements. Both stories devote many a page to helping the reader understand the capacity of the dogs¿ thinking and reasoning, because it is essential to the themes of the stories. The way London describes the dogs¿ reasoning process is very unique. He helps you understand why the dog acts or behaves a certain way, through his explanation of their thought process. He describes ¿laws¿ that the dogs either just know, or learn along the way, such as Buck¿s ¿Law of Club and Fang¿, which describes the relationship between the men and the sled-dogs. Both stories are very realistic, and nothing is sugar-coated. One thing London does that I really enjoyed in both stories, is his extremely vivid descriptions of places and characters, inside and out. An example of this is: ¿Beauty Smith enjoyed the task. He delighted in it. He gloated over his victim, and his eyes flamed dully, as he swung the whip or club and listened to White Fang¿s cries of pain and to his helpless bellows and snarls. For Beauty Smith was cruel in the way that cowards are cruel¿Denied the expression of power amongst his own kind, he fell back upon the lesser creatures and there vindicated the life that was in him.¿ The description goes on to explain why Beauty Smith was like this, and so forth and so on, until you have a very thorough understanding of Beauty Smith and his motives, thus understanding the story better. I really enjoyed both stories, and the convenience of having them both in one book. I would recommend this book to anyone who either has read Jack London before, or enjoys realism and stories of survival and fullness of spirit.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Excellent book to many word to explain it
manirul01 More than 1 year ago
Excellent
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Tiger ; She let herself be pushed hard enough to stumbled and be flipped over. Her paws almost instantly moved to cover her underside. "Remember , when your opponent has flipped you over or your stumbled and fell on your back that you use your paws to protect yourself and get up quickly ," she meowed. She swiftly got up and used the move again , this time flipped him over onto his back.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
He drawls up his inner strngth and pushed you hard ebough to make you stumble
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
(Pick up where we left off... stupid B&N theyre trying to stop rp))