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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 3/7
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He
pulled
the
mitten
on
hurriedly
and
stood
up
.
He
was
a
bit
frightened
.
He
stamped
up
and
down
until
the
stinging
returned
into
the
feet
.
It
certainly
was
cold
,
was
his
thought
.
That
man
from
Sulphur
Creek
had
spoken
the
truth
when
telling
how
cold
it
sometimes
got
in
the
country
.
And
he
had
laughed
at
him
at
the
time
!
That
showed
one
must
not
be
too
sure
of
things
.
There
was
no
mistake
about
it
,
it
was
cold
.
He
strode
up
and
down
,
stamping
his
feet
and
threshing
his
arms
,
until
reassured
by
the
returning
warmth
.
Then
he
got
out
matches
and
proceeded
to
make
a
fire
.
From
the
undergrowth
,
where
high
water
of
the
previous
spring
had
lodged
a
supply
of
seasoned
twigs
,
he
got
his
firewood
.
Working
carefully
from
a
small
beginning
,
he
soon
had
a
roaring
fire
,
over
which
he
thawed
the
ice
from
his
face
and
in
the
protection
of
which
he
ate
his
biscuits
.
For
the
moment
the
cold
of
space
was
outwitted
.
The
dog
took
satisfaction
in
the
fire
,
stretching
out
close
enough
for
warmth
and
far
enough
away
to
escape
being
singed
.
When
the
man
had
finished
,
he
filled
his
pipe
and
took
his
comfortable
time
over
a
smoke
.
Then
he
pulled
on
his
mittens
,
settled
the
ear-flaps
of
his
cap
firmly
about
his
ears
,
and
took
the
creek
trail
up
the
left
fork
.
The
dog
was
disappointed
and
yearned
back
toward
the
fire
.
This
man
did
not
know
cold
.
Possibly
all
the
generations
of
his
ancestry
had
been
ignorant
of
cold
,
of
real
cold
,
of
cold
one
hundred
and
seven
degrees
below
freezing-point
.
But
the
dog
knew
;
all
its
ancestry
knew
,
and
it
had
inherited
the
knowledge
.
And
it
knew
that
it
was
not
good
to
walk
abroad
in
such
fearful
cold
.
It
was
the
time
to
lie
snug
in
a
hole
in
the
snow
and
wait
for
a
curtain
of
cloud
to
be
drawn
across
the
face
of
outer
space
whence
this
cold
came
.
On
the
other
hand
,
there
was
keen
intimacy
between
the
dog
and
the
man
.
The
one
was
the
toil-slave
of
the
other
,
and
the
only
caresses
it
had
ever
received
were
the
caresses
of
the
whip
-
lash
and
of
harsh
and
menacing
throat-sounds
that
threatened
the
whip-lash
.
So
the
dog
made
no
effort
to
communicate
its
apprehension
to
the
man
.
It
was
not
concerned
in
the
welfare
of
the
man
;
it
was
for
its
own
sake
that
it
yearned
back
toward
the
fire
.
But
the
man
whistled
,
and
spoke
to
it
with
the
sound
of
whip-lashes
,
and
the
dog
swung
in
at
the
man
's
heels
and
followed
after
.
The
man
took
a
chew
of
tobacco
and
proceeded
to
start
a
new
amber
beard
.
Also
,
his
moist
breath
quickly
powdered
with
white
his
moustache
,
eyebrows
,
and
lashes
.
There
did
not
seem
to
be
so
many
springs
on
the
left
fork
of
the
Henderson
,
and
for
half
an
hour
the
man
saw
no
signs
of
any
.
And
then
it
happened
.
At
a
place
where
there
were
no
signs
,
where
the
soft
,
unbroken
snow
seemed
to
advertise
solidity
beneath
,
the
man
broke
through
.
It
was
not
deep
.
He
wetted
himself
half-way
to
the
knees
before
he
floundered
out
to
the
firm
crust
.
He
was
angry
,
and
cursed
his
luck
aloud
.
He
had
hoped
to
get
into
camp
with
the
boys
at
six
o'clock
,
and
this
would
delay
him
an
hour
,
for
he
would
have
to
build
a
fire
and
dry
out
his
foot-gear
.
This
was
imperative
at
that
low
temperature
--
he
knew
that
much
;
and
he
turned
aside
to
the
bank
,
which
he
climbed
.
On
top
,
tangled
in
the
underbrush
about
the
trunks
of
several
small
spruce
trees
,
was
a
high-water
deposit
of
dry
firewood
--
sticks
and
twigs
principally
,
but
also
larger
portions
of
seasoned
branches
and
fine
,
dry
,
last-year
's
grasses
.
He
threw
down
several
large
pieces
on
top
of
the
snow
.
This
served
for
a
foundation
and
prevented
the
young
flame
from
drowning
itself
in
the
snow
it
otherwise
would
melt
.
The
flame
he
got
by
touching
a
match
to
a
small
shred
of
birch-bark
that
he
took
from
his
pocket
.
This
burned
even
more
readily
than
paper
.
Placing
it
on
the
foundation
,
he
fed
the
young
flame
with
wisps
of
dry
grass
and
with
the
tiniest
dry
twigs
.
He
worked
slowly
and
carefully
,
keenly
aware
of
his
danger
.
Gradually
,
as
the
flame
grew
stronger
,
he
increased
the
size
of
the
twigs
with
which
he
fed
it
.
He
squatted
in
the
snow
,
pulling
the
twigs
out
from
their
entanglement
in
the
brush
and
feeding
directly
to
the
flame
.
He
knew
there
must
be
no
failure
.
When
it
is
seventy
-
five
below
zero
,
a
man
must
not
fail
in
his
first
attempt
to
build
a
fire
--
that
is
,
if
his
feet
are
wet
.
If
his
feet
are
dry
,
and
he
fails
,
he
can
run
along
the
trail
for
half
a
mile
and
restore
his
circulation
.
But
the
circulation
of
wet
and
freezing
feet
can
not
be
restored
by
running
when
it
is
seventy-five
below
.
No
matter
how
fast
he
runs
,
the
wet
feet
will
freeze
the
harder
.
All
this
the
man
knew
.
The
old-timer
on
Sulphur
Creek
had
told
him
about
it
the
previous
fall
,
and
now
he
was
appreciating
the
advice
.
Already
all
sensation
had
gone
out
of
his
feet
.
To
build
the
fire
he
had
been
forced
to
remove
his
mittens
,
and
the
fingers
had
quickly
gone
numb
.
His
pace
of
four
miles
an
hour
had
kept
his
heart
pumping
blood
to
the
surface
of
his
body
and
to
all
the
extremities
.
But
the
instant
he
stopped
,
the
action
of
the
pump
eased
down
.
The
cold
of
space
smote
the
unprotected
tip
of
the
planet
,
and
he
,
being
on
that
unprotected
tip
,
received
the
full
force
of
the
blow
.
The
blood
of
his
body
recoiled
before
it
.
The
blood
was
alive
,
like
the
dog
,
and
like
the
dog
it
wanted
to
hide
away
and
cover
itself
up
from
the
fearful
cold
.
So
long
as
he
walked
four
miles
an
hour
,
he
pumped
that
blood
,
willy-nilly
,
to
the
surface
;
but
now
it
ebbed
away
and
sank
down
into
the
recesses
of
his
body
.
The
extremities
were
the
first
to
feel
its
absence
.
His
wet
feet
froze
the
faster
,
and
his
exposed
fingers
numbed
the
faster
,
though
they
had
not
yet
begun
to
freeze
.
Nose
and
cheeks
were
already
freezing
,
while
the
skin
of
all
his
body
chilled
as
it
lost
its
blood
.
