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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 98/119
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The
next
day
White
Fang
's
anxiety
and
restlessness
were
even
more
pronounced
.
He
dogged
his
master
's
heels
whenever
he
left
the
cabin
,
and
haunted
the
front
stoop
when
he
remained
inside
.
Through
the
open
door
he
could
catch
glimpses
of
the
luggage
on
the
floor
.
The
grip
had
been
joined
by
two
large
canvas
bags
and
a
box
.
Matt
was
rolling
the
master
's
blankets
and
fur
robe
inside
a
small
tarpaulin
.
White
Fang
whined
as
he
watched
the
operation
.
Later
on
two
Indians
arrived
.
He
watched
them
closely
as
they
shouldered
the
luggage
and
were
led
off
down
the
hill
by
Matt
,
who
carried
the
bedding
and
the
grip
.
But
White
Fang
did
not
follow
them
.
The
master
was
still
in
the
cabin
.
After
a
time
,
Matt
returned
.
The
master
came
to
the
door
and
called
White
Fang
inside
.
"
You
poor
devil
,
"
he
said
gently
,
rubbing
White
Fang
's
ears
and
tapping
his
spine
.
"
I
'm
hitting
the
long
trail
,
old
man
,
where
you
can
not
follow
.
Now
give
me
a
growl
--
the
last
,
good
,
good-bye
growl
.
"
But
White
Fang
refused
to
growl
.
Instead
,
and
after
a
wistful
,
searching
look
,
he
snuggled
in
,
burrowing
his
head
out
of
sight
between
the
master
's
arm
and
body
.
"
There
she
blows
!
"
Matt
cried
.
From
the
Yukon
arose
the
hoarse
bellowing
of
a
river
steamboat
.
"
You
've
got
to
cut
it
short
.
Be
sure
and
lock
the
front
door
.
I
'll
go
out
the
back
.
Get
a
move
on
!
"
The
two
doors
slammed
at
the
same
moment
,
and
Weedon
Scott
waited
for
Matt
to
come
around
to
the
front
.
From
inside
the
door
came
a
low
whining
and
sobbing
.
Then
there
were
long
,
deep-drawn
sniffs
.
"
You
must
take
good
care
of
him
,
Matt
,
"
Scott
said
,
as
they
started
down
the
hill
.
"
Write
and
let
me
know
how
he
gets
along
.
"
"
Sure
,
"
the
dog-musher
answered
.
"
But
listen
to
that
,
will
you
!
"
Both
men
stopped
.
White
Fang
was
howling
as
dogs
howl
when
their
masters
lie
dead
.
He
was
voicing
an
utter
woe
,
his
cry
bursting
upward
in
great
heart-breaking
rushes
,
dying
down
into
quavering
misery
,
and
bursting
upward
again
with
a
rush
upon
rush
of
grief
.
The
Aurora
was
the
first
steamboat
of
the
year
for
the
Outside
,
and
her
decks
were
jammed
with
prosperous
adventurers
and
broken
gold
seekers
,
all
equally
as
mad
to
get
to
the
Outside
as
they
had
been
originally
to
get
to
the
Inside
.
Near
the
gang-plank
,
Scott
was
shaking
hands
with
Matt
,
who
was
preparing
to
go
ashore
.
But
Matt
's
hand
went
limp
in
the
other
's
grasp
as
his
gaze
shot
past
and
remained
fixed
on
something
behind
him
.
Scott
turned
to
see
.
Sitting
on
the
deck
several
feet
away
and
watching
wistfully
was
White
Fang
.
