Miserable and alone, he wandered about among the many tents, only to find that one place was as cold as another. Here and there savage dogs rushed up to him, but he bristled his neck-hair and snarled (for he was learning fast), and they let him go his way unharmed.
Finally an idea came to him. He would return and see how his own teammates were making out. To his astonishment, they had disappeared. Again he wandered about through the great camp,
looking for them, and again he returned. Were they in the tent? No, that could not be, or else he wouldn't have been driven out. Then where could they possibly be? With his tail drooping and his body shivering, he aimlessly circled the tent. Suddenly the snow gave way beneath his forelegs and he sank down. Something wriggled under his feet. He sprang back, snarling, fearful of the unseen and unknown. But a friendly little yelp reassured him, and he went back to investigate. A whiff of warm air made his nostrils tingle. There, curled up under the snow in a snug ball, lay Billee. He whined, squirmed and wriggled to show his good will and intentions, and even chanced, as a bribe for peace, to lick Buck's face with his warm wet tongue.
Another lesson. So that was the way they did it, eh? Buck confidently selected a spot, and with much fuss and wasted effort proceeded to dig a hole for himself. In a few seconds the heat from his body filled the small space, and he fell asleep. The day had been long and difficult, and he slept soundly and comfortably, though he growled and barked and wrestled with bad dreams.
He didn't open his eyes until he was roused by the noises of the waking camp. At first he did not know where he was. It had snowed during the night, and he was completely buried. The snow walls pressed him on every side, and a great surge of fear swept through him -- the fear of the wild thing caught in a trap. It was an instinct, pure and simple. He was a civilized dog, an unduly civilized dog, and he had never experienced a trap himself, so he shouldn't fear it.
