@Buck's first day on the beach was like a nightmare. Every hour was filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of the wilderness. This was no lazy, sun-kissed life, with nothing to do but loaf around and be bored. There was no peace, nor rest, nor a moment's safety. All was confusion and action, and every moment his life and limb were in peril. He had to be constantly alert, for these dogs and men were not town dogs and men. They were savages, all of them, savages who knew no law but the law of club and fang.
He had never seen dogs fight as these wolfish creatures fought, and his first experience taught him an unforgettable lesson. It is true, it was not his own experience, or else he would not have lived to profit by it. @Curly was the victim. They were camped near the log store. She, in her friendly way, made advances to a husky dog the size of a full-grown wolf, though not half so large as she. There was no warning, only a leap forward like a flash, a metallic clip of teeth, then a leap back, equally swift, and Curly's face was ripped open from eye to jaw.
That was the way wolves fought, striking and leaping away. But there was more to it than this. Thirty or forty huskies ran to the spot and surrounded the fighters in an intent and silent circle. Buck did not understand that silent intentness, nor the eager way with which they were licking their chops. Curly rushed her enemy, who struck again and leaped aside. He met her next rush with his chest, and tumbled her off her feet. She never regained them, This was what the other huskies had waited for. They closed in upon her, snarling and yelping, and she was buried, screaming with agony, beneath the mass of bodies.
It happened so suddenly, and so unexpectedly, that Buck was taken aback. He saw @Spitz run out his scarlet tongue in a way he had of laughing. He saw @Francois, swinging an axe, spring into the mess of dogs. Three men with clubs were helping him to scatter them. It did not take long. Two minutes from the time Curly went down, the last of her assailants were clubbed off. But she lay there limp and lifeless in the bloody, trampled snow, almost literally torn to pieces. The scene often came back to Buck to trouble him in his sleep. So that was the way. No fair play. Once down, that was the end of you. Well, he would see to it that he never went down. Spitz ran out his tongue and laughed again, and from that moment Buck hated him with a bitter and undying hatred.
Before he had recovered from the shock of Curly's death, he received another shock. Francois fastened an arrangement of straps and buckles on his back. It was a harness, such as he had seen the grooms put on the horses at home. And as he had seen horses work, so he was set to work, hauling Francois on a sled to the forest that circled the valley, and returning with a load of firewood. Though his dignity was hurt by thus being made a work animal, he was too wise to rebel. He buckled down with a will and did his best, even though it was all new and strange. Francois was the stem of the group, demanding instant obedience. And with the crack of his whip, he received that obedience. @Dave, on the other hand, was an experienced wheeler, and he nipped Buck's hind quarters whenever he did something wrong. Spitz was the leader, also experienced, and while he could not always get at Buck, he growled sharply now and then, or cunningly threw his weight in the traces to jerk Buck into the way he should go.
