作者：(美)杰克·伦敦（London, J.）
出版社：清华大学出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
生命法则(插图·中文导读英文版)试读：
前言
杰克·伦敦（Jack London，1875—1916），原名约翰·格利菲斯·伦敦（John Griffith London），美国著名作家，在世界文学史上享有崇高的地位。
1876年1月12日，杰克·伦敦生于旧金山，是个私生子。后来，母亲改嫁给境况不佳的约翰·伦敦。他的童年是在穷苦中度过的，当过牧童、报童、童工、工人、水手。他还参加过1893年大恐慌中失业大军组成的抗议队伍，以流浪罪被捕入狱，被罚做苦工几个月。出狱后，他一边拼命干活，一边刻苦学习，广泛涉猎达尔文、斯宾塞、尼采和马克思等人的著作。1896年，他考进加利福尼亚大学，一年后辍学。后来受到阿拉斯加淘金热的影响，杰克·伦敦加入了淘金者的行列，却因病空手而归。在经历各种失败和挫折之后，杰克·伦敦萌发了写作的愿望。
1899年，他发表了第一篇小说《给猎人》；1900年，在他出版短篇小说集《狼之子》后，立即享誉文坛，并获得了丰厚的收入。从此，杰克·伦敦埋头读书写作，成为了职业作家。他是个多产的作家，一生共写了19部长篇小说、150多篇短篇小说以及3部剧本等。除《狼之子》之外，杰克·伦敦的著名作品还有：描写反抗压迫、回归自由与自然的《野性的呼唤》（1903），描写伦敦贫民生活的特写集《深渊中的人们》（1903），描写兽性般残忍和利己主义的长篇小说《海狼》（1904），野性的幼狼如何从荒野中进入文明世界的《白牙》（1906），政治幻想小说《铁蹄》（1908），自传体长篇小说《马丁·伊登》（1909）等。1916年11月22日，年杰克·伦敦在精神极度苦闷、空虚中自杀身亡。
除了长篇小说之外杰克·伦敦的短篇小说，在世界上也享有很高声誉，本书精选了他的小说8篇，采用中文导读英文版的形式出版。在中文导读中，我们尽力使其贴近原作的精髓，也尽可能保留原作的故事主线。我们希望能够编出为当代中国读者所喜爱的经典读本。读者在阅读英文故事之前，可以先阅读中文导读，这样有利于了解故事背景，从而加快阅读速度。同时，为了让读者更好地理解故事内容，书中加入了大量插图。我们相信，该经典著作的引进对加强当代中国读者，特别是青少年读者的人文修养是非常有帮助的。
本书主要内容由王勋、纪飞编译。参加本书故事素材搜集整理及编译工作的还有郑佳、刘乃亚、赵雪、熊金玉、李丽秀、熊红华、王婷婷、孟宪行、胡国平、李晓红、贡东兴、陈楠、邵舒丽、冯洁、王业伟、徐鑫、王晓旭、周丽萍、熊建国、徐平国、肖洁、王小红等。限于我们的科学、人文素养和英语水平，书中难免会有不当之处，衷心希望读者朋友批评指正。
生命法则/The Law of Life
导读老科斯库什独自坐在那里，听着外面发生的一切。他的视力已经严重衰退，听力却仍很敏锐。他的外孙女正对着狗边套缰绳边骂，他的儿子正在拆兽皮小屋，女人们收拾行李，男人们拉紧皮带，他们都要走了，整个部落将迁徙至食物丰盛的远方。他们已经走出了他的生活，剩下的日子，老科斯库什将与一小捆木柴为伴，然后静静地走向死亡。
儿子走到科斯库什的旁边跟他告别，询问他好不好。老科斯库什告诉儿子，自己有些累了，但是还好。然后，儿子便带着全家离开了这里，脚踩雪地的声音越来越远，最后听不见了。老科斯库什心满意足地坐着，陷入了沉思。
在老科斯库什看来，新陈代谢是自然的现象，每一个女人都曾年轻漂亮、每一个动物都曾活蹦乱跳，终归于被抛弃、死去。个体的死活并不重要，种族的延续位于首位。他不埋怨子女们抛弃了自己，因为他也曾抛弃过自己的父亲。老科斯库什往火堆里加了一根木柴，思绪飘向了更遥远的过去。他想到了很久以前的一场大饥荒，三年没有下雪、三年又没有解冻的那些年头。他又想到自己儿时经历的富饶岁月，他们有吃不完的食物，每个人都饱食终日、无所事事。那时，他跟自己的伙伴金哈一起学着打猎。他们发现了一只老驯鹿和一群狼的搏斗，老驯鹿挣扎了很长的路，还击败了一次狼群，最终还是被狼群吃掉了。金哈后来成了全族最优秀的猎手，之后冻死在一个冰窟窿里。老科斯库什则成了部落酋长，做了很多勇敢的事。他回想着年轻时的岁月，火堆也烧了很久。这时，老科斯库什感到狼群围了过来。他挥舞着燃烧着的木柴，同时想到了那挣扎的老驯鹿。想到他和老驯鹿都已经完成了自然的使命，便疲倦地停了下来。ld Koskoosh listened greedily. Though his sight had long since faded, his hearing was still acute, and the slightest sound Openetrated to the glimmering intelligence which yet abode behind the withered forehead, but which no longer gazed forth upon the things of the world.Ah！that was Sit-cum-to-ha, shrilly anathematizing the dogs as she cuffed and beat them into the harnesses.Sit-cum-to-ha was his daughter's daughter, but she was too busy to waste a thought upon her broken grandfather, sitting alone there in the snow, forlorn and helpless.Camp must be broken.The long trail waited while the short day refused to linger.Life called her, and the duties of life, not death.And he was very close to death now.
The thought made the old man panicky for the moment, and he stretched forth a palsied hand which wandered tremblingly over thesmall heap of dry wood beside him. Reassured that it was indeed there, his hand returned to the shelter of his mangy furs, and he again fell to listening.The sulky crackling of half-frozen hides told him that the chief's moose-skin lodge had been struck, and even then was being rammed and jammed into portable compass.The chief was his son, stalwart and strong, head man of the tribesmen, and a mighty hunter.As the women toiled with the camp luggage, his voice rose, chiding them for their slowness.Old Koskoosh strained his ears.It was the last time he would hear that voice.There went Geehow's lodge！And Tusken's！Seven, eight, nine；only the shaman's could be still standing.There！They were at work upon it now.He could hear the shaman grunt as he piled it on the sled.A child whimpered, and a woman soothed it with soft, crooning gutturals.Little Koo-tee, the old man thought, a fretful child, and not overstrong.It would die soon, perhaps, and they would burn a hole through the frozen tundra and pile rocks above to keep the wolverines away.Well, what did it matter？A few years at best, and as many an empty belly as a full one.And in the end, Death waited, ever-hungry and hungriest of them all.
What was that？Oh, the men lashing the sleds and drawing tight the thongs. He listened, who would listen no more.The whip-lashes snarled and bit among the dogs.Hear them whine！How they hated the work and the trail！They were off！Sled after sled churned slowly away into the silence.They were gone.They had passed outof his life, and he faced the last bitter hour alone.No.The snow crunched beneath a moccasin；a man stood beside him；upon his head a hand rested gently.His son was good to do this thing.He remembered other old men whose sons had not waited after the tribe.But his son had.He wandered away into the past, till the young man's voice brought him back.
“Is it well with you？”he asked.
And the old man answered，“It is well.”
“There be wood beside you，”the younger man continued，“and the fire burns bright. The morning is gray, and the cold has broken.It will snow presently.Even now is it snowing.”
“Ay, even now is it snowing.”
“The tribesmen hurry. Their bales are heavy, and their bellies flat with lack of feasting.The trail is long and they travel fast.go now.It is well？”
“It is well. I am as a last year's leaf, clinging lightly to the stem.The first breath that blows, and I fall.My voice is become like an old woman's.My eyes no longer show me the way of my feet, and my feet are heavy, and I am tired.It is well.”
He bowed his head in content till the last noise of the complaining snow had died away, and he knew his son was beyond recall. Then his hand crept out in haste to the wood.It alone stood between him and the eternity that yawned in upon him.At last the measure of his life was a handful of fagots.One by one they wouldgo to feed the fire, and just so, step by step, death would creep upon him.When the last stick had surrendered up its heat, the frost would begin to gather strength.First his feet would yield, then his hands；and the numbness would travel, slowly, from the extremities to the body.His head would fall forward upon his knees, and he would rest.It was easy.All men must die.
He did not complain. It was the way of life, and it was just.He had been born close to the earth, close to the earth had he lived, and the law thereof was not new to him.It was the law of all flesh.Nature was not kindly to the flesh.She had no concern for that concrete thing called the individual.Her interest lay in the species, the race.This was the deepest abstraction old Koskoosh's barbaric mind was capable of, but he grasped it firmly.He saw it exemplified in all life.The rise of the sap, the bursting greenness of the willow bud, the fall of the yellow leaf—in this alone was told the whole history.But one task did Nature set the individual.Did he not perform it, he died.Did he perform it, it was all the same, he died.Nature did not care；there were plenty who were obedient, and it was only the obedience in this matter, not the obedient, which lived and lived always.The tribe of Koskoosh was very old.The old men he had known when a boy, had known old men before them.Therefore it was true that the tribe lived, that it stood for the obedience of all its members, way down into the forgotten past, whose very resting-places were unremembered.They did not count；they were episodes.They had passed away like clouds from a summer sky.He also was an episode, and would pass away.Nature did not care.To life she set one task, gave one law.To perpetuate was the task of life, its law was death.A maiden was a good creature to look upon, full-breasted and strong, with spring to her step and light in her eyes.But her task was yet before her.The light in her eyes brightened, her step quickened, she was now bold with the young men, now timid, and she gave them of her own unrest.And ever she grew fairer and yet fairer to look upon, till some hunter, able no longer to withhold himself, took her to his lodge to cook and toil for him and to become the mother of his children.And with the coming of her offspring her looks left her.Her limbs dragged and shuffled, her eyes dimmed and bleared, and only the little children found joy against the withered cheek of the old squaw by the fire.Her task was done.But a little while, on the first pinch of famine or the first long trail, and she would be left, even as he had been left, in the snow, with a little pile of wood.Such was the law.He placed a stick carefully upon the fire and resumed his meditations.It was the same everywhere, with all things.The mosquitoes vanished with the first frost.The little tree-squirrel crawled away to die.When age settled upon the rabbit it became slow and heavy, and could no longer outfoot its enemies.Even the big bald-face grew clumsy and blind and quarrelsome, in the end to be dragged down by a handful of yelping huskies.He rememberedhow he had abandoned his own father on an upper reach of the Klondike one winter, the winter before the missionary came with his talk-books and his box of medicines.Many a time had Koskoosh smacked his lips over the recollection of that box, though now his mouth refused to moisten.The“painkiller”had been especially good.But the missionary was a bother after all, for he brought no meat into the camp, and he ate heartily, and the hunters grumbled.But he chilled his lungs on the divide by the Mayo, and the dogs afterwards nosed the stones away and fought over his bones.
Koskoosh placed another stick on the fire and harked back deeper into the past. There was the time of the Great Famine, when the old men crouched empty-bellied to the fire, and let fall from their lips dim traditions of the ancient day when the Yukon ran wide open for three winters, and then lay frozen for three summers.He had lost his mother in that famine.In the summer the salmon run had failed, and the tribe looked forward to the winter and the coming of the caribou.Then the winter came, but with it there were no caribou.Never had the like been known, not even in the lives of the old men.But the caribou did not come, and it was the seventh year, and the rabbits had not replenished, and the dogs were naught but bundles of bones.And through the long darkness the children wailed and died, and the women, and the old men；and not one in ten of the tribe lived to meet the sun when it came back in the spring.That was a famine！
But he had seen times of plenty, too, when the meat spoiled on their hands, and the dogs were fat and worthless with overeating—times when they let the game go unkilled, and the women were fertile, and the lodges were cluttered with sprawling men-children and women-children. Then it was the men became high-stomached, and revived ancient quarrels, and crossed the divides to the south to kill the Pellys, and to the west that they might sit by the dead fires of the Tananas.He remembered, when a boy, during a time of plenty, when he saw a moose pulled down by the wolves.Zing-ha lay with him in the snow and watched—Zing-ha, who later became the craftiest of hunters, and who, in the end, fell through an air-hole on the Yukon.They found him, a month afterward, just as he had crawled halfway out and frozen stiff to the ice.
But the moose. Zing-ha and he had gone out that day to play at hunting after the manner of their fathers.On the bed of the creek they struck the fresh track of a moose, and with it the tracks of many wolves.“An old one，”Zing-ha, who was quicker at reading the sign, said—“an old one who cannot keep up with the herd.The wolves have cut him out from his brothers, and they will never leave him.”And it was so.It was their way.By day and by night, never resting, snarling on his heels, snapping at his nose, they would stay by him to the end.How Zing-ha and he felt the blood-lust quicken！The finish would be a sight to see！
Eager-footed, they took the trail, and even he, Koskoosh, slow of sight and an unversed tracker, could have followed it blind, it was so wide. Hot were they on the heels of the chase, reading the grim tragedy, fresh-written, at every step.Now they came to where the moose had made a stand.Thrice the length of a grown man's body, in every direction, had the snow been stamped about and uptossed.In the midst were the deep impressions of the splay-hoofed game, and all about, everywhere, were the lighter footmarks of the wolves.Some, while their brothers harried the kill, had lain to one side and rested.The full-stretched impress of their bodies in the snow was as perfect as though made the moment before.One wolf had been caught in a wild lunge of the maddened victim and trampled to death.A few bones, well picked, bore witness.
Again, they ceased the uplift of their snowshoes at a second stand. Here the great animal had fought desperately.Twice had he been dragged down, as the snow attested, and twice had he shaken his assailants clear and gained footing once more.He had done his task long since, but none the less was life dear to him.Zing-ha said it was a strange thing, a moose once down to get free again；but this one certainly had.The shaman would see signs and wonders in this when they told him.
And yet again, they come to where the moose had made to mount the bank and gain the timber. But his foes had laid on frombehind, till he reared and fell back upon them, crushing two deep into the snow.It was plain the kill was at hand, for their brothers had left them untouched.Two more stands were hurried past, brief in time-length and very close together.The trail was red now, and the clean stride of the great beast had grown short and slovenly.Then they heard the first sounds of the battle—not the full-throated chorus of the chase, but the short, snappy bark which spoke of close quarters and teeth to flesh.Crawling up the wind, Zing-ha bellied it through the snow, and with him crept he, Koskoosh, who was to be chief of the tribesmen in the years to come.Together they shoved aside the under branches of a young spruce and peered forth.It was the end they saw.
The picture, like all of youth's impressions, was still strong with him, and his dim eyes watched the end played out as vividly as in that far-off time. Koskoosh marvelled at this, for in the days which followed, when he was a leader of men and a head of councillors, he had done great deeds and made his name a curse in the mouths of the Pellys, to say naught of the strange white man he had killed, knife to knife, in open fight.
For long he pondered on the days of his youth, till the fire died down and the frost bit deeper. He replenished it with two sticks this time, and gauged his grip on life by what remained.If Sit-cum-to-ha had only remembered her grandfather, and gathered a larger armful, his hours would have been longer.It would have been easy.But shewas ever a careless child, and honored not her ancestors from the time the Beaver, son of the son of Zing-ha, first cast eyes upon her.Well, what mattered it？Had he not done likewise in his own quick youth？For a while he listened to the silence.Perhaps the heart of his son might soften, and he would come back with the dogs to take his old father on with the tribe to where the caribou ran thick and the fat hung heavy upon them.
He strained his ears, his restless brain for the moment stilled. Not a stir, nothing.He alone took breath in the midst of the great silence.It was very lonely.Hark！What was that？A chill passed over his body.The familiar, long-drawn howl broke the void, and it was close at hand.Then on his darkened eyes was projected the vision of the moose—the old bull moose—the torn flanks and bloody sides, the riddled mane, and the great branching horns, down low and tossing to the last.He saw the flashing forms of gray, the gleaming eyes, the lolling tongues, the slavered fangs.And he saw the inexorable circle close in till it became a dark point in the midst of the stamped snow.
A cold muzzle thrust against his cheek, and at its touch his soul leaped back to the present. His hand shot into the fire and dragged out a burning faggot.Overcome for the nonce by his hereditary fear of man, the brute retreated, raising a prolonged call to his brothers；and greedily they answered, till a ring of crouching, jaw-slobbered gray was stretched round about.The old man listened to thedrawing in of this circle.He waved his brand wildly, and sniffs turned to snarls；but the panting brutes refused to scatter.Now one wormed his chest forward, dragging his haunches after, now a second, now a third；but never a one drew back.Why should he cling to life？he asked, and dropped the blazing stick into the snow.It sizzled and went out.The circle grunted uneasily, but held its own.Again he saw the last stand of the old bull moose, and Koskoosh dropped his head wearily upon his knees.What did it matter after all？Was it not the law of life？
基什的故事/The Story of Keesh
导读聪明健康的小基什生长在北冰洋沿岸的一个村子里。他的父亲伯克是位英勇的斗士，为了拯救饥饿的村民，跟大熊搏斗而死。十四岁的基什和妈妈生活在一起，他们的生活很快就变得穷困了。一天，在村首领克劳士召开会议时，基什走上前发言说，在他的父亲伯克生前，部落里每一个人都能分到等量的肉，现在，伯克的妻子和孩子，也应该分到平均的肉。在场的人都对这个小男孩的行为大吃一惊，纷纷指责他。基什又说，自己仅开这一次口；英雄的儿子应该自己打猎，他打回来的猎物将会平均分配，不让任何一个弱小没有肉吃。第二天，基什就一个人带着弓箭去了海边。男人们都嘲笑议论着，认为他必死无疑。
基什在第四天的一早就带着熊肉回来，告诉村民他所行的路上还有母熊和幼熊。人们出门检验，事实果然如此。因为北极熊非常凶猛，基什一个孩子能猎杀母熊的消息便流传开来，不怀好意的人说基什会巫术，或者说基什有他死去的父亲帮忙。基什很快成了村里最优秀的猎手，他还实现了自己当初的诺言，平均分配每一块肉。基什的地位也不断提高，在他想要一座木屋时马上就由村民帮忙建成了。一个人带着弓箭去海边打猎
但是村里的男人仍十分关心猎物的来源问题，他们派出了两名猎手跟踪基什。这两名猎手回来说，基什看见熊后，没有跑也没有上前搏斗，而是放些圆球让它们吃，大熊一会儿就自己痛苦地倒下了，基什再过去杀死它。听完这话，村民更相信基什使用巫术了。村民们开会请来基什，要他说明自己猎熊的方法。基什手里拿着鲸鱼尖骨现场演示起来，原来北极熊是吃了包着鲸鱼尖骨的脂肪球后，内脏受伤而死。
基什从此变成了村里的领导。多少年后，他的美名还在村里流传着。
EESH lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of
his village through many and prosperous years, and died full of K
honors with his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their children and their children's children down to the end of time.And the winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the poorest IGLOO in the village, rose to power and place over them all.
He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For eachwinter the sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces.The father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking the life of a great polar bear.In his eagerness he came to close grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed；but the bear had much meat on him and the people were saved.Keesh was his only son, and after that Keesh lived alone with his mother.But the people are prone to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father；and he being but a boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere long came to live in the meanest of all the IGLOOS.
It was at a council, one night, in the big IGLOO of Klosh-Kwan, the chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices.
“It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine，”he said.“But it is ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual quantity of bones.”
The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The like had never been known before.A child, that talked like a grown man, and said harsh things to their very faces！
But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on.“For that Iknow my father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes he saw to it that the least old woman and the last old man received fair share.”
“Na！Na！”the men cried.“Put the child out！”“Send him off to bed！”“He is no man that he should talk to men and graybeards！”
He waited calmly till the uproar died down.
“Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk，”he said，“and for her dost thou speak. And thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak.My mother has no one, save me；wherefore I speak.As I say, though Bok be dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe.I, Keesh, the son of Bok, have spoken.”
He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and indignation his words had created.
“That a boy should speak in council！”old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling.
“Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do？”Massuk demanded in a loud voice.“Am I a man that I should be made a mock by every child that cries for meat？”
The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that he should have no meat at all, and promised himsore beatings for his presumption.Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly under his skin.In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet.
“Hear me, ye men！”he cried.“Never shall I speak in the council again, never again till the men come to me and say，‘It is well, Keesh, that thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.'Take this now, ye men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter.I, too, his son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat.And be it known, now, that the division of that which I kill shall be fair.And no widow nor weak one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch.And in the days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten overmuch.I, Keesh, have said it！”
Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the IGLOO, but his jaw was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left.
The next day he went forth along the shore-line where the ice and the land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder was his father's big hunting-spear.And there was laughter, and much talk, at the event.It was an unprecedented occurrence.Never did boys of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone.Also were there shaking ofheads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad.
“He will be back ere long，”they said cheeringly.
“Let him go；it will teach him a lesson，”the hunters said.“And he will come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to follow.”
But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on her face in token of her grief；and the women assailed the men with bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his death；and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body when the storm abated.
Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came not shamefacedly.Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed meat.And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech.
“Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better part of a day's travel，”he said.“There is much meat on the ice—a she-bear and two half-grown cubs.”
Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in manlike fashion, saying：“Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I shall sleep, for I am weary.”
And he passed into their IGLOO and ate profoundly, and after that slept for twenty running hours.
There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs.The men could not bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had accomplished so great a marvel.But the women spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument against their unbelief.So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the carcasses.Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be done as soon as a kill is made.If not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough ice.But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill, which they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, and removed the entrails.
Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his mate.He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field.Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people marvelled.“How does he do it？”they demanded of one another.“Never does he take a dog with him, anddogs are of such great help, too.”
“Why dost thou hunt only bear？”Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask him.
And Keesh made fitting answer.“It is well known that there is more meat on the bear，”he said.
But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village.“He hunts with evil spirits，”some of the people contended，“wherefore his hunting is rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits？”
“Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits，”others said.“It is known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding？Who knows？”
None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was just.As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for himself than his needs required.And because of this, and of his merit as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe；and there was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan.Because of the things he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he never came, and they were ashamed to ask.
“I am minded to build me an IGLOO，”he said one day toKlosh-Kwan and a number of the hunters.“It shall be a large IGLOO, wherein Ikeega and I can dwell in comfort.”
“Ay，”they nodded gravely.
“But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time.So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat should build me my IGLOO.”
And the IGLOO was built accordingly, on a generous scale which exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death of Bok.Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to he looked upon as the first woman in all the village；and the women were given to visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among themselves or with the men.
But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvellous hunting that took chief place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft to his face.
“It is charged，”Ugh-Gluk said ominously，“that thou dealest with evil spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded.”
“Is not the meat good？”Keesh made answer.“Has one in the village yet to fall sick from the eating of it？How dost thou know that witchcraft be concerned？Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the envy that consumes thee？”
And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he walked away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so that his methods might be learned.So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking care not to be seen.After five days they returned, their eyes bulging and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen.The council was hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale.
“Brothers！As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the first day he picked up with a great he-bear.It was a very great bear.”
“None greater，”Bawn corroborated, and went on himself.“Yet was the bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid.And he shouted harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much noise.Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and growl.But Keesh walked right up to the bear.”
“Ay，”Bim continued the story.“Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away.But as he ran he dropped a little round ball on the ice.And the bear stoppedand smelled of it, then swallowed it up.And Keesh continued to run away and drop little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up.”
Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed open unbelief.
“With our own eyes we saw it，”Bim affirmed.
And Bawn—“Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his fore paws madly about.And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe distance.But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him.”
“Ay, within him，”Bim interrupted.“For he did claw at himself, and leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such a sight！”
“Nay, never was such a sight seen，”Bawn took up the strain.“And furthermore, it was such a large bear.”
“Witchcraft，”Ugh-Gluk suggested.
“I know not，”Bawn replied.“I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and again to squeal and cry.AndKeesh followed after the bear, and we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed.The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain.”
“It was a charm！”Ugh-Gluk exclaimed.“Surely it was a charm！”
“It may well be.”
And Bim relieved Bawn.“The bear wandered, now this way and now that, doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close and speared him to death.”
“And then？”Klosh-Kwan demanded.
“Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of the killing might be told.”
And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council.But he sent reply, saying that he was hungry and tired；also that his IGLOO was large and comfortable and could hold many men.
And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the IGLOO of Keesh. He was eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to their rank.Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite composed.
Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its close said in a stern voice：“So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it？”
Keesh looked up and smiled.“Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing.I have but devised a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all.It be headcraft, not witchcraft.”
“And may any man？”
“Any man.”
There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and Keesh went on eating.
“And……and……and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh？”Klosh-Kwan finally asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yea, I will tell thee.”Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose to his feet.“It is quite simple. Behold！”
He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends were sharp as needle-points.The strip he coiled carefully, till it disappeared in his hand.Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight again.He picked up a piece of blubber.
“So，”he said，“one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whale-bone.After that it is put outside where it freezes into a littleround ball.The bear swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear.It is quite simple.”
And Ugh-Gluk said“Oh！”and Klosh-Kwan said“Ah！”And each said something after his own manner, and all understood.
And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose from the meanest IGLOO to be head man of his village, and through all the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no meat.
一千打/The One Thousand Dozen
导读瑞斯莫森是旧金山的一个小职员，每月只挣几百块钱。一天，瑞斯莫森突然冒出了在道森出售鸡蛋的想法。他细细地算了一笔账，这里的鸡蛋十五美分一打，道森的鸡蛋要卖到至少一块一打，一千打鸡蛋至少可卖到五千块钱。瑞斯莫森又细细地算了开销：本钱、路费和冰天雪地的风险，得出两个月就能赚四千块的结论。这个前景实在金光耀眼，瑞斯莫森即刻行动起来。
瑞斯莫森去杂货店里订购了个头儿最小的鸡蛋，因为这样它们的总重量才可以接受。他抵押了自己的房屋，得到一千元的贷款，然后辞掉工作。夏天时，瑞斯莫森已经到了一个海滩，依靠勇气和毅力，他以一共一千美元的价格请人把所有的鸡蛋搬运到中转地林德曼，此时已变得身无分文。在那个海角，冬天的气息正在逐渐靠近，人人都想在封冰之前到达道森。瑞斯莫森找到一条船，但是无力付费。于是，他找人定做了一条船。有两位记者得知瑞斯莫森有钱，便拿着一大把钞票和金子要跟他走。瑞斯莫森将他们交来的钱全部付给了造船人，又身无分文了。
与瑞斯莫森同时起航的还有一个同样做鸡蛋生意的人。瑞斯莫森船上的记者和对方为谁航行得快打了赌。瑞斯莫森带着记者们出发了。凭着力气、意志和对财产的保护意识，瑞斯莫森穿过了险恶的水道，途中他们的船桨不断结冰，船也险些撞上礁石。这时，他们已经发现那另外一个做鸡蛋生意的人也已被水覆舟。经过一个大湖时，巨浪滔天，瑞斯莫森的船舱进水，眼看就要沉船，但瑞斯莫森拒绝扔下他的鸡蛋，一个记者被巨浪卷入水中丧生。一艘大驳船慢慢靠近过来，幸存的记者爬上了大船，但是瑞斯莫森仍守着他的鸡蛋，不肯上船。出售鸡蛋
几天以后，筋疲力尽的瑞斯莫森在一个冰雪覆盖的水滩登陆。他在那里修好了小船又继续上路。这时，他要带鸡蛋去道森的消息已经传到了道森，人人盼望他尽快到来。在剩下的航行日子里，他保护着鸡蛋，继续克服着风浪、冰雪和搁浅带来的种种困难，最终被冰封住了路。于是，瑞斯莫森在湖岸搭了一个窝棚，放下了鸡蛋，靠着步行、搭顺水船和做劳力，回到了旧金山。瑞斯莫森再次找银行贷了款。
两个星期后，瑞斯莫森驾驶着一辆狗拉雪橇，雇佣了两个印第安人为他驾驶另外两辆雪橇，来到了上次的那个大湖边，装上了冰冻在那里的鸡蛋。他不顾印第安人的劝阻，坚持在还没有人走过的雪路和冰道上前进。印第安人几次试图逃跑，或者将瑞斯莫森杀害，都被瑞斯莫森的枪和机警挡了回去。瑞斯莫森过着防人逃跑、防狗偷鸡蛋、防止自己冻死的斗争生活，他的心中只有道森和鸡蛋，还有他的钱。
他的脸部肌肉越绷越紧，让人害怕。在一个湖上，一场降温让瑞斯莫森患上了干咳病。在一条河上，他不顾冰未结厚，逼着印第安人和自己通过。期间，一个印第安人落入冰窟，另一个印第安人逃跑了。瑞斯莫森一个人带着一千打鸡蛋，拖着无力的身体，鞭打着半死的狗，终于到达了道森。在这之前，他已经得知道森正在闹饥荒，那里的食物统统涨了价。正是赚钱的信念支撑他一直走到现在。
一个穿着熊皮大衣的人发现了瑞斯莫森和他的鸡蛋。很快，瑞斯莫森被人团团围住。他无法招架，以一个鸡蛋一块五的价格，卖了几打。穿熊皮大衣的人给瑞斯莫森提供了一个免费的住处，瑞斯莫森安顿下来，一边生火，一边想着卖鸡蛋可以赚到的一万多块钱。这时，穿熊皮大衣的人走进来告诉他，他买的鸡蛋都坏了，想要再买些好的鸡蛋。瑞斯莫森打发走了他，平静地劈开所有的鸡蛋，喂好了他的狗，然后，拿着雪橇绳，上吊自杀了。AVID Rasmunsen was a hustler, and, like many a greater man, a man of the one idea. Wherefore, when the clarion call of the DNorth rang on his ear, he conceived an adventure in eggs and bent all his energy to its achievement.He figured briefly and to the point, and the adventure became iridescent-hued, splendid.That eggs would sell at Dawson for five dollars a dozen was a safe working premise.Whence it was incontrovertible that one thousand dozen would bring, in the Golden Metropolis, five thousand dollars.
On the other hand, expense was to be considered, and he considered it well, for he was a careful man, keenly practical, with a hard head and a heart that imagination never warmed. At fifteen cents a dozen, the initial cost of his thousand dozen would be one hundred and fifty dollars, a mere bagatelle in face of the enormousprofit.And suppose, just suppose, to be wildly extravagant for once, that transportation for himself and eggs should run up eight hundred and fifty more；he would still have four thousand clear cash and clean when the last egg was disposed of and the last dust had rippled into his sack.
“You see, Alma，”—he figured it over with his wife, the cosy dining room submerged in a sea of maps, government surveys, guidebooks, and Alaskan itineraries，—“you see, expenses don't really begin till you make Dyea—fifty dollars'll cover it with a first-class passage thrown in. Now from Dyea to Lake Linderman, Indian packers take your goods over for twelve cents a pound, twelve dollars a hundred, or one hundred and twenty dollars a thousand.Say I have fifteen hundred pounds, it'll cost one hundred and eighty dollars—call it two hundred and be safe.I am creditably informed by a Klondiker just come out that I can buy a boat for three hundred.But the same man says I'm sure to get a couple of passengers for one hundred and fifty each, which will give me the boat for nothing, and, further, they can help me manage it.And……that's all；I put my eggs ashore from the boat at Dawson.Now let me see how much is that？”
“Fifty dollars from San Francisco to Dyea, two hundred from Dyea to Linderman, passengers pay for the boat—two hundred and fifty all told，”she summed up swiftly.
“And a hundred for my clothes and personal outfit，”he went onhappily；“that leaves a margin of five hundred for emergencies. And what possible emergencies can arise？”
Alma shrugged her shoulders and elevated her brows. If that vast Northland was capable of swallowing up a man and a thousand dozen eggs, surely there was room and to spare for whatever else he might happen to possess.So she thought, but she said nothing.She knew David Rasmunsen too well to say anything.
“Doubling the time because of chance delays, I should make the trip in two months. Think of it, Alma！Four thousand in two months！Beats the paltry hundred a month I'm getting now.Why, we'll build further out where we'll have more space, gas in every room, and a view, and the rent of the cottage'll pay taxes, insurance, and water, and leave something over.And then there's always the chance of my striking it and coming out a millionnaire.Now tell me, Alma, don’t you think I’m very moderate？”
And Alma could hardly think otherwise. Besides, had not her own cousin，—though a remote and distant one to be sure, the black sheep, the harum-scarum, the ne'er-do-well，—had not he come down out of that weird North country with a hundred thousand in yellow dust, to say nothing of a half-ownership in the hole from which it came？
David Rasmunsen's grocer was surprised when he found him weighing eggs in the scales at the end of the counter, and Rasmunsen himself was more surprised when he found that a dozeneggs weighed a pound and a half—fifteen hundred pounds for his thousand dozen！There would be no weight left for his clothes, blankets, and cooking utensils, to say nothing of the grub he must necessarily consume by the way. His calculations were all thrown out, and he was just proceeding to recast them when he hit upon the idea of weighing small eggs.“For whether they be large or small, a dozen eggs is a dozen eggs，”he observed sagely to himself；and a dozen small ones he found to weigh but a pound and a quarter.Thereat the city of San Francisco was overrun by anxious-eyed emissaries, and commission houses and dairy associations were startled by a sudden demand for eggs running not more than twenty ounces to the dozen.
Rasmunsen mortgaged the little cottage for a thousand dollars, arranged for his wife to make a prolonged stay among her own people, threw up his job, and started North. To keep within his schedule he compromised on a second-class passage, which, because of the rush, was worse than steerage；and in the late summer, a pale and wabbly man, he disembarked with his eggs on the Dyea beach.But it did not take him long to recover his land legs and appetite.His first interview with the Chilkoot packers straightened him up and stiffened his backbone.Forty cents a pound they demanded for the twenty-eight-mile portage, and while he caught his breath and swallowed, the price went up to forty-three.Fifteen husky Indians put the straps on his packs at forty-five, but took them off at an offer of forty-seven from a Skaguay Croesus in dirty shirt and ragged overalls who had lost his horses on the White Pass Trail and was now making a last desperate drive at the country by way of Chilkoot.瑞斯莫森守着他的鸡蛋
But Rasmunsen was clean grit, and at fifty cents found takers, who, two days later, set his eggs down intact at Linderman. But fifty cents a pound is a thousand dollars a ton, and his fifteen hundred pounds had exhausted his emergency fund and left him stranded at the Tantalus point where each day he saw the fresh-whipsawed boats departing for Dawson.Further, a great anxiety brooded over the camp where the boats were built.Men worked frantically, early and late, at the height of their endurance, calking, nailing, and pitching in a frenzy of haste for which adequate explanation was not far to seek.Each day the snowline crept farther down the bleak, rock-shouldered peaks, and gale followed gale, with sleet and slush and snow, and in the eddies and quiet places young ice formed and thickened through the fleeting hours.And each morn, toil-stiffened men turned wan faces across the lake to see if the freeze-up had come.For the freeze-up heralded the death of their hope—the hope that they would be floating down the swift river ere navigation closed on the chain of lakes.
To harrow Rasmunsen's soul further, he discovered three competitors in the egg business. It was true that one, a little German, had gone broke and was himself forlornly back-tripping the lastpack of the portage；but the other two had boats nearly completed and were daily supplicating the god of merchants and traders to stay the iron hand of winter for just another day.But the iron hand closed down over the land.Men were being frozen in the blizzard, which swept Chilkoot, and Rasmunsen frosted his toes ere he was aware.He found a chance to go passenger with his freight in a boat just shoving off through the rubble, but two hundred, hard cash, was required, and he had no money.
“Ay tank you yust wait one leedle w'ile，”said the Swedish boatbuilder, who had struck his Klondike right there and was wise enough to know it？“one leedle w'ile and I make you a tam fine skiff boat, sure Pete.”
With this unpledged word to go on, Rasmunsen hit the back trail to Crater Lake, where he fell in with two press correspondents whose tangled baggage was strewn from Stone House, over across the Pass, and as far as Happy Camp.
“Yes，”he said with consequence.“I've a thousand dozen eggs at Linderman, and my boat's just about got the last seam calked. Consider myself in luck to get it.Boats are at a premium, you know, and none to be had.”
Whereupon and almost with bodily violence the correspondents clamored to go with him, fluttered greenbacks before his eyes, and spilled yellow twenties from hand to hand. He could not hear of it, but they overpersuaded him, and he reluctantly consented to takethem at three hundred apiece.Also they pressed upon him the passage money in advance.And while they wrote to their respective journals concerning the good Samaritan with the thousand dozen eggs, the good Samaritan was hurrying back to the Swede at Linderman.
“Here, you！Gimme that boat！”was his salutation, his hand jingling the correspondents'gold pieces and his eyes hungrily bent upon the finished craft.
The Swede regarded him stolidly and shook his head.
“How much is the other fellow paying？Three hundred？Well, here's four. Take it.”
He tried to press it upon him, but the man backed away.
“Ay tank not. Ay say him get der skiff boat.You yust wait？”
“Here's six hundred. Last call.Take it or leave it.Tell'm it's a mistake.”
The Swede wavered.“Ay tank yes，”he finally said, and the last Rasmunsen saw of him his vocabulary was going to wreck in a vain effort to explain the mistake to the other fellows.
The German slipped and broke his ankle on the steep hogback above Deep Lake, sold out his stock for a dollar a dozen, and with the proceeds hired Indian packers to carry him back to Dyea. But on the morning Rasmunsen shoved off with his correspondents, his two rivals followed suit.
“How many you got？”one of them, a lean little New Englander, called out.
“One thousand dozen，”Rasmunsen answered proudly.
“Huh！I'll go you even stakes I beat you in with my eight hundred.”
The correspondents offered to lend him the money；but Rasmunsen declined, and the Yankee closed with the remaining rival, a brawny son of the sea and sailor of ships and things, who promised to show them all a wrinkle or two when it came to cracking on. And crack on he did, with a large tarpaulin squaresail which pressed the bow half under at every jump.He was the first to run out of Linderman, but, disdaining the portage, piled his loaded boat on the rocks in the boiling rapids.Rasmunsen and the Yankee, who likewise had two passengers, portaged across on their backs and then lined their empty boats down through the bad water to Bennett.
Bennett was a twenty-five-mile lake, narrow and deep, a funnel between the mountains through which storms ever romped. Rasmunsen camped on the sand-pit at its head, where were many men and boats bound north in the teeth of the Arctic winter.He awoke in the morning to find a piping gale from the south, which caught the chill from the whited peaks and glacial valleys and blew as cold as north wind ever blew.But it was fair, and he also found the Yankee staggering past the first bold headland with all sail set.Boat after boat was getting under way, and the correspondents fellto with enthusiasm.
“We'll catch him before Cariboo Crossing，”they assured Rasmunsen, as they ran up the sail and the Alma took the first icy spray over her bow.
Now Rasmunsen all his life had been prone to cowardice on water, but he clung to the kicking steering-oar with set face and determined jaw. His thousand dozen were there in the boat before his eyes, safely secured beneath the correspondents'baggage, and somehow, before his eyes, were the little cottage and the mortgage for a thousand dollars.
It was bitter cold. Now and again he hauled in the steering-sweep and put out a fresh one while his passengers chopped the ice from the blade.Wherever the spray struck, it turned instantly to frost, and the dipping boom of the spritsail was quickly fringed with icicles.The Alma strained and hammered through the big seas till the seams and butts began to spread, but in lieu of bailing the correspondents chopped ice and flung it overboard.There was no let-up.The mad race with winter was on, and the boats tore along in a desperate string.
“W-w-we can't stop to save our souls！”one of the correspondents chattered, from cold, not fright.
“That's right！Keep her down the middle, old man！”the other encouraged.
Rasmunsen replied with an idiotic grin. The iron-bound shoreswere in a lather of foam, and even down the middle the only hope was to keep running away from the big seas.To lower sail was to be overtaken and swamped.Time and again they passed boats pounding among the rocks, and once they saw one on the edge of the breakers about to strike.A little craft behind them, with two men, jibed over and turned bottom up.
“Wow-watch out, old man！”cried he of the chattering teeth.
Rasmunsen grinned and tightened his aching grip on the sweep. Scores of times had the send of the sea caught the big square stern of the Alma and thrown her off from dead before it till the after leach of the spritsail fluttered hollowly, and each time, and only with all his strength, had he forced her back.His grin by then had become fixed, and it disturbed the correspondents to look at him.
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