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The Son of the Wolf by Jack London
page 13 of 178 (07%)
Bursting into the camp, he saw the girl in the midst of the
snarling pack, laying about her with an ax. The dogs had broken
the iron rule of their masters and were rushing the grub.

He joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game
of natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of
its primeval environment. Rifle and ax went up and down, hit or
missed with monotonous regularity; lithe bodies flashed, with
wild eyes and dripping fangs; and man and beast fought for
supremacy to the bitterest conclusion. Then the beaten brutes
crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their wounds, voicing
their misery to the stars.

The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps
five pounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles
of wilderness. Ruth returned to her husband, while Malemute Kid
cut up the warm body of one of the dogs, the skull of which had
been crushed by the ax. Every portion was carefully put away,
save the hide and offal, which were cast to his fellows of the
moment before.

Morning brought fresh trouble. The animals were turning on each
other. Carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was
downed by the pack. The lash fell among them unheeded. They
cringed and cried under the blows, but refused to scatter till
the last wretched bit had disappeared--bones, hide, hair,
everything.

Malemute Kid went about his work, listening to Mason, who was
back in Tennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild
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