The Call of the Wild

The Call Of The Wild”Old longings nomadic leap,Chafing at custom’s chain;Again from its brumal sleepWakens the ferine strain.”Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would haveknown that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself,but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and withwarm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had founda yellow metal, and because steamship andtransportation companies were booming the find,thousands of men were rushing into the Northland.These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted wereheavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, andfurry coats to protect them from the frost.Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa ClaraValley. Judge Miller’s place, it was called. It stood backfrom the road, half hidden among the trees, throughwhich glimpses could be caught of the wide coolveranda that ran around its four sides. The house wasapproached by gravelled driveways which wound aboutthrough wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacingboughs of tall poplars.At the rear things were on even a more spacious scalethan at the front. There were great stables, where adozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-cladservants’ cottages, an endless and orderly array ofouthouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards,and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plantfor the artesian well, and the big cement tank whereJudge Miller’s boys took their morning plunge and keptcool in the hot afternoon.