"Jack London. The Call of the Wild (Сборник из 7 рассказов на англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

a long bend around. Buck did not know of this, and as he rounded
the bend, the frost wraith of a rabbit still flitting before him,
he saw another and larger frost wraith leap from the overhanging
bank into the immediate path of the rabbit. It was Spitz. The
rabbit could not turn, and as the white teeth broke its back in
mid air it shrieked as loudly as a stricken man may shriek. At
sound of this, the cry of Life plunging down from Life's apex in
the grip of Death, the fall pack at Buck's heels raised a hell's
chorus of delight.


Buck did not cry out. He did not check himself, but drove in upon
Spitz, shoulder to shoulder, so hard that he missed the throat.
They rolled over and over in the powdery snow. Spitz gained his
feet almost as though he had not been overthrown, slashing Buck
down the shoulder and leaping clear. Twice his teeth clipped
together, like the steel jaws of a trap, as he backed away for
better footing, with lean and lifting lips that writhed and
snarled.


In a flash Buck knew it. The time had come. It was to the death.
As they circled about, snarling, ears laid back, keenly watchful
for the advantage, the scene came to Buck with a sense of
familiarity. He seemed to remember it all,-the white woods, and
earth, and moonlight, and the thrill of battle. Over the
whiteness and silence brooded a ghostly calm. There was not the
faintest whisper of air-nothing moved, not a leaf quivered, the
visible breaths of the dogs rising slowly and lingering in the
frosty air. They had made short work of the snowshoe rabbit,
these dogs that were ill-tamed wolves; and they were now drawn up
in an expectant circle. They, too, were silent, their eyes only
gleaming and their breaths drifting slowly upward. To Buck it was
nothing new or strange, this scene of old time. It was as though
it had always been, the wonted way of things.


Spitz was a practised fighter. From Spitzbergen through the
Arctic, and across Canada and the Barrens, he had held his own
with all manner of dogs and achieved to mastery over them. Bitter
rage was his, but never blind rage. In passion to rend and
destroy, he never forgot that his enemy was in like passion to
rend and destroy. He never rushed till he was prepared to receive
a rush; never attacked till he had first defended that attack.


In vain Buck strove to sink his teeth in the neck of the big white
dog. Wherever his fangs struck for the softer flesh, they were
countered by the fangs of Spitz. Fang clashed fang, and lips were
cut and bleeding, but Buck could not penetrate his enemy's guard.