Chapter I. Into the Primitive
"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 have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and...
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