Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories | Page 9

never could
make out his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay;
he looked like all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on
top of it all he had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side,
in the thick of the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was
his prevailing color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a
water-bucket. That was why we called him Spot.
He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles
stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking
brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run
your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own
weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run
that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct that
was positively grewsome for divining when work was to be done and
for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying lost
he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way
that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of
wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed.
There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men
I know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over
us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and decided
that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better than
work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for such a
computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes till the
shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like yeast,
what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express myself about
that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, that's all. At times it
was like gazing into a human soul, to look into his eyes; and what I saw
there frightened me and started all sorts of ideas in my own mind of
reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I sensed something big in that
brute's eyes; there was a message there, but I wasn't big enough myself
to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm making a fool of

myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give an inkling of what I
saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it wasn't color; it was something
that moved, away back, when the eyes themselves weren't moving. And
I guess I didn't see it move, either; I only sensed that it moved. It was
an expression,--that's what it was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it
was different from a mere expression; it was more than that. I don't
know what it was, but it gave me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh,
no, not sentimental kinship. It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those
eyes never pleaded like a deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't
defiance. It was just a calm assumption of equality. And I don't think it
was deliberate. My belief is that it was unconscious on his part. It was
there because it was there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't
mean shine. It didn't shine; it moved. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd
looked into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve
was affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he
was no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the
brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going
on. I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my
big Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't
plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things
moving, yes, _moving,_ in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them
move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed
them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was
like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your
gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed
so near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I
could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all
around in those eyes of his. And