11.

Brown Wolf
by Jack London
SHE had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her overshoes, and when she emerged from the
house found her waiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing glance
across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees.

"Where's Wolf?" she asked.

"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the
organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him."

"Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took the trail that led down through the waxen-
belled manzanita jungle to the county road.

"She was beautiful - " he began,

"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted.

"But she WAS beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted.

"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And there's the Wolf!"

"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to him.

The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to snuggle under the caress of an invisible
hand.
In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was given to his wolfhood by his color and marking.
There the dog unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He was brown, deep brown, red-
brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a
yellow that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it.

The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it had been such a task to win his love.
A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing
them with bared fangs and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the spring, and eating
the food they gave him after they set it down at a safe distance and retreated.

And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular
time been called away into the northern part of the state. Riding along on the train, near to the line between California
and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown
and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred miles of travel.

To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate made, on which was stamped: RETURN
TO WALT IRVINE, GLEN ELLEN, SONOMA COUNTY,
CALIFORNIA. This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly
he disappeared. A day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made over a hundred
miles to the north, and was still going when captured.
Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length of California, all of Oregon, and most of
Washington, before he was picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with which he
travelled. He always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving his
way northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one could understand.

But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable and elected to remain at the cottage where first he
had killed the rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed before the man and woman
succeeded in patting him. It was a great victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. His history began
with Walt and Madge. He had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner from whom he
had evidently fled.

Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each
proclaimed loudly any expression of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, chiefly because
he was a man.

On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her
favor alone, that he was permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these things that she bade
fair to overcome the handicap of her garments.

"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge added. "To- morrow's the first of the month, you
know."

"Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milker in California."

"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And you never showed it to me."

"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and never missed an opportunity to practise it.

The man paused and nodded.

"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather."

"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed.

"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you
know where she lives. Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson."

"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with interest, "about whom we've heard so much?"

"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her."

"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we come over some day while you are at your
sister's? Or, better yet, won't you come over and have dinner with us?"

"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I
got to be pullin' north again. I go out on to-night's train.
You see, I've got a mail contract with the government."

"Is that what you call him - Wolf?" the man asked.

Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you - unless it's because you're from the Klondike.
He's a Klondike dog, you know."

"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs and examined the foot- pads, pressing them and denting
them with his thumb. "Kind of SOFT," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time."

"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him."

Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How
long have you had him?"

Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist.

"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes."

Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her words had led him to suspect.

"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His
name ain't Wolf. It's Brown."

"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. Walt was on the defensive at once.
"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. "Because he is," was the reply.
"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply.

"And the work?"

"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without end, an' famine, an' frost, an all the rest of the
miseries - that's what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He knows that life. He was
born to it an' brought up to it. An' you don't know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. That's
where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest."

"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is no need of further discussion."

"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead.

"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You
may even sometime have driven him for his owner. Anyway, you've got to prove property."

Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with hopelessness.

"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller."

"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him."

Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to be generous in response to generousness.
"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the
crack team of Alaska. Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high,
then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy price. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk
at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck
my finger regular, the darn little cuss - that finger right there!"

And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger for them to see.

"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of
affection.

He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. "But the dog," she said. "You haven't
considered the dog."
Skiff Miller looked puzzled.

"Have you thought about him?" she asked.

"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response.

"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he has his likes and desires. You have not
considered him. You give him no choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer California to
Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay."

"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin'
a raw team into shape. He's got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say to him. Look
at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him."

The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick
and eager to follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other.

Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Finally he said:

"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's
earned a soft berth an' has got a right to choose. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call 'm to come back."

He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play fair. No persuadin' after my back is
turned."

"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her assurances.

"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When their hearts is touched they're likely to stack
the cards, look at the bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil - beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only discoursin' about
women in general."

"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered.

"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away
slow? It's no more'n fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." - Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise
you faithfully that we won't do anything to influence him."
"Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the ordinary tones of one departing.

"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail.

Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag
him after the retreating man.

Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be in two places at the same time, with the old
master and the new, and steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about excitedly, making short
nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind,
desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and beginning to pant.

He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the mouth opening and closing with jerking
movements, each time opening wider. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first
silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the
register of the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling.

But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the
paroxysms ceased, and he looked long and steadily at the retreating man. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive,
no suggestion and no clew as to what his conduct should be.

This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these humans who had never been cold before.
No response could he draw from them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as dead.

He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone
from view. Yet he never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as though possessed of
no interest in what was occurring behind his back.

He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just
begun.

He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the caressing sound that it was the will of her
to send forth. But the caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, and she saw the
sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly.

Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush
standing out straight behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone.

Vocabulary expansion

Growl: mean sound of a dog

starve:very hungry
Fed: already gave food to
drop in: visit someone for a short time
to take long walks: to walk for a long time
catch up: to meet up with someone or chase them to get closer
handkerchief: small piece of cloth
path: a way for walking
shocked: very surprised
prove: to show something to be true
at once: right now
plenty: enough
obey: follow the rules
fist: hand closed tightly
stolen: to steal (past)
all right: acceptable; ok
shook hands: sign of agreement
grabbed: grasped someone or something tightly
drag: pull someone or something
make up one's mind: to decide

The Little Man

by Jack London
"I wisht you wasn't so set in your ways," Shorty demurred. "I'm sure scairt of that glacier. No man ought to tackle
it by his lonely."

Smoke laughed cheerfully, and ran his eye up the glistening face of the tiny glacier that filled the head of the
valley. "Here it is August already, and the days have been getting shorter for two months," he epitomized the
situation. "You know quartz, and I don't. But I can bring up the grub, while you keep after that mother lode. So-
long. I'll be back by to-morrow evening."

"I got a hunch something's goin' to happen," Shorty pleaded after him.

The valley Smoke was descending gradually widened after the fashion of any normal valley; but, at the lower end,
it pinched narrowly between high precipitous walls and abruptly stopped in a cross wall. Climbing the cross wall,
from the top Smoke saw the lake beneath him. There were many glaciers in the canyons, most of them tiny, and,
as he looked, one of the larger ones, on the north shore, calved amid thunders and splashings. Somebody else
had surprised themselves into finding Surprise Lake, was his conclusion, as he turned to climb the southern wall.

From the top of this he came down into a little valley, flower-floored and lazy with the hum of bees, that behaved
quite as a reasonable valley should, in so far as it made legitimate entry on the lake. What was wrong with it was
its length--scarcely a hundred yards; its head a straight up-and-down cliff of a thousand feet, over which a stream
pitched itself in descending veils of mist.

"Hello!" was the stranger's greeting, and Smoke's heart went out to the man in ready liking. "Just in time for a
snack. There's coffee in the pot, a couple of cold flapjacks, and some jerky."

"I'll go you if I lose," was Smoke's acceptance, as he sat down. "I've been rather skimped on the last several meals,
but there's oodles of grub over in the cabin."

"Across the lake? That's what I was heading for."

"Seems Surprise Lake is becoming populous," Smoke complained, emptying the coffee-pot.
"Go on, you're joking, aren't you?" the man said, astonishment painted on his face.

"Same here," the other agreed. "I'd headed back and was expecting to fetch the Stewart last night, when out I
popped in sight of the lake. If that's it, where's the

Stewart? And where have I been all the time? And how did you come here? And what's your name?"

"Oh! I know you." The man's eyes and face were bright with a joyous smile, and his hand flashed eagerly out to
Smoke's. "I've heard all about you."

"Been reading police-court news, I see," Smoke sparred modestly.

"Nope." The man laughed and shook his head. "Merely recent Klondike history. I might have recognized you if
you'd been shaved. I watched you putting it all over the gambling crowd when you were bucking roulette in the
Elkhorn. My name's Carson-- Andy Carson; and I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to meet up with you."

He was a slender man, wiry with health, with quick black eyes and a magnetism of camaraderie.

"And this is Surprise Lake?" he murmured incredulously. "It certainly is."

"And its bottom's buttered with gold?"

"Sure. There's some of the churning." Smoke dipped in his overalls pocket and brought forth half a dozen nuggets.
"That's the stuff. All you have to do is go down to bottom, blind if you want to, and pick up a handful. Then you've
got to run half a mile to get up your circulation."

"But it's yours," was Carson's objection.

"And you tell me--" Carson broke off, speechless and amazed.

"And glad to have you. It will take a year or two, with all the money we can raise, to drain the lake. It can be done.
I've looked over the ground. But it will take every man in the country that's willing to work for wages. We'll need
an army, and we need right now decent men in on the ground floor. Are you in?"
Let's see."

Smoke held up his foot.

"Worn smooth as a skating-rink!" Carson cried. "You've certainly been hiking some. Wait a minute, and I'll pull
some of mine out for you."

"Let's tackle some of that jerky," he said. "I've been on short allowance, and my knees are shaking. Besides, we're
across the worst. Three hundred yards will fetch us to the rocks, and it's easy going, except for a couple of nasty
fissures and one bad one that heads us down toward the bulge. There's a weak ice-bridge there, but Shorty and I
managed it."

"Boys?" he queried.

"Boy and girl," Carson answered proudly. "He's a year and a half older." He sighed. "They might have been some
grown, but we had to wait. You see, she was sick. Lungs. But she put up a fight. I wasn't afraid. No tuberculosis in
my family. And I got it. That set me thinking. It was contagious. I caught it from breathing their air.
"We talked it over, she and I. Then I jumped the family doctor and consulted an up-to- date expert. He told me
what I'd figured out for myself, and said Arizona was the place for us.

"Of course, living and sleeping in the clean open, I started right in to mend. I was away months at a time. Every
time I came back, she was worse. She just couldn't pick up.

"Then we jumped cities for keeps. Knocked around on the Pacific coast and southern Oregon looked good to us.
We settled in the Rogue River Valley--apples. "We've done some almighty hustling. Takes money, and we hadn't
a cent to start with, you know--had to build a house and barn, get horses and plows, and all the rest. She taught
school two years. Then the boy came. But we've got it. She's handlin' that end, and here I am, a gosh-danged
expensive millionaire--in prospect."

He looked happily across the sun-dazzle on the ice to the green water of the lake along the farther shore, and
murmured:

"She's some woman, that. She's hung on. She just wouldn't die, though she was pretty close to skin and bone all
wrapped around a bit of fire when she went out with the sheep. Oh, she's thin now. I don't think much of that
burg, but she's just hankered for it all her life."

"I'm lighter than you by forty pounds," Carson said. "Let me go first."

"It's one at a time, and me first." Carson took the part coil of rope from Smoke's hand. "You'll have to cast off. I'll
take the rope and the pick. Gimme your hand so I can slip down easy."

Around his neck, resting on his shoulders, he coiled the rope, one end of which was still fast to his waist.

"Keep your eyes up!" Smoke commanded sharply. "Now! Go on!"

The little man obeyed, nor faltered on the rest of the journey. The sun-eroded slope of the farther edge of the
crevasse was slippery, but not steep, and he worked his way up to a narrow ledge, faced about, and sat down.

"Your turn," he called across. "But just keep a-coming and don't look down. That's what got my goat. Just keep a-
coming, that's all. And get a move on. It's almighty rotten."

Balancing his own stick horizontally, Smoke essayed the passage. That the bridge was on its last legs was patent.
He felt a jar under foot, a slight movement of the mass, and a heavier jar. This was followed by a single sharp
crackle. Behind him he knew something was happening. He fell on his face, and without pause slipped down and
into the crack, his legs hanging clear, his chest supported by the stick which he had managed to twist crosswise
as he fell.

His first sensation was the nausea caused by the sickening up-leap of his pulse; his first idea was of surprise that
he had fallen no farther. Behind him was crackling and jar and movement to which the stick vibrated. He could
see Carson, perched on his ledge, his feet braced against the melting surface, swiftly recoiling the rope from his
shoulders to his hand.

"Wait!" he cried. "Don't move, or the whole shooting-match will come down."

He calculated the distance with a quick glance, took the bandana from his neck and tied it to the rope, and
increased the length by a second bandana from his pocket. The first cast was lucky as well as deft, and Smoke's
fingers clutched it. He evidenced a hand-over-hand intention of crawling out of the crack. But Carson, who had
refastened the rope around his own waist, stopped him.

"Make it fast around yourself as well," he ordered. "If I go I'll take you with me," Smoke objected.
The little man became very peremptory.

"Quick!" Carson called, coiling in hand-over-hand on the slack of the rope which Smoke's rush gave him.

When the crash came, Smoke's fingers were clawing into the hard face of the wall of the crevasse, while his body
dragged back with the falling bridge. Carson, sitting up, feet wide apart and braced, was heaving on the rope.
Beneath him, with forty feet of taut rope between them, Smoke was clawing just as wildly; and ere the thunder
from below announced the arrival of the bridge, both men had come to rest. Carson had achieved this first, and
the several pounds of pull he was able to put on the rope had helped bring Smoke to a stop.

Each lay in a shallow niche, but Smoke's was so shallow that, tense with the strain of flattening and sticking,
nevertheless he would have slid on had it not been for the slight assistance he took from the rope. He was on the
verge of a bulge and could not see beneath him. Several minutes passed, in which they took stock of the situation
and made rapid strides in learning the art of sticking to wet and slippery ice. The little man was the first to speak.

It was hard work to slide down a yard, turn over and sit up; but it was even harder for Smoke to remain flattened
and maintain a position that from instant to instant made a greater call upon his muscles. Smoke noted the yellow
pallor of sun-tan forsaken by the blood, and wondered what his own complexion was like. But when he saw
Carson, with shaking fingers, fumble for his sheath-knife, he decided the end had come. The man was in a funk
and was going to cut the rope.

"Don't m-mind m-m-me," the little man chattered. "I ain't scared. It's only my nerves, gosh-dang them. I'll b-b-be
all right in a minute."

"You shut up!" was the hurt retort. "Who's running this?"

And Smoke could not help but see that anger was a good restorative for the other's nerves. As for himself, it was
the more nerve-racking strain, lying plastered against the ice with nothing to do but strive to stick on.

"Gee, that was a near go," Carson chattered. "I came down over a yard. Now you wait. I've got to dig new holds.
If this danged ice wasn't so melty we'd be hunky-dory."

"Now, I'll tell you what I've done," Carson called down. "I've made heel-holds and hand- holes for you alongside
of me. I'm going to heave the rope in slow and easy, and you just come along sticking an' not too fast. I'll tell you
what, first of all. I'll take you on the rope and you worry out of that pack. Get me?"

"Now, I'm going to ditch mine," he called down. "You just take it easy and wait."

Five minutes later the upward struggle began. Smoke, after drying his hands on the insides of his arm-sleeves,
clawed into the climb--bellied, and clung, and stuck, and plastered--sustained and helped by the pull of the rope.
Alone, he could not have advanced. Here was no place to stop and remain. His most desperate effort could not
prevent the stop, and he could feel the down-slip beginning.

"I'm going," he called up.

"So am I," was the reply, gritted through Carson's teeth. "Then cast loose."
Smoke felt the rope tauten in a futile effort, then the pace quickened, and as he went past his previous lodgment
and over the bulge the last glimpse he caught of Carson he was turned over, with madly moving hands and feet
striving to overcome the downward draw. Carson was now out of sight, ensconced in the place previously
occupied by Smoke.

"Gee!" he could hear Carson shiver. "Gee!"

"You're holding me by main strength," Smoke argued. "Soon or late, with the ice melting, you'll slip down after
me. The thing for you to do is to cut loose. Hear me!

There's no use both of us going. Get that? You're the biggest little man in creation, but you've done your best.
You cut loose."

"You shut up. I'm going to make holes this time deep enough to haul up a span of horses."

"You've held me up long enough," Smoke urged. "Let me go." "How many times have I held you up?" came the
truculent query.
"Some several, and all of them too many. You've been coming down all the time."

He heard a gasp that slid into a groan of despair, and felt a slackening of the rope that made him claw. Immediately
the rope tightened again. He tucked his cheek to it, shrank from the pang of cut flesh, tucked more tightly, and
felt the knife come to rest.

A small pocket-knife, weighted on the end of the string, slid down the ice. Smoke got it, opened the larger blade
by a quick effort of his teeth and one hand, and made sure that the blade was sharp. Then he tied the sheath-
knife to the end of the string.

"Haul away!" he called.

With strained eyes he saw the upward progress of the knife. But he saw more--a little man, afraid and indomitable,
who shivered and chattered, whose head swam with giddiness, and who mastered his qualms and distresses and
played a hero's part. There was no chance for two. Steadily, they were sliding into the heart of the glacier, and it
was his greater weight that was dragging the little man down. The little man could stick like a fly. Alone, he could
save himself.

"Bully for us!" came the voice from above, down and across the bulge of ice. "Now we'll get out of here in two
shakes."

"Two or nothing," came the grim but shaky response. "If you'll hold on a minute--"

"I've held on for too long now. I'm not married. I have no adorable thin woman nor kids nor apple-trees waiting
for me. Get me? Now, you hike up and out of that!"

"Wait! For God's sake, wait!" Carson screamed down. "You can't do that! Give me a chance to get you out. Be
calm, old horse. We'll make the turn. You'll see. I'm going to dig holds that'll lift a house and barn."

"What are you doing?" Carson cried desperately. "If you cut, I'll never forgive you-- never. I tell you it's two or
nothing. We're going to get out. Wait! For God's sake!"

"All right," he called up. "I'll wait. Do your best. But I tell you, Carson, if we both start slipping again I'm going to
cut."
"Huh! Forget it. When we start, old horse, we start up. I'm a porous plaster. I could stick here if it was twice as
steep. I'm getting a sizable hole for one heel already. Now, you hush, and let me work."

The slow minutes passed. Smoke centered his soul on the dull hurt of a hang-nail on one of his fingers. He should
have clipped it away that morning--it was hurting then--he decided; and he resolved, once clear of the crevasse,
that it should immediately be clipped. But fear made him draw back the hand and to stick himself again, trembling
and sweating, to the slippery slope. To the fact that he was soaking wet by contact with the thawing ice he tried
to attribute the cause of his shivering; but he knew, in the heart of him, that it was untrue.

A gasp and a groan and an abrupt slackening of the rope, warned him. He began to slip. The movement was very
slow. And he knew, too, that in another moment his falling body would jerk Carson's after it.

Blindly, desperately, all the vitality and life-love of him beaten down in a flashing instant by a shuddering
perception of right and wrong, he brought the knife-edge across the rope, saw the strands part, felt himself slide
more rapidly, and then fall.

What happened then, he did not know. He was not unconscious, but it happened too quickly, and it was
unexpected. This had hollowed out the basin. Where he sat the water was two feet deep, and it was flush with
the rim. He peered over the rim and looked down the narrow chasm hundreds of feet to the torrent that foamed
along the bottom.

"Oh, why did you?" he heard a wail from above.

"Listen," he called up. "I'm perfectly safe, sitting in a pool of water up to my neck. And here's both our packs. I'm
going to sit on them. There's room for a half-dozen here. If you slip, stick close and you'll land. In the meantime
you hike up and get out. Go to the cabin. Somebody's there. I saw the smoke. Get a rope, or anything that will
make rope, and come back and fish for me."

"Honest!" came Carson's incredulous voice.

"Cross my heart and hope to die. Now, get a hustle on, or I'll catch my death of cold."

Smoke kept himself warm by kicking a channel through the rim with the heel of his shoe.
His match-case was water-proof, and he manipulated and dried sufficient tobacco and rice- paper to make
cigarettes.

Two hours later, perched naked on the two packs and smoking, he heard a voice above that he could not fail to
identify.

"Oh, Smoke! Smoke!"

"Hello, Joy Gastell!" he called back. "Where'd you drop from?" "Are you hurt?"
"Not even any skin off!"

"Father's paying the rope down now. Do you see it?"

"Yes, and I've got it," he answered. "Now, wait a couple of minutes, please."

"What's the matter?" came her anxious query, after several minutes. "Oh, I know, you're hurt."

"No, I'm not. I'm dressing." "Dressing?"

 "Yes. I've been in swimming. Now! Ready? Hoist away!"

He sent up the two packs on the first trip, was consequently rebuked by Joy Gastell, and on the second trip came
up himself.
Joy Gastell looked at him with glowing eyes, while her father and Carson were busy

coiling the rope. "How could you cut loose in that splendid way?" she cried. "It was--it was glorious, that's all."

Smoke waved the compliment away with a deprecatory hand.

"I know all about it," she persisted. "Carson told me. You sacrificed yourself to save him."

"Nothing of the sort," Smoke lied. "I could see that swimming-pool right under me all the time."

VOCABULARY:
tackle :
to try to deal with something or someone
There are many ways of tackling this problem.
I tackled him about his careless work.
Shorty : PAST SIMPLE AND PAST PARTICIPLE OF shoot
slip down : to slide without intending to
slope:
a surface which lies at an angle to the horizontal so that some points on it are higher than others
The roof is at a slope (= at an angle to a horizontal surface) of 30°.
Slippery:
wet, smooth or oily so that it slides easily or causes something to slide
slippery soap
a slippery floor
The road was wet and slippery.
Crackling: the crisp skin of cooked pork (= meat from a pig):
when something makes short, dry, sharp sounds
We could hear the crackling of a fire.
downward
tough:
strong; not easily broken or made weaker or defeated
These toys are made from tough plastic.
Almighty:
(of God) having the power to do everything
Almighty God
Mortgage:
an agreement which allows you to borrow money from a bank or similar organization, especially in order to buy a
house or apartment, or the amount of money itself
They took out a £40 000 mortgage (= They borrowed £40 000) to buy the house.
Wrapped:
covered with paper or other material
individually wrapped chocolates
orchard:
an area of land where fruit trees (but not orange trees or other citrus trees) are grown
an apple/cherry orchard
crevasse: a very deep crack in the thick ice of a glacier (= moving mass of ice)
feasible:
able to be made, done or achieved
With the extra resources, the scheme now seems feasible.
[ + to infinitive ] It may be feasible to clone human beings, but is it ethical?
Peaks:
the highest, strongest or best point, value or level of skill
Holiday flights reach a peak during August.
Beat the egg whites until they are stiff enough to form firm peaks.
We saw a victory by an athlete at the very peak of her fitness and career.
Crag: a high rough mass of rock which sticks out from the land around it
Bunch: a number of things of the same type fastened together or in a close group
Veil:
to cover something, especially the face or body, with a veil
In some societies, women are expected to be veiled when they go out in public.
Mist: thin fog produced by very small drops of water collecting in the air just above an area of ground or water
Jerky:
meat that has been cut into long thin strips and dried in the sun
beef jerky
oodles:
a very large amount of something pleasant
She inherited oodles of money from her uncle.
Fetch:
to go to another place to get something or someone and bring them back
[ + two objects ] Could you fetch me my glasses/fetch my glasses for me from the other room, please?
I have to fetch my mother from the station.
Gambling:
the activity of betting money, for example in a game or on a horse race
Gambling can be an addictive habit.
He had to borrow money to pay off his gambling debts.
Slender:
thin and delicate, often in a way that is attractive
He put his hands around her slender waist.
The plant's leaves are long and slender.
Caboodle:
the whole of something, including everything that is connected to it
I like everything about summer - the light, the warmth, the clothes - the whole caboodle.
Speechless:
unable to speak because you are so angry, shocked, surprised, etc.
The news left us speechless.
Wage: a fixed amount of money that is paid, usually every week, to an employee, especially one who does work
that needs physical skills or strength, rather than a job needing a college education
Cheerfully: She walked down the road, whistling cheerfully.
humorous By the end of the evening I could cheerfully have (= I would like to have) punched him.
Ripe: (of fruit or crops) completely developed and ready to be collected or eaten
Futile:
(of actions) having no effect or achieving nothing; unsuccessful
Attempts to get supplies to the region are futile because troops will not allow the aid convoy to enter the city.
It 's quite futile try ing to reason with him - he just won't listen.
Verge:
the edge or border of something
They set up camp on the verge of the desert
Glimpse:
to see something or someone for a very short time or only partly
We glimpsed the ruined abbey from the windows of the train.
Thickly: be (as) thick as thieves informal
to be very close friends and share secrets, etc.
I'm sure she tells Ruth everything we say - they're as thick as thieves, those two.
Coarseness: The coarseness of the cloth irritated her skin.
She can't abide coarseness and stupidity.

Lode: an amount of metal in its natural form

12.The Little Man- EN ESPAÑOL

by Jack London
"Desearía que no estuvieras tan concentrado en tus caminos", replicó Shorty. "Estoy seguro de que se deslizará de
ese glaciar. Ningún hombre debería abordarlo por su soledad".

Smoke se rió alegremente y recorrió con la mirada el rostro resplandeciente del diminuto glaciar que llenaba la cabeza
del valle. "Aquí es agosto y los días se han acortado durante dos meses", resumió la situación. "Sabes el cuarzo, y yo
no. Pero puedo sacar la comida, mientras sigues con la vida de la madre. Mucho tiempo. Volveré mañana por la
tarde".

"Tengo la corazonada de que algo va a suceder", Shorty le suplicó.

El valle El humo descendía gradualmente y se ensanchaba a la manera de cualquier valle normal; pero, en el extremo
inferior, se pellizcó estrechamente entre las altas paredes precipitadas y se detuvo abruptamente en una pared
transversal. Subiendo la pared transversal, desde arriba Smoke vio el lago debajo de él. Había muchos glaciares en
los cañones, la mayoría de ellos diminutos, y, mientras miraba, uno de los más grandes, en la costa norte, parió entre
truenos y salpicaduras. Alguien más se había sorprendido a sí mismo al encontrar el Lago Surprise, fue su conclusión,
mientras se giraba para escalar el muro sur.

Desde lo alto de este, bajó a un pequeño valle, con flores y perezoso con el zumbido de las abejas, que se comportaba
como un valle razonable, en la medida en que permitía la entrada legítima al lago. Lo que estaba mal con eso era su
longitud: apenas cien metros; Su cabeza es un acantilado recto de arriba y abajo de mil pies, sobre el cual un riachuelo
se lanzaba en velos de niebla descendentes.

"¡Hola!" fue el saludo del extraño, y el corazón de Smoke se dirigió al hombre que estaba dispuesto a gustarle. "Justo
a tiempo para un bocadillo. Hay café en la olla, un par de flapjacks fríos y algo de carne seca".

"Te iré si pierdo", fue la aceptación de Smoke, mientras se sentaba. "Me han escatimado bastante en las últimas
comidas, pero hay montones de comida en la cabaña".

"¿Al otro lado del lago? Eso es a lo que me dirigía".

"Parece que Surprise Lake se está volviendo populoso", se quejó Smoke, vaciando la cafetera.

"Vamos, estás bromeando, ¿verdad?" dijo el hombre, con asombro pintado en su rostro.

"Lo mismo digo aquí", acordó el otro. "Regresé y esperaba ir a buscar a Stewart anoche, cuando salí a la vista del lago.
Si eso es todo, ¿dónde está el

Stewart? ¿Y dónde he estado todo el tiempo? ¿Y cómo has venido aquí? ¿Y cual es tu nombre?"

"¡Oh! Te conozco". Los ojos y la cara del hombre brillaban con una alegre sonrisa, y su mano se dirigió con entusiasmo
hacia Smoke. "He oído todo sobre ti".

"He estado leyendo noticias de la corte de policía, veo", dijo Smoke modestamente.

"No". El hombre se rió y negó con la cabeza. "Simplemente la historia reciente de Klondike. Es posible que te haya
reconocido si te hubieran afeitado. Te vi poner todo el juego en la ruleta en la ruleta.

Elkhorn. Mi nombre es Carson, Andy Carson; y no puedo empezar a decirte lo contento que estoy de encontrarme
contigo ".

Era un hombre delgado, delgado de salud, con ojos negros y rápidos y un magnetismo de camaradería.

"¿Y este es Surprise Lake?" murmuró incrédulo. "Ciertamente lo es."

"¿Y su trasero está cubierto de oro?"

"Claro. Hay algunos de los batidos". El humo se hundió en el bolsillo de su mono y sacó media docena de pepitas.
"Eso es todo. Todo lo que tienes que hacer es bajar al fondo, ciego si quieres, y recoger un puñado. Luego tienes que
correr media milla para aumentar tu circulación".

"Pero es tuyo", fue la objeción de Carson.

"Y usted me dice ..." Carson se interrumpió, sin palabras y sorprendida.

"Y me alegro de tenerte. Tomará un año o dos, con todo el dinero que podamos recaudar, para drenar el lago. Se
puede hacer. He mirado por encima del suelo. Pero será necesario que todos los hombres del país está dispuesto a
trabajar por un salario. Necesitaremos un ejército, y ahora mismo necesitamos hombres decentes en la planta baja.
¿Está usted adentro?
Veamos."

El humo levantó el pie.

"¡Llevado liso como una pista de patinaje!" Carson lloró. "Ciertamente has estado caminando un poco. Espera un
momento, y sacaré un poco de mío para ti".

"Vamos a abordar algo de esa sacudida", dijo. "He estado en poco tiempo, y me tiemblan las rodillas. Además,
estamos frente a lo peor. Trescientos metros nos llevarán a las rocas, y es fácil, a excepción de un par de fisuras
desagradables y una mala. Eso nos lleva hacia el bulto. Hay un débil puente de hielo allí, pero Shorty y yo lo logramos
".

"¿Muchachos?" el pregunto
"Niño y niña", respondió Carson con orgullo. "Es un año y medio mayor". Él suspiró. "Podrían haber crecido un poco,
pero tuvimos que esperar. Verá, ella estaba enferma. Pulmones. Pero ella se peleó. No tenía miedo. No había
tuberculosis en mi familia. Y lo entendí. Eso me puso. Pensando. Era contagioso. Lo atrapé al respirar su aire.

"Hablamos de ello, ella y yo. Luego, salté al médico de familia y consulté a un experto actualizado. Me contó lo que
había descubierto por mí mismo y dijo que Arizona era el lugar para nosotros".

"Por supuesto, viviendo y durmiendo a la intemperie, comencé a remendar. Estuve ausente meses a la vez. Cada vez
que regresaba, ella estaba peor. Simplemente no podía levantarse.

"Luego, saltamos ciudades para mantenernos al margen. Estuvimos en la costa del Pacífico y el sur de Oregón nos
pareció bien. Nos instalamos en el valle del río Rogue: las manzanas". Hemos hecho un gran esfuerzo. Se necesita
dinero y no teníamos ni un centavo para empezar, ya sabes, tuvimos que construir una casa y un granero, conseguir
caballos y arados, y todo lo demás. Ella enseñó la escuela dos años. Luego vino el niño. Pero lo tenemos. Ella está a
punto de llegar a ese final, y aquí estoy, un millonario caro y colmán de cabeza ... en perspectiva ".

Miró felizmente a través del resplandor del sol en el hielo hacia el agua verde del lago a lo largo de la costa más
lejana, y murmuró:

"Ella es una mujer, eso. Ella se aferró. Ella simplemente no moriría, aunque estaba muy cerca de la piel y los huesos,
todo envuelto alrededor de un poco de fuego cuando salió con las ovejas. Oh, ella está delgada ahora. No No pienso
mucho en ese burro, pero ella lo ha anhelado toda la vida ".

"Soy más ligero que tú por cuarenta libras", dijo Carson. "Déjame ir primero".

"Es uno a la vez, y yo primero". Carson tomó el rollo de cuerda de la mano de Smoke. "Tendrás que deshacerte.
Tomaré la cuerda y la púa. Dame tu mano para que me pueda deslizar fácilmente".

Alrededor de su cuello, apoyado en sus hombros, enrolló la cuerda, una de las cuales todavía estaba rápida en su
cintura.

"¡Mantén tus ojos en alto!" El humo ordenó bruscamente. "¡Ahora! ¡Vamos!"

El hombrecito obedeció, ni vaciló en el resto del viaje. La pendiente erosionada por el sol del borde más lejano de la
grieta era resbaladiza, pero no empinada, y se abrió camino hacia una cornisa estrecha, encarada, y se sentó.

"Tu turno," dijo al otro lado. "Pero sigue viniendo y no mires hacia abajo. Eso es lo que tiene mi cabra. Solo sigue
viniendo, eso es todo. Y sigue adelante. Está podrido".

Equilibrando su propio palo horizontalmente, Smoke ensayó el pasaje. Que el puente estuviera en sus últimas patas
era patente. Sintió un frasco bajo el pie, un ligero movimiento de la masa y un frasco más pesado. Esto fue seguido
por un solo crujido agudo. Detrás de él él sabía que algo estaba pasando. Cayó sobre su cara, y sin pausa se deslizó
hacia abajo y dentro de la grieta, con las piernas colgando, su pecho apoyado por el palo que había logrado girar en
sentido transversal mientras caía.

Su primera sensación fue la náusea causada por el repugnante salto de su pulso; Su primera idea fue una sorpresa
que no había caído más lejos. Detrás de él estaba crepitante y con jarra y movimiento al que vibraba el palo. Podía
ver a Carson, posado en su cornisa, con los pies apoyados contra la superficie derretida, rápidamente retorciendo la
cuerda de sus hombros a su mano.
"¡Espere!" gritó. "No te muevas, o todo el combate se reducirá".

Calculó la distancia con una mirada rápida, tomó el pañuelo de su cuello y lo ató a la cuerda, y aumentó la longitud
en un segundo pañuelo de su bolsillo. El primer reparto tuvo tanto suerte como habilidad, y los dedos de Smoke lo
agarraron. Él evidenció una intención mano a mano de salir de la grieta. Pero Carson, que había vuelto a atar la cuerda
alrededor de su cintura, lo detuvo.

"Hazlo rápido a tu alrededor también," ordenó. "Si me voy, te llevaré conmigo", objetó Smoke.
El hombrecito se volvió muy perentorio.

"¡Rápido!" Carson llamó, enrollando mano en mano sobre la cuerda que Smoke le dio.

Cuando llegó el choque, los dedos de Smoke se clavaban en la cara dura de la pared de la grieta, mientras su cuerpo
se arrastraba hacia atrás con el puente que caía. Carson, sentado, con los pies separados y apoyados, se agitaba sobre
la cuerda. Debajo de él, con cuarenta pies de cuerda tensa entre ellos, Smoke estaba arañando con la misma fuerza;
y antes de que el trueno de abajo anunciara la llegada del puente, ambos hombres habían llegado a descansar. Carson
había logrado esto primero, y las varias libras de tirón que pudo poner en la cuerda ayudaron a que Smoke se
detuviera.

Cada uno descansaba en un nicho poco profundo, pero el de Smoke era tan superficial que, tenso por el esfuerzo de
aplanamiento y adherencia, sin embargo, se habría deslizado si no hubiera sido por la leve ayuda que tomó de la
cuerda. Estaba en el Al borde de un bulto y no podía ver debajo de él. Pasaron varios minutos, durante los cuales
hicieron balance de la situación y avanzaron rápidamente para aprender el arte de adherirse al hielo húmedo y
resbaladizo. El hombrecito fue el primero en hablar.

Era un trabajo difícil deslizarse por una yarda, voltearse y sentarse; pero fue aún más difícil para Smoke permanecer
aplanado y mantener una posición que de instante en instante hizo un mayor llamado a sus músculos. Smoke notó
la palidez amarilla del bronceado sol abandonado por la sangre y se preguntó cómo sería su propia complexión. Pero
cuando vio a Carson, con los dedos temblorosos, buscando a tientas su cuchillo, decidió que había llegado el final. El
hombre estaba en un funk y iba a cortar la cuerda.

"No m-mind m-m-me", charló el hombrecito. "No tengo miedo. Solo son mis nervios, gosh-dang ellos. Estaré bien en
un minuto".

"¡Te callas!" fue la réplica herida. "¿Quién está ejecutando esto?"

Y Smoke no pudo evitar ver que la ira era un buen reconstituyente para los nervios del otro. En cuanto a sí mismo,
era la tensión más estresante, yaciendo pegada contra el hielo, sin nada más que hacer que esforzarse por
mantenerse.

"Caramba, eso fue casi una marcha", charlaba Carson. "Bajé una yarda. Ahora espera. Tengo que cavar nuevas presas.
Si este hielo colgado no fuera tan bueno, estaríamos atrapados".

"Ahora, te diré lo que he hecho", dijo Carson. "He hecho orificios para los talones y orificios para ti a mi lado. Voy a
levantar la cuerda lenta y fácilmente, y tú solo vienes pegado y no demasiado rápido. Te diré qué. En primer lugar.
Te tomaré en la cuerda y te preocuparás por ese paquete. ¿Me pones?

"Ahora voy a deshacerme de la mía", gritó. "Solo tómalo con calma y espera".
Cinco minutos después comenzó la lucha ascendente. El humo, después de secarse las manos en el interior de las
mangas de los brazos, arañó la ascensión, se hinchó, se aferró, se pegó y se enyesó, sostenido y ayudado por el tirón
de la cuerda. Solo, no podría haber avanzado. Aquí no había lugar para detenerse y quedarse. Su esfuerzo más
desesperado no pudo evitar la parada, y pudo sentir el comienzo del deslizamiento.

"Me voy", llamó.

"Yo también", fue la respuesta, rechinando los dientes de Carson. "Entonces suelta".
Smoke sintió que la cuerda se tensaba en un esfuerzo inútil, luego el ritmo se aceleró, y cuando pasó por delante de
su alojamiento anterior y sobre el bulto vislumbró por última vez a Carson, con las manos y los pies moviéndose
locamente, luchando por vencer la caída. dibujar. Carson estaba ahora fuera de la vista, instalado en el lugar que
ocupaba anteriormente Smoke.

"¡Caramba!" Podía escuchar a Carson temblar. "¡Caramba!"

"Me sostienes por la fuerza principal", argumentó Smoke. "Pronto o tarde, con el derretimiento del hielo, te deslizarás
tras de mí. Lo que debes hacer es liberarse. ¡Escúchame!

No sirve de nada que los dos vayamos. ¿Obtén éso? Eres el hombrecito más grande de la creación, pero has hecho
tu mejor esfuerzo. Te sueltas ".

"Cállate. Voy a hacer hoyos lo suficientemente profundos para arrastrar un tramo de caballos".

"Me has sostenido el tiempo suficiente", instó Smoke. "Déjame ir." "¿Cuántas veces te he sostenido?" vino la consulta
truculenta.
"Algunos varios, y todos ellos demasiados. Has estado bajando todo el tiempo".

Oyó un jadeo que se convirtió en un gemido de desesperación, y sintió un aflojamiento de la cuerda que lo hizo
agarrar. Inmediatamente la cuerda se tensó de nuevo. Acercó la mejilla, se encogió ante la punzada de la carne
cortada, la apretó con más fuerza y sintió que el cuchillo se detenía.

Una pequeña navaja de bolsillo, apoyada en el extremo de la cuerda, se deslizó por el hielo. El humo lo consiguió,
abrió la hoja más grande con un rápido esfuerzo de sus dientes y una mano, y se aseguró de que la hoja estuviera
afilada. Luego ató el cuchillo al final de la cuerda.

"¡Aléjate!" él llamó.

Con los ojos tensos vio el avance hacia arriba del cuchillo. Pero vio más: un hombrecito, temeroso e indomable, que
se estremeció y parloteaba, cuya cabeza se llenó de vértigo, y que dominó sus reparos y angustias y desempeñó un
papel de héroe. No había oportunidad para dos. De manera constante, se deslizaban hacia el corazón del glaciar, y
era su mayor peso lo que arrastraba al hombrecillo hacia abajo. El hombrecito podría pegarse como una mosca. Solo,
él podría salvarse a sí mismo.

"Bully para nosotros!" vino la voz desde arriba, abajo y a través de la protuberancia de hielo. "Ahora saldremos de
aquí en dos batidos".

"Dos o nada", fue la respuesta sombría pero temblorosa. "Si aguantas un minuto--"

"He aguantado demasiado tiempo. No estoy casada. No tengo ninguna mujer delgada ni adorables ni manzanos
esperándome. ¿Entra? Ahora, ¡sube y baja de eso!"
"¡Espera! ¡Por el amor de Dios, espera!" Carson gritó hacia abajo. "¡No puedes hacer eso! Dame la oportunidad de
sacarte. Ten calma, viejo caballo. Haremos el turno. Ya lo verás. Voy a cavar bodegas que levantarán una casa y un
granero . "

"¿Qué estás haciendo?" Carson lloraba desesperadamente. "Si cortas, nunca te perdonaré ... nunca. Te digo que son
dos o nada. Vamos a salir. ¡Espera! ¡Por el amor de Dios!"

"Está bien", llamó. "Esperaré. Haz lo mejor que puedas. Pero te digo, Carson, si los dos comenzamos a resbalar otra
vez, lo haré".

"¡Huh! Olvídalo. Cuando empezamos, caballo viejo, comenzamos. Soy un yeso poroso. Podría quedarme aquí si fuera
el doble de empinado. Ya tengo un agujero considerable para un talón. Ahora, tú Silencio, y déjame trabajar ".

Los minutos lentos pasaron. El humo centró su alma en el dolor sordo de una uña en uno de sus dedos. Debería
haberlo recortado esa mañana, le dolía entonces, decidió; y resolvió, una vez fuera de la grieta, que debía recortarse
de inmediato. Pero el miedo le hizo retroceder la mano y volver a pegarse, temblando y sudando, hacia la pendiente
resbaladiza. Al hecho de que estaba empapado por el contacto con el hielo descongelado, trató de atribuirle la causa
de su temblor; pero él sabía, en el corazón de él, que era falso.

Un jadeo y un gemido y un abrupto aflojamiento de la cuerda, le advirtieron. Empezó a resbalarse. El movimiento fue
muy lento. Y también sabía que en otro momento su cuerpo caído sacudiría a Carson después de eso.

Ciegamente, desesperadamente, toda la vitalidad y el amor de su vida derrotados en un instante por una percepción
temblorosa de lo correcto y lo incorrecto, llevó el filo de la cuerda a través de la cuerda, vio las hebras, se sintió
deslizarse más rápidamente y luego caer. Lo que sucedió entonces, no lo sabía. No estaba inconsciente, pero sucedió
demasiado rápido, y fue inesperado. Esto había ahuecado la cuenca. Donde estaba sentado, el agua tenía dos pies
de profundidad y estaba al ras del borde. Miró por encima del borde y miró el estrecho abismo a cientos de pies del
torrente que formaba espuma a lo largo del fondo.

"Oh, ¿por qué lo hiciste?" Oyó un gemido desde arriba.

"Escucha," llamó. "Estoy perfectamente a salvo, sentado en un charco de agua hasta el cuello. Y aquí están nuestras
mochilas. Voy a sentarme sobre ellas. Hay espacio para media docena aquí. Si te deslizas, quédate cerca y tú
Aterrizarás. Mientras tanto, subes y sales. Ve a la cabaña. Alguien está allí. Vi el humo. Toma una cuerda, o cualquier
cosa que haga cuerda, y vuelve a pescar por mí ".

"¡Honesto!" vino la voz incrédula de Carson.

"Cruza mi corazón y espero morir. Ahora, ponte a prueba, o atraparé mi muerte de frío".

El humo se mantuvo caliente al patear un canal a través del borde con el talón de su zapato.
Su caja de cerillas era a prueba de agua, y manipuló y secó suficiente tabaco y papel de arroz para hacer cigarrillos.

Dos horas más tarde, posado desnudo en los dos paquetes y fumando, escuchó una voz arriba que no podía dejar de
identificar.

"¡Oh, humo! ¡Humo!"

"Hola, Joy Gastell!" me devolvió la llamada. "¿De dónde saliste?" "¿Estás herido?"
"¡Ni siquiera una piel fuera!"
"Padre está pagando la cuerda ahora. ¿Lo ves?"

"Sí, y lo tengo", respondió. "Ahora, espera un par de minutos, por favor".

"¿Qué pasa?" Llegó su ansiosa consulta, después de varios minutos. "Oh, lo sé, estás herido".

"No, no lo estoy. Me estoy vistiendo". "¿Vendaje?"

"Sí. He estado nadando. ¡Ahora! ¿Listo? ¡Aleje!"

Envió los dos paquetes en el primer viaje, por lo tanto fue reprendido por Joy Gastell, y en el segundo viaje apareció
él mismo.
Joy Gastell lo miró con ojos brillantes, mientras su padre y Carson estaban ocupados.

enrollando la cuerda "¿Cómo pudiste soltarte de esa manera espléndida?" ella lloró. "Lo fue, fue glorioso, eso es
todo".

Smoke agitó el cumplido con una mano despreciativa.

"Lo sé todo al respecto", insistió ella. "Carson me lo dijo. Te sacrificaste para salvarlo".

"Nada de eso", mintió Smoke. "Pude ver esa piscina justo debajo de mí todo el tiempo".