The White Silence
‘CARMEN won't last more than a couple of days.’Mason spat out a chunk[1]of ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully[2]，then put her foot in his mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly between the toes.
‘I never saw a dog with a highfalutin'name that ever was worth a rap，’he said，as he concluded his task and shoved[3]her aside.‘They just fade away and die under the responsibility.Did ye ever see one go wrong with a sensible name like Cassiar，Siwash，or Husky？No，sir！Take a look at Shookum here，he's—’
Snap!The lean brute flashed up,the white teeth just missing Mason's throat.
‘Ye will，will ye？’A shrewd[4]clout behind the ear with the butt of the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow，quivering softly，a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs.
‘As I was saying,just look at Shookum here—he's got the spirit.Bet ye he eats Carmen before the week's out.’
‘I'll bank another proposition against that,’replied Malemute Kid,reversing the frozen bread placed before the fire to thaw.‘We'll eat Shookum before the trip is over.What d'ye say,Ruth?’
The Indian woman settled the coffee with a piece of ice，glanced from Malemute Kid to her husband，then at the dogs，but vouchsafed[5]no reply.It was such a palpable[6]truism that none was necessary.Two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect，with a scant six days'grub for themselves and none for the dogs，could admit no other alternative.The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began their meager meal.The dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a midday halt，and watched each mouthful enviously[7].
‘No more lunches after today,’said Malemute Kid.‘And we've got to keep a close eye on the dogs—they're getting vicious.They'd just as soon pull a fellow down as not,if they get a chance.’
‘And I was president of an Epworth once，and taught in the Sunday school.’Having irrelevantly[8]delivered himself of this，Mason fell into a dreamy contemplation[9]of his steaming moccasins，but was aroused by Ruth filling his cup.‘Thank God，we've got slathers of tea！I've seen it growing，down in Tennessee[10].What wouldn't I give for a hot corn pone just now！Never mind，Ruth；you won't starve much longer，nor wear moccasins either.’
The woman threw off her gloom at this，and in her eyes welled up a great love for her white lord—the first white man she had ever seen—the first man whom she had known to treat a woman as something better than a mere animal or beast of burden[11].
‘Yes，Ruth，’continued her husband，having recourse to the macaronic[12]jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other；‘wait till we clean up and pull for the Outside.We'll take the White Man's canoe and go to the Salt Water.Yes，bad water，rough water—great mountains dance up and down all the time.And so big，so far，so far away—you travel ten sleep，twenty sleep，forty sleep’—he graphically[13]enumerated[14]the days on his fingers—‘all the time water，bad water.Then you come to great village，plenty people，just the same mosquitoes[15]next summer.Wigwams oh，so high—ten，twenty pines.Hi-yu skookum！’
He paused impotently，cast an appealing glance at Malemute Kid，then laboriously placed the twenty pines，end on end，by sign language.Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism[16]；but Ruth's eyes were wide with wonder，and with pleasure；for she half believed he was joking，and such condescension[17]pleased her poor woman's heart.
‘And then you step into a—a box,and pouf!up you go.’He tossed his empty cup in the air by way of illustration and,as he deftly caught it,cried:‘And biff!down you come.Oh,great medicine men!You go Fort Yukon.I go Arctic City—twenty-five sleep—big string,all the time—I catch him string—I say,“Hello,Ruth!How are ye?”—and you say,“Is that my good husband?”—and I say,“Yes”—and you say,“No can bake good bread,no more soda”—then I say,“Look in cache,under flour;good-by.”You look and catch plenty soda.All the time you Fort Yukon,me Arctic City.Hi-yu medicine man!’
Ruth smiled so ingenuously[18]at the fairy story that both men burst into laughter.A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of the Outside，and by the time the snarling combatants[19]were separated，she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail.
‘Mush!Baldy!Hi!Mush on!’Mason worked his whip smartly and,as the dogs whined low in the traces,broke out the sled with the gee pole.Ruth followed with the second team,leaving Malemute Kid,who had helped her start,to bring up the rear.Strong man,brute that he was,capable of felling an ox at a blow,he could not bear to beat the poor animals,but humored them as a dog driver rarely does—nay,almost wept with them in their misery.
‘Come，mush on there，you poor sore-footed brutes！’he murmured，after several ineffectual[20]attempts to start the load.But his patience was at last rewarded，and though whimpering with pain，they hastened to join their fellows.
No more conversation；the toil of the trail will not permit such extravagance[21].And of all deadening labors，that of the Northland trail is the worst.Happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the price of silence，and that on a beaten track.
And of all heartbreaking labors，that of breaking trail is the worst.At every step the great webbed shoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee.Then up，straight up，the deviation of a fraction of an inch being a certain precursor[22]of disaster，the snowshoe must be lifted till the surface is cleared；then forward，down，and the other foot is raised perpendicularly[23]for the matter of half a yard.He who tries this for the first time，if haply he avoids bringing his shoes in dangerous propinquity[24]and measures not his length on the treacherous[25]footing，will give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards；he who can keep out of the way of the dogs for a whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clear conscience and a pride which passeth all understanding；and he who travels twenty sleeps on the Long Trail is a man whom the gods may envy[26].
The afternoon wore on，and with the awe，born of the White Silence，the voiceless travelers bent to their work.Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity—the ceaseless flow of the tides，the fury of the storm，the shock of the earthquake，the long roll of heaven's artillery—but the most tremendous，the most stupefying of all，is the passive phase of the White Silence.All movement ceases，the sky clears，the heavens are as brass；the slightest whisper seems sacrilege[27]，and man becomes timid，affrighted at the sound of his own voice.Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world，he trembles at his audacity，realizes that his is a maggot's life，nothing more.Strange thoughts arise unsummoned[28]，and the mystery of all things strives for utterance.And the fear of death，of God，of the universe，comes over him—the hope of the Resurrection[29]and the Life，the yearning for immortality，the vain striving of the imprisoned essence—it is then，if ever，man walks alone with God.
So wore the day away.The river took a great bend，and Mason headed his team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land.But the dogs balked at the high bank.Again and again，though Ruth and Malemute Kid were shoving on the sled，they slipped back.Then came the concerted effort.The miserable creatures，weak from hunger，exerted their last strength.Up—up—the sled poised on the top of the bank；but the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to the right，fouling Mason's snowshoes.The result was grievous[30].Mason was whipped off his feet；one of the dogs fell in the traces；and the sled toppled back，dragging everything to the bottom again.
Slash!the whip fell among the dogs savagely,especially upon the one which had fallen.
‘Don't,—Mason,’entreated Malemute Kid;‘the poor devil's on its last legs.Wait and we'll put my team on.’
Mason deliberately withheld the whip till the last word had fallen，then out flashed the long lash，completely curling about the offending creature's body.Carmen—for it was Carmen—cowered in the snow，cried piteously[31]，then rolled over on her side.
It was a tragic moment，a pitiful incident of the trail—a dying dog，two comrades in anger.Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man.But Malemute Kid restrained himself，though there was a world of reproach in his eyes，and，bending over the dog，cut the traces.No word was spoken.The teams were double-spanned and the difficulty overcome；the sleds were under way again，the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear.As long as an animal can travel，it is not shot，and this last chance is accorded it—the crawling into camp，if it can，in the hope of a moose[32]being killed.
Already penitent for his angry action，but too stubborn[33]to make amends，Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade，little dreaming that danger hovered in the air.The timber clustered thick in the sheltered bottom，and through this they threaded their way.Fifty feet or more from the trail towered a lofty pine.For generations it had stood there，and for generations destiny had had this one end in view—perhaps the same had been decreed of Mason.
He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin.The sleds came to a halt，and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper.The stillness was weird；not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest；the cold and silence of outer space had chilled[34]the heart and smote the trembling lips of nature.A sigh pulsed through the air—they did not seem to actually hear it，but rather felt it，like the premonition[35]of movement in a motionless void.Then the great tree，burdened with its weight of years and snow，played its last part in the tragedy[36]of life.He heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but，almost erect，caught the blow squarely on the shoulder.
The sudden danger，the quick death—how often had Malemute Kid faced it！The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands and sprang into action.Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in idle wailing，as might many of her white sisters.At his order，she threw her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike，easing the pressure and listening to her husband's groans，while Malemute Kid attacked the tree with his ax.The steel rang merrily as it bit into the frozen trunk，each stroke being accompanied by a forced，audible respiration[37]，the‘Huh！’‘Huh！’of the woodsman.
At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow.But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the woman's face，the blended look of hopeful，hopeless query[38].Little was said；those of the Northland are early taught the futility of words and the inestimable value[39]of deeds.With the temperature at sixty-five below zero，a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live.So the sled lashings were cut，and the sufferer，rolled in furs，laid on a couch of boughs.Before him roared a fire，built of the very wood which wrought the mishap.Behind and partially over him was stretched the primitive fly—a piece of canvas，which caught the radiating heat and threw it back and down upon him—a trick which men may know who study physics at the fount.
And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is sounded.Mason was terribly crushed.The most cursory[40]examination revealed it.His right arm，leg，and back were broken；his limbs were paralyzed from the hips；and the likelihood[41]of internal injuries was large.An occasional moan was his only sign of life.
No hope；nothing to be done.The pitiless night crept slowly by—Ruth's portion，the despairing stoicism of her race，and Malemute Kid adding new lines to his face of bronze.In fact，Mason suffered least of all，for he spent his time in eastern Tennessee，in the Great Smoky Mountains，living over the scenes of his childhood.And most pathetic was the melody[42]of his long-forgotten Southern vernacular[43]，as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts and watermelon raids.It was as Greek to Ruth，but the Kid understood and felt—felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that civilization means.
Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man,and Malemute Kid bent closer to catch his whispers.
‘You remember when we foregathered on the Tanana，four years come next ice run？I didn't care so much for her then.It was more like she was pretty，and there was a smack of excitement about it，I think.But d'ye know，I've come to think a heap of her.She's been a good wife to me，always at my shoulder in the pinch.And when it comes to trading，you know there isn't her equal.D'ye recollect the time she shot the Moosehorn Rapids to pull you and me off that rock，the bullets whipping the water like hailstones[44]？—and the time of the famine at Nuklukyeto？—when she raced the ice run to bring the news？Yes，she's been a good wife to me，better'n that other one.Didn't know I'd been there？Never told you，eh？Well，I tried it once，down in the States.That's why I'm here.Been raised together，too.I came away to give her a chance for divorce[45].She got it.
‘But that's got nothing to do with Ruth.I had thought of cleaning up and pulling for the Outside next year—her and I—but it's too late.Don't send her back to her people，Kid.It's beastly hard for a woman to go back.Think of it！—nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and dried fruit，and then to go back to her fish and caribou[46].It's not good for her to have tried our ways，to come to know they're better'n her people's，and then return to them.Take care of her，Kid—why don't you—but no，you always fought shy of them—and you never told me why you came to this country.Be kind to her，and send her back to the States as soon as you can.But fix it so she can come back—liable to get homesick，you know.
‘And the youngster—it's drawn us closer,Kid.I only hope it is a boy.Think of it!—flesh of my flesh,Kid.He mustn't stop in this country.And if it's a girl,why,she can't.Sell my furs;they'll fetch at least five thousand,and I've got as much more with the company.And handle my interests with yours.I think that bench claim will show up.See that he gets a good schooling;and Kid,above all,don't let him come back.This country was not made for white men.
‘I'm a gone man,Kid.Three or four sleeps at the best.You've got to go on.You must go on!Remember,it's my wife,it's my boy—O God!I hope it's a boy!You can't stay by me—and I charge you,a dying man,to pull on.’
‘Give me three days,’pleaded Malemute Kid.‘You may change for the better;something may turn up.’
‘No.’
‘Just three days.’
‘You must pull on.’
‘Two days.’
‘It's my wife and my boy,Kid.You would not ask it.’
‘One day.’
‘No,no!I charge-’
‘Only one day.We can shave it through on the grub,and I might knock over a moose.’
‘No—all right；one day，but not a minute more.And，Kid，don't—don't leave me to face it alone.Just a shot，one pull on the trigger[47].You understand.Think of it！Think of it！Flesh of my flesh，and I'll never live to see him！
‘Send Ruth here.I want to say good-by and tell her that she must think of the boy and not wait till I'm dead.She might refuse to go with you if I didn't.Good-by,old man;good-by.
‘Kid!I say—a—sink a hole above the pup,next to the slide.I panned out forty cents on my shovel there.
‘And,Kid!’He stooped lower to catch the last faint words,the dying man's surrender of his pride.‘I'm sorry—for—you know—Carmen.’
Leaving the girl crying softly over her man,Malemute Kid slipped into his parka and snowshoes,tucked his rifle under his arm,and crept away into the forest.He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the Northland,but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this.In the abstract,it was a plain,mathematical proposition—three possible lives as against one doomed one.But now he hesitated.For five years,shoulder to shoulder,on the rivers and trails,in the camps and mines,facing death by field and flood and famine,had they knitted the bonds of their comradeship.So close was the tie that he had often been conscious of a vague jealousy of Ruth,from the first time she had come between.And now it must be severed by his own hand.
Though he prayed for a moose，just one moose，all game seemed to have deserted the land，and nightfall found the exhausted[48]man crawling into camp，lighthanded，heavyhearted.An uproar from the dogs and shrill cries from Ruth hastened him.
Bursting into the camp，he saw the girl in the midst of the snarling pack，laying about her with an ax.The dogs had broken the iron rule of their masters and were rushing the grub.He joined the issue with his rifle reversed，and the hoary[49]game of natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness[50]of its primeval environment.Rifle and ax went up and down，hit or missed with monotonous regularity；lithe bodies flashed，with wild eyes and dripping fangs；and man and beast fought for supremacy[51]to the bitterest conclusion.Then the beaten brutes crept to the edge of the firelight，licking their wounds，voicing their misery to the stars.
The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured，and perhaps five pounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles of wilderness.Ruth returned to her husband，while Malemute Kid cut up the warm body of one of the dogs，the skull of which had been crushed by the ax.Every portion was carefully put away，save the hide and offal[52]，which were cast to his fellows of the moment before.
Morning brought fresh trouble.The animals were turning on each other.Carmen，who still clung to her slender thread of life，was downed by the pack.The lash fell among them unheeded[53].They cringed[54]and cried under the blows，but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit had disappeared—bones，hide，hair，everything.
Malemute Kid went about his work,listening to Mason,who was back in Tennessee,delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to his brethren of other days.
Taking advantage of neighboring pines，he worked rapidly，and Ruth watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to preserve their meat from the wolverines[55]and dogs.One after the other，he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to the ground，making them fast with thongs of moosehide.Then he beat the dogs into submission[56]and harnessed them to two of the sleds，loading the same with everything but the furs which enveloped Mason.These he wrapped and lashed tightly about him，fastening either end of the robes to the bent pines.A single stroke of his hunting knife would release them and send the body high in the air.
Ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle.Poor girl，she had learned the lesson of obedience well.From a child，she had bowed，and seen all women bow，to the lords of creation，and it did not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist.The Kid permitted her one outburst of grief，as she kissed her husband—her own people had no such custom—then led her to the foremost sled and helped her into her snowshoes.Blindly，instinctively，she took the gee pole and whip，and‘mushed’the dogs out on the trail.Then he returned to Mason，who had fallen into a coma，and long after she was out of sight crouched[57]by the fire，waiting，hoping，praying for his comrade to die.
It is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the White Silence.The silence of gloom is merciful，shrouding one as with protection and breathing a thousand intangible[58]sympathies；but the bright White Silence，clear and cold，under steely skies，is pitiless.
An hour passed—two hours—but the man would not die.At high noon the sun,without raising its rim above the southern horizon,threw a suggestion of fire athwart the heavens,then quickly drew it back.Malemute Kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade's side.He cast one glance about him.The White Silence seemed to sneer,and a great fear came upon him.There was a sharp report;Mason swung into his aerial sepulcher,and Malemute Kid lashed the dogs into a wild gallop as he fled across the snow.
[1]chunk n.大块，矮胖的人或物
[2]ruefully adv.悲伤地，可怜地
[3]shove vt.推挤，猛推，强使vi.推n.推，挤
[4]shrewd adj.精明的
[5]vouchsafe vt.赐予，允许
[6]palpable adj.可触知的，明显的
[7]enviously adv.羡慕地
[8]irrelevantly adv.不恰当地，不合适地
[9]contemplation n.注视，沉思，预期，企图，打算
[10]Tennessee n.田纳西州
[11]burden n.担子，负担v.负担
[12]macaronic adj.两种语言混合的n.两种语言混合的诗文
[13]graphically adj.绘成图画似地，绘画地
[14]enumerate v.列举
[15]mosquito n.蚊子
[16]cynicism n.犬儒主义，玩世不恭，冷嘲热讽
[17]condescension n.谦虚，硬要人家领情的态度
[18]ingenuously adv.率直地，正直地
[19]combatant n.战士，战斗员adj.战斗的
[20]ineffectual adj.无效的，不成功的
[21]extravagance n.奢侈，铺张，过度，放纵的言行
[22]precursor n.先驱
[23]perpendicularly adv.垂直地，直立地
[24]propinquity n.接近
[25]treacherous adj.背叛的，背信弃义的，奸诈的，叛逆的
[26]envy vt.n.羡慕，嫉妒
[27]sacrilege n.冒渎，亵渎圣物，悖理逆天的行为，渎圣罪
[28]unsummoned adj.未被召集（或传唤、邀请）的
[29]resurrection n.复苏
[30]grievous adj.令人忧伤的
[31]piteously adv.可怜地，慈悲地
[32]moose n.驼鹿（产于北美的一种大鹿）
[33]stubborn adj.顽固的，固执的，坚定的，坚决的，难应付的，难处理的
[34]chill v.使冷，变冷，冷藏n.寒意，寒战，寒心adj.寒冷的，扫兴的
[35]premonition n.前兆
[36]tragedy n.悲剧，惨案，悲惨，灾难
[37]respiration n.呼吸，呼吸作用
[38]query n.质问，询问，怀疑，疑问v.询问，表示怀疑
[39]inestimable value难以估量的价值
[40]cursory adj.匆匆忙忙的，粗略的，草率的
[41]likelihood n.可能，可能性
[42]melody n.悦耳的音调
[43]vernacular adj.本国的
[44]hailstone n.冰雹
[45]divorce n.离婚，脱离vt.使离婚，与……脱离
[46]caribou n.北美产驯鹿
[47]trigger n.板机vt.引发，引起，触发
[48]exhausted adj.耗尽的，疲惫的
[49]hoary adj.灰白的，（因年迈而）头发灰白的，古代的，久远的
[50]ruthlessness n.无情，冷酷
[51]supremacy n.地位最高的人，至高，无上，霸权
[52]offal n.碎屑，残渣，废弃物，垃圾，（猪、牛、羊等屠宰后的）头，尾，下水
[53]unheeded adj.未被注意的，被忽视的
[54]cringe vi.畏缩，阿谀，奉承
[55]wolverine n.狼獾，豹熊，狼獾皮
[56]submission n.屈服，降服，服从，谦恭，投降
[57]crouch vi.蜷缩，蹲伏
[58]intangible adj.难以明了的，无形的