A thousand deaths by Jack London

could fall to the snow, the spittle crackled. He knew that at fifty below

spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air.

LOST FACE

26

Undoubtedly it was colder than fifty below — how much colder he did not

know. But the temperature did not matter. He was bound for the old claim

on the left fork of Henderson Creek, where the boys were already. They

had come over across the divide from the Indian Creek country, while he

had come the roundabout way to take a look at the possibilities of getting

out logs in the spring from the islands in the Yukon. He would be in to

camp by six o’clock; a bit after dark, it was true, but the boys would be

there, a fire would be going, and a hot supper would be ready. As for

lunch, he pressed his hand against the protruding bundle under his jacket.

It was also under his shirt, wrapped up in a handkerchief and lying against

the naked skin. It was the only way to keep the biscuits from freezing. He

smiled agreeably to himself as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open

and sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried

bacon.

He plunged in among the big spruce trees. The trail was faint. A foot of

snow had fallen since the last sled had passed over, and he was glad he

was without a sled, travelling light. In fact, he carried nothing but the

lunch wrapped in the handkerchief. He was surprised, however, at the

cold. It certainly was cold, he concluded, as he rubbed his numb nose and

cheek-bones with his mittened hand. He was a warm-whiskered man, but

the hair on his face did not protect the high cheek-bones and the eager

nose that thrust itself aggressively into the frosty air.

At the man’s heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolf-dog,

gray-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its

brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold.

It knew that it was no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than

was told to the man by the man’s judgment. In reality, it was not merely

colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy

below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing-point is thirtytwo

above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost

obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in

its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such

as was in the man’s brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a

vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along

at the man’s heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted

movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek

shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it

wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away

from the air.

The frozen moisture of its breathing had settled on its fur in a fine powder

of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by

its crystalled breath. The man’s red beard and mustache were likewise

frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing

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27

with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing

tobacco, and the muzzle of ice held his lips so rigidly that he was unable to

clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The result was that a crystal

beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his

chin. If he fell down it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle

fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. It was the penalty all

tobacco-chewers paid in that country, and he had been out before in two

cold snaps. They had not been so cold as this, he knew, but by the spirit

thermometer at Sixty Mile he knew they had been registered at fifty below

and at fifty-five.

He held on through the level stretch of woods for several miles, crossed a

wide flat of niggerheads, and dropped down a bank to the frozen bed of a

small stream. This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten miles

from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. He was making

four miles an hour, and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at

half-past twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch

there.

The dog dropped in again at his heels, with a tail drooping

discouragement, as the man swung along the creek-bed. The furrow of the

old sled-trail was plainly visible, but a dozen inches of snow covered the

marks of the last runners. In a month no man had come up or down that

silent creek. The man held steadily on. He was not much given to thinking,

and just then particularly he had nothing to think about save that he would

eat lunch at the forks and that at six o’clock he would be in camp with the

boys. There was nobody to talk to; and, had there been, speech would have

been impossible because of the ice-muzzle on his mouth. So he continued

monotonously to chew tobacco and to increase the length of his amber

beard.

Once in a while the thought reiterated itself that it was very cold and that

he had never experienced such cold. As he walked along he rubbed his

cheek-bones and nose with the back of his mittened hand. He did this

automatically, now and again changing hands. But rub as he would, the

instant he stopped his cheek-bones went numb, and the following instant

the end of his nose went numb. He was sure to frost his cheeks; he knew

that, and experienced a pang of regret that he had not devised a nose-strap

of the sort Bud wore in cold snaps. Such a strap passed across the cheeks,

as well, and saved them. But it didn’t matter much, after all. What were

frosted cheeks? A bit painful, that was all; they were never serious.

Empty as the man’s mind was of thoughts, he was keenly observant, and

he noticed the changes in the creek, the curves and bends and timber-jams,

and always he sharply noted where he placed his feet. Once, coming

around a bend, he shied abruptly, like a startled horse, curved away from

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the place where he had been walking, and retreated several paces back

along the trail. The creek he knew was frozen clear to the bottom, — no

creek could contain water in that arctic winter, — but he knew also that

there were springs that bubbled out from the hillsides and ran along under

the snow and on top the ice of the creek. He knew that the coldest snaps

never froze these springs, and he knew likewise their danger. They were

traps. They hid pools of water under the snow that might be three inches

deep, or three feet. Sometimes a skin of ice half an inch thick covered

them, and in turn was covered by the snow. Sometimes there were

alternate layers of water and ice-skin, so that when one broke through he

kept on breaking through for a while, sometimes wetting himself to the

waist.

That was why he had shied in such panic. He had felt the give under his

feet and heard the crackle of a snow-hidden ice-skin. And to get his feet

wet in such a temperature meant trouble and danger. At the very least it

meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and under its

protection to bare his feet while he dried his socks and moccasins. He

stood and studied the creek-bed and its banks, and decided that the flow of

water came from the right. He reflected awhile, rubbing his nose and

cheeks, then skirted to the left, stepping gingerly and testing the footing

for each step. Once clear of the danger, he took a fresh chew of tobacco

and swung along at his four-mile gait. In the course of the next two hours

he came upon several similar traps. Usually the snow above the hidden

pools had a sunken, candied appearance that advertised the danger. Once

again, however, he had a close call; and once, suspecting danger, he

compelled the dog to go on in front. The dog did not want to go. It hung

back until the man shoved it forward, and then it went quickly across the

white, unbroken surface. Suddenly it broke through, floundered to one

side, and got away to firmer footing. It had wet its forefeet and legs, and

almost immediately the water that clung to it turned to ice. It made quick