He baled wildly at first, splashing himself and flinging the water so short a distance that it ran back into the pool. He squirmed over the wet moss, saturating his clothes and chilling his body; but he was not aware of it, so great was his fever for food.
A band of caribou passed by, twenty and odd animals, tantalizingly within rifle range. He did not move for a long while; then he rolled over on his side, wound his watch, and lay there until morning.
Then why was he not content to die? In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the wolves had made a kill. He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. Near the horizon the sun was smouldering dimly, almost obscured by formless mists and vapors, which gave an impression of mass and density without outline or tangibility.
Again came the snuffle and cough, and outlined between two jagged rocks not a score of feet away he made out the gray head of a wolf. And yet he wanted to live. He groaned aloud as he started to drag himself to his feet. It drew closer, ever closer, through an infinitude of time, and he did not move.
He was very weary, but it refused to die. He had caught sight of his reflected face. He would have the laugh on Bill.
As Labor observes: He fought it off for hours, then threw his rifle open and was confronted with emptiness. Also, he would find flour, -- not much, -- a piece of bacon, and some beans. He was awakened once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear.
He wrote to William Chaney, then living in Chicago. He was very weary, but it refused to die.
He clutched it avariciously, looked at it as a miser looks at gold, and thrust it into his shirt bosom. The other man followed at his heels. He threw stones at them, but could not hit them.Jack London Six Pack: The Call of the Wild, White Fang, A Day’s Lodging, John Barleycorn, Love of Life and Hobos in the Night Nov 6, Throughout the night he heard the cough of the sick wolf, and now and then the squawking of the caribou calves.
There was life all around him, but it was strong life, very much alive and well, and he knew the sick wolf clung to the sick man's trail in the hope that the man would die first.
A collection of eight short stories from American author, journalist, and social activist Jack London. Written during his 'Klondike' period, the title story 'Love of Life' follows the trek of a /5.
In the morning, on opening his eyes, he beheld it regarding him with a wistful and hungry stare. Love of Life is a collection of short stories published by Jack London in These eight stories are all set in Alaska or the Yukon Territory, with the exception of one set in northern California which also touches on the subject of the Klondike gold rush/5(6).
Literature Network» Jack London» Love of Life. Love of Life "This out of all will remain - They have lived and have tossed: So much of the game will be gain, Though the gold of the dice has been lost." THEY limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks.
They were tired and weak.