So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and
the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the
train at Seattle. Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a
small, high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged
generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That
was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself
savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a hatchet
and a club.
"You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked.
"Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.
There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had
carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch
the performance.
Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging
and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was
there on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out
as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out.
"Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening
sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the
hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.
And Buck was truely a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the
spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes.
Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury,
surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid air, just as
his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked
his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled
over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by
a club in his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark
and more scream he was again on his feet and launched into the air. And
again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time
he was aware that it was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen
times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.