The Call of the Wild

He walked to the cen­tre of the open space and lis­tened. It was the call, the many-noted call, sound­ing more lur­ingly and com­pellingly than ever be­fore. And as never be­fore, he was ready to obey. John Thorn­ton was dead. The last tie was bro­ken. Man and the claims of man no longer bound him.

wide-spread­ing lawns

That club was a rev­e­la­tion. It was his in­tro­duc­tion to the reign of prim­i­tive law, and he met the in­tro­duc­tion half­way.

ten­der­foot

(they had grub-staked them­selves from

alone among men

Deep in the for­est a call was sound­ing

He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn

“They told us we couldn’t make White River, and here we are.” This last with a sneer­ing ring of tri­umph in it.
“And they told you true,” John Thorn­ton an­swered. “The bot­tom’s likely to drop out at any mo­ment. Only fools, with the blind luck of fools, could have made it.

It ate away from be­neath; the sun ate from above.