large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb_121
large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb
English
506
As the day wore along he came into valleys or swales where game was more plentiful. A band of caribou passed by, twenty and odd animals, tantalizingly within rifle range. He felt a wild desire to run after them, a certitude that he could run them down. A black fox came toward him, carrying a ptarmigan in his mouth. The man shouted. It was a fearful cry, but the fox, leaping away in fright, did not drop the ptarmigan. AS THE DAY WORE ALONG HE CAME INTO VALLEYS OR SWALES WHERE GAME WAS MORE PLENTIFUL A BAND OF CARIBOO PASSED BY TWENTY AND ODD ANIMALS TANTALIZINGLY WITHIN RIFLE RANGE HE FELT A WILD DESIRE TO RUN AFTER THEM A CERTITUDE THAT HE COULD RUN THEM DOWN A BLACK FOX CAME TOWARD HIM CARRYING A PTARMIGAN IN HIS MOUTH THE MAN SHOUTED IT WAS A FEARFUL CRY BUT THE FOX LEAPING AWAY IN FRIGHT DID NOT DROP THE PTARMIGAN
whirring wings from the ledges and muskegs. Ker--ker--ker was the cry they made. He threw stones at them, but could not hit them. He placed his pack on the ground and stalked them as a cat stalks a sparrow. The sharp rocks cut through his pants' legs till his knees left a trail of blood; but the hurt was lost in the hurt of his hunger. 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. And always the ptarmigan rose, whirring, before him, till their ker--ker--ker became a mock to him, and he cursed them and cried aloud at them with their own cry. Once he crawled upon one that must have been asleep. He did not see it till it shot up in his face from its rocky nook. He made a clutch as startled as was the rise of the ptarmigan, and there remained in his hand three tail-feathers. As he watched its flight he hated it, as though it had done him some terrible wrong. Then he returned and shouldered his pack. HERE ROCK PTARMIGAN ROSE ON WHIRRING WINGS FROM THE LEDGES AND MUSKEGS KER KAUR KER WAS THE CRY THEY MADE HE THREW STONES AT THEM BUT COULD NOT HIT THEM HE PLACED HIS PACK ON THE GROUND AND STALKED THEM AS A CAT STALKS A SPARROW THE SHARP ROCKS CUT THROUGH HIS PANT LEGS TILL HIS KNEES LEFT A TRAIL OF BLOOD BUT THE HURT WAS LOST IN THE HURT OF HIS HUNGER 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 AND ALWAYS THE PTARMIGAN ROSE WORRYING BEFORE HIM TILL THEIR CUR CUR CUR BECAME A MOCK TO HIM AND HE CURSED THEM AND CRIED ALOUD AT THEM WITH THEIR OWN CRY ONCE HE CRAWLED UPON ONE THAT MUST HAVE BEEN ASLEEP HE DID NOT SEE IT TILL IT SHOT UP IN HIS FACE FROM ITS ROCKY NOOK HE MADE A CLUTCH AS STARTLED AS WAS THE RISE OF THE PTARMIGAN AND THERE REMAINED IN HIS HAND THREE TAIL FEATHERS AS HE WATCHED ITS FLIGHT HE HATED IT AS THOUGH IT HAD DONE HIM SOME TERRIBLE WRONG THEN HE RETURNED AND SHOULDERED HIS PACK
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