Call of the Wild (1992) - full transcript
A young boy heads off to the Yukon after hearing tales about the Gold Rush, and he forms an unwavering friendship with a heroic Alsatian dog called Buck.
♪
Come, Buck!
Buck lived at a big house
in the sun-kissed
Santa Clara Valley.
Judge Miller's Place,
it was called.
The house was approached
by graveled driveways
which wound about through
wide-spreading lawns
and under the interlacing boughs
of tall poplars.
And over this great domain,
Buck ruled.
Here he was born,
and here he had lived
the four years of his life.
Good afternoon, Manuel.
Buck didn't
read the newspapers,
or he would have known
that trouble was brewing,
not alone for himself,
but of every tidewater dog,
strong of muscle
and with warm, long hair
from Puget Sound to San Diego,
because men, groping
in the arctic darkness,
had found a yellow metal.
And because steam ship
and transportation companies
were booming the find,
thousands of men were
rushing into the Northland.
These men wanted dogs.
Come on!
And the dogs they wanted
were heavy dogs,
with strong muscles
by which to toil
and furry coats
to protect them from the frost.
Buck accepted the rope
with quiet dignity.
He had learned to trust
in men he knew
and to give them credit
for a wisdom
that outreached his own.
But when the rope was placed
in the stranger's hands...
For two days and nights,
he neither ate nor drank.
And in those two days
of torment,
he accumulated a fund of wrath
that boded ill
for whoever
first fell foul of him.
Get in there!
Let him out.
You stay good,
and it'll be fine.
You be a bad dog,
and I'll wail
the stuffin' out ya.
Buck was beaten,
but he was not broken.
He saw that he stood no chance
against a man with a club.
That club was a revelation.
It was his introduction
to the reign of primitive law.
Now, this is the one
you need.
Big, strappin' brute
name of Buck.
Heh. He's big enough,
all right.
Why isn't he eating?
Ah, he's sulkin'.
Got a temper
for a big dog.
Had to show him
his place.
This is my best dog,
Perrault.
He'll pull your mail sled
all the way to Dawson
by himself, mark my word.
300.
300?
That's my price.
He's worth more.
That's a lot of money.
He's a lot of dog.
I'll give you 300
for him...
and for that
frisky one over there.
Curly?
Deal.
The next morning,
Buck and Curly were loaded
onto the "Narwhal."
The vessel sailed north
from Seattle,
quickly crossing
the Canadian border.
The journey continued,
pressing on
through Queen Charlotte Sound,
past Juneau, into Lynn Canal,
and finally up towards
Dyea Beach.
At last, one morning,
the propeller was quiet.
Buck knew a change was at hand.
This is Buck.
And Curly.
Take them over
to the camp.
I'll go
get the mail.
Hey!
Hey, off! Cut it out!
Here, Billee.
Here, Buck.
Spitz.
There you go, Dave.
And Curly.
No, Spitz!
That was fair, Buck decided.
This was a new kind of man,
a man too wise
in the way of dogs
to be fooled by dogs.
As a courier for
the Canadian government
bearing important dispatches,
Perrault was anxious
to secure the best dogs.
How ya doin'?
And he was
particularly gladdened
by the possession of Buck.
There you go, sir.
Thanks a lot.
Hello, John.
How are you this morning?
Fine, Perrault.
And you?
All right.
I have plenty of mail
for Dawson this time.
So I see.
So, what's the weather like
on the trail these days?
Oh, it's pretty bad.
Especially
around Lake Bennett.
Yeah?
Hey!
Hey, ho!
Come on, Francois,
do something!
Get out!
Get them out of here!
Yah! Get out!
Get out of here!
Go on, get! Go on!
So that was the way.
No fair play.
Once down,
that was the end of you.
Well...
Buck would see to it
that he never went down.
♪
Spitz looked at Curly,
unmoved,
and that moment
Buck hated him
with a bitter
and deathless hatred.
♪
Get out, Buck!
Get out!
Out!
♪
Francois.
This is Solecks.
What's the problem?
Well, he's old.
And half blind.
He knows how
to pull a sled,
that's all
I care about.
Okay, Solecks.
No more fancy collars
for you, my friend.
Come on, Buck.
Come on, Buck.
Good dog, yeah.
Let's get moving,
Francois,
or we'll never
make it through the canyon.
Mush! Mush!
Though Buck's dignity
was sorely hurt
by being harnessed
like a horse,
he was too wise to rebel.
He buckled down with a will
and did his best,
though it was
all new and strange.
He was glad to be gone.
He was surprised
at the eagerness
which animated
the whole team,
and which was communicated
to him.
The toil of the traces
seemed the supreme expression
of their being,
and all that they lived for
and the only thing in which
they took delight.
There you go, Dave.
Here, Spitz.
Come on, Buck.
Thieves!
What happened?
One of 'em
stole my bacon.
Where'd you
leave it?
Doesn't matter
where I left it.
They had no business
stealing it.
No... Buck wouldn't
have stolen it.
It was you, wasn't it?
If I ever catch you,
you'll wish you'd
never been born.
This first theft marked Buck
as fit to survive in the hostile
Northland environment.
It marked his adaptability,
his capacity to adjust himself
to changing conditions,
the lack of which
would have meant
swift and terrible death.
It was all well enough
in the Southland
under the law
of love and fellowship
to respect private property
and personal feelings,
but in the Northland,
under the law
of club and fang,
whoso took such things
into account was a fool.
And insofar as he observed them,
he would fail to prosper.
Come on, Buck.
You built yourself a nest.
Go back to it.
Hey, hey! All right.
Hold it, Buck, hold it.
Get out of there, Spitz!
Go! Go!
♪
The next day they made 40 miles,
the trail being packed.
But the next day,
and for many days to follow,
they broke their own trail,
worked harder and made
poorer time.
It was a hard day's run
up canyon,
through snowdrifts
hundreds of feet deep.
And over the great
Chilkoot divide,
which stand between the ocean
and the Yukon River
and guards forbiddingly
the sad and lonely north.
Ho! Ho!
We camp here.
All right.
You're gonna like this.
Trust me.
Hurry up.
The weather's
getting worse.
Come on, come walk.
Come.
Come on, Buck.
Don't worry,
you'll get used to them.
That's it, Buck.
Come on.
That's it, Buck.
You'll get
used to it.
I've seen it all now,
Francois.
Boots for a damn dog.
♪
How's the ice?
Pretty bad.
Could lose half a day,
so keep your wits
about you.
Mush! Mush!
♪
Here in Dawson
were other Southland dogs,
and every night,
regularly,
at 9:00, at 12:00, at 3:00,
they lifted
a nocturnal song,
a weird and eerie chant
in which it was
Buck's delight to join.
♪
Mush!
Mush!
Mush!
Seven days from the time
they pulled into Dawson,
they dropped down
to the Yukon trail.
Perrault was carrying dispatches
more urgent
than those he had brought in.
Also, the pride
had gripped him...
Ho! Ho!
...and he proposed to make
the record trip of the year.
Whoa!
The week's rest had
recuperated the dogs
and put them in thorough trim.
Good day's run,
Francois.
All right.
Go on.
Ah, damn.
What are you
doing?
They must be
tired of salmon.
A little rabbit
might taste good, eh?
And you two...
I hear them.
Leave them be.
It's nice to have
some quietness here.
♪
♪
There had been
no hope for Spitz.
Mercy was a thing reserved
for gentler climes.
Instincts long dead
became alive again in Buck.
The domesticated generations
were falling from him.
Looks like he put up
a hell of a fight.
Damn it.
It's tough enough
on the trail.
Now this.
I'm glad
it's finally over.
You're glad we lost a dog?
Buck's worth two dogs.
We're gonna
make better time.
No more Spitz.
No more trouble.
Hope you're right.
Come on, Solecks.
Come on!
Got a new job for you.
Come on, Solecks.
Buck, go away!
So, you think you should
take Spitz place, eh?
Go away. Go!
Solecks will lead.
Stay!
♪
I've had enough.
By God, Buck, I'm gonna
teach you your place.
♪
Damn you, Buck!
Buck...
So... what do we do?
I say give Buck
a chance.
He fought for it.
All right, Monsieur Perrault.
maybe you're right.
♪
It was a hard trip
with the trail behind them,
and the heavy work
wore them down.
Since the beginning
of winter,
they had traveled 1,800 miles,
dragging sleds the whole
weary distance.
Buck stood it, keeping his mates
up to their work
and maintaining discipline,
though he, too,
was very tired.
Monsieur Perrault.
No broken bones.
Put him back
in the traces.
No, he's too weak
to pull.
Then you know
what we have to do.
He might recover.
We'll make him
run behind.
Come on.
All right.
Let's get going.
Come on, Dave.
Mush!
Come on, Dave,
you can do it.
Wait!
Ho!
I'll do it.
Pull the dogs ahead.
Mush! Mush!
Buck knew, and every dog knew,
what had taken place behind
that belt of river trees,
and they knew that this thing
was very close to them.
30 days from the time
it left Dawson,
the mail with Buck and his mates
at the fore
arrived back
in a wretched state,
worn out and worn down.
Dyea.
Thank God.
Sounds like you're
both lucky to be alive.
Too bad you're gonna
have to go back to Dawson.
What?
Urgent mail for
the Northwest Police.
No way we can make it
to Dawson right now.
The dogs
are exhausted.
They need a week
to rest up.
Sorry, you're the only
messengers in town.
Silas O'Neill's got
got some fresh dogs
you can buy.
Yeah, but what am I
gonna do with my dogs?
Sell 'em.
Dyea's crawling
with Southerners,
half of them
looking for dogs.
350.
Mm-hmm.
And 400.
That right?
Yes, it is, Evans.
Hmm.
And give the dogs
a good rest.
They need it.
Hmm.
Where are the dogs?
Come this way.
Good-bye, my friends.
You're a good dog, Buck.
Au revoir, mon ami.
Ah.
Buck listened to his new masters
apprehensively
as they proceeded
to load the sled.
There was a great deal of effort
about their manner,
but no businesslike method.
And we're done.
No, that one should
go on top, please.
All right.
Yes, dear.
There.
Okay.
I-I wouldn't tote that tent
along, if I were you.
Undreamed of.
How in the world would
we manage without a tent?
It's almost spring.
You can get along
without it.
That's for the advice, mister.
Think it'll ride?
And why not?
Well, it seems a might
top-heavy, that's all.
Oh.
Ah!
Well then.
All right, listen up,
you mutts.
I'm your new master.
And I demand obedience.
Stand.
Stand, I say!
I-I said stand up.
Oh, you lazy brute.
No, Hal, no.
You mustn't.
No, you mustn't be
so harsh with him,
or we won't
move a step.
You have
to whip the dogs
if you want anything
out of them.
Ask any one of those men,
go ahead!
They're weak
as water, friend.
They just got off the trail.
They need a rest.
Well, just
look at them.
Well, it's the--
it's the big one here.
He's... he's lazy.
What's his name?
Uh, Buck.
Okay, Buck... up!
You're crazy, mister!
Don't you talk to my brother
in that tone of voice, sir.
Now, you do what
you think is necessary.
Why don't you get up
and pull on the sled?
What a good boy.
Back away, Mercedes.
We need to get going!
Come on! Let's go!
Come on, doggie!
Hello, Yukon! Hah!
Hyah! Hyah!
Hyah! Giddap!
Hyah!
Hal?
Are you all right?
Here, let me... oh.
Whew.
Uh...
Whew.
Well, we'll just
have to...
take a few things off.
Well, now...
feeling better?
No, how can I feel better
leaving all my things behind?
Oh, but sweet beet,
with all the gold
we're going to find,
I'll buy you every new dress
in Dawson City.
Well, everyone just relax.
With seven dogs,
we're really gonna fly.
This is a lot harder
than you told me, Charles.
Well, you didn't
think getting rich
would be easy,
did you, dear?
All right?
All aboard
The Gold Express!
We're all set.
Ready?
Yes.
All right,
you mangy mutts.
Mush!
Uhh!
Mush!
What...
Uh...
What now?
Well, perhaps I should
walk for a while, eh?
All right, here we go.
Mush! Mush on!
There we go.
Hurrah for the Klondike!
If this is spring,
I'm glad we missed winter.
Eat heartily, lads.
You've earned it.
But, Hal...
we didn't get
very far today.
It's not bad
for a first day,
especially
considering Cleopatra
sat on the barge
the entire way.
A woman can only
walk so far in one day.
Now, sweetheart,
don't be like that.
Perhaps we should
shore them up.
She's your wife.
I can hear you, Hal!
What's wrong?
Ah, we got a problem.
See, I thought we had passed
Lake Bennett yesterday.
No, no, that
was Lake Harris.
Oh, you poor doggies.
You look so tired.
Well, what if we
went this way?
If we meet up with
the White Pass Trail, here...
...we'd cut our distance
by a third.
But... but in Dyea
they said
that trail was dangerous
this time of year.
No, dear!
Don't do that!
You mustn't
overfeed the dogs.
Oh, no, no.
Don't be so cruel, Charles.
They need their sustenance.
But we'll run out of food
halfway to Dawson.
No, we're taking
the White Pass Trail,
and we're cutting
the dog's rations.
Buck felt vaguely that there
was no depending upon
these two men
and the woman.
They didn't know
how to do anything.
And as the days went by,
it became apparent
that they couldn't learn.
This way!
Come on!
Let's go.
This way. Mush!
Up here, Buck!
No, go up! Go up!
♪
Mush! Mush!
Mush!
Mush!
Hyah! Mush, dog!
Uhh!
Help me!
Hal! Help me!
Freezing!
How could you leave me
back there? I almost died!
Why aren't you wearing
your snow shoes?
They're back there.
Why don't you go back there
and find them
if they're so precious?!
Charles, would you
please inform my sister
that this is not Milwaukee.
That this is, in fact,
the middle of the damn Yukon!
Why don't you tell
my foul-mouthed brother...
that I am trying my best...
but I just can't
walk anymore.
I just can't!
By this time, all the amenities
and gentlenesses
of the Southland
fell away
from the three people.
Shorn of its glamour
and romance,
arctic travel became to them
a reality too harsh for them.
Hah! Mush on!
I think this trail
is slower than the other ones.
Hyah! Agh.
Come on.
Hyah! Mush!
And through it all,
Buck staggered along
at the head of the team
as in a nightmare.
Stop!
Whoa!
Whoa! Whoa, whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa!
Ho, ho!
What?!
Look!
Oh, Lord.
How are we going
to get across?!
Just don't panic.
Just...
We'll follow the river
upstream till it's frozen.
Come on, let's go!
Stop! Stop!
Stop, stop!
Oh, God, look he's-- look!
Whoa! Whoa!
Don't!
For God's sake!
He's dead.
Let's just keep moving!
Hyah! Mush!
Hah, mush!
What does he want?
I think he's trying to
tell you something, dear.
He wants you
off the sled.
But I'm freezing.
Get off!
Or we're not
going anywhere.
I didn't want to come
on this trip, you know.
I didn't want
to look for gold.
I only came because I wanted to
be near you, because I love you.
And now everything
is ruined!
Ahh.
Hyah! Mush!
Hyah!
♪
It was spring,
but neither dogs nor humans
were aware of it.
From every hill came
the trickle of running water.
All things were thawing.
The Yukon was straining
to break loose the ice
that bound it down.
Thin sections of ice fell
through bodily into the river.
And amid all this throbbing
of awakening life,
through the rushing
of the swollen river,
like wayfarers to death,
the two men, the woman,
and the dogs
staggered into
John Thornton's camp
at the mouth of White River.
Thank God.
We're traveling
upstream,
looking for
some ice to cross.
Well, there's lots of ice.
But it's about to break.
I wouldn't call it safe.
We made it this far.
We'll find
a way across.
Could be.
You look frozen stiff.
No, we...
we're j-just fine.
Come on.
Up.
Up!
Come on, Buck,
let's get up.
We gotta
keep going now.
Come on, let's--
Come on, Buck! Up.
Come on, let's...
Come on, Buck!
Look at me,
I said stand.
Up. Up!
Buck, I said up!
You listen to me, Buck.
When I say up...
Come on, when I say up...
Like his mates, Buck
was barely able to get up.
But unlike them,
he had made up his mind
not to get up.
He sensed disaster
close at hand
out there ahead on the ice,
where his master
was trying to drive him.
This dog's finished.
Give me the gun,
Charles.
No, Hal!
Give me the damn gun!
No!
Uhh!
You finish the dog,
I'll finish you.
Got that?
He's my dog.
You mind your own business.
Come on, come on.
Well, take him!
He's nearly dead anyway.
Let's go.
Come on.
♪
Let's go, come on.
Let's take a look
at you.
By the time
John Thornton's search
had disclosed nothing more
than many bruises
and as state of
terrible starvation,
the sled was a quarter
of a mile away.
A bunch of idiots.
Wanna try this?
Come on.
Help!
♪
When John Thornton froze his
feet in the previous December,
his partners, Hans and Pete,
had made him comfortable
and left him to get well,
going on themselves up the river
with a boat of skins for Dawson.
He was still weak at the time
he rescued Buck,
but with the continued
warm weather,
the weakness had left him.
And here beside the riverbank,
through the long days
of approaching spring,
listening lazily
to the songs of birds
and the hum of nature,
Buck slowly won back
his strength.
And then, one day,
decided he might trust
John Thornton.
Hi. How are ya?
What?
Hey...
Yeah...
Buck romped through
his convalescence
and into
a new existence: love.
Genuine, passionate love
was his for the first time.
This he had never experienced
down at Judge Miller's.
Theirs had been a stately
and dignified friendship,
but love that was feverish
and burning--
that was adoration,
that was madness--
it had taken John Thornton
to arouse.
This man had saved his life.
For a long time
after his rescue,
Buck didn't let Thornton
out of his sight.
Since he had
come into the Northland
he had feared that no master
could be permanent.
He was afraid that Thornton
would pass out of his life, too.
But in spite of this great love
Buck bore John Thornton,
the strain of the primitive
which the Northland
had aroused in him
remained alive and active.
Each day, mankind
and the claims of mankind
slipped farther from him.
Deep in the forest,
a call was sounding.
And as often as Buck
heard the call,
mysteriously thrilling
and luring,
he felt compelled to turn
his back upon the campsite
and the beaten earth around it
and to plunge
into the forest...
and on and on.
He knew
not where or why.
But as often as he gained
the soft, unbroken earth
and the dark forest shade,
the love for John Thornton
drew him back again.
Thornton alone held him.
The rest of mankind
was as nothing.
Convalescence was over.
Along a bad stretch of rapids
on the Forty-Mile Creek,
Thornton's two partners,
Hans and Pete,
were moving along the bank
with ropes.
They were getting ready
to guide Thornton in the boat,
which was loaded with the skins
they would sell in Dawson.
Pete! Pete!
Come on, Hans!
Agh!
Hold on!
Come here, Buck.
Come here.
Come on!
Hang on, John!
Go get him, Buck.
Okay, pull!
Agh! Gah!
John... John...
You're all right.
It's me, Hans!
John...
Hold on.
He's all right.
You okay?
I could use
a whisky right now.
Charlie, don't you
be cheatin' again.
Don't say hello,
John.
All right.
How are things
with you?
You strike it rich yet?
No.
I just look
that way.
Who's your friend?
My partner.
That's a pretty
fine-lookin' dog, mister.
Hey, John... over here.
Excuse us.
That looks pretty strong.
You know, I got a dog
can break out a sled
with 500 pounds
and walk right off with it.
Oh, yeah?
Well, my boy Duggan
can do the same...
with 600 pounds.
Well, my boy Buck
can do 800 pounds.
800 pounds?
And walk with it
for 100 feet?
And walk off
with it...
for 100 feet.
You know,
I'd like to see that.
I got $1,000 worth
of gold dust
that says
that he can't.
Stay.
That dog? Yeah,
I'll put one down.
I got 100 bucks
says he can't.
I have a-- a bet
that I wanna make.
I got a sled waitin'
right outside.
Okay.
Done!
Two-to-one Thornton's dog
can't meet the challenge.
In this deep mud?
I say it ought
to be three-to-one.
I'll take those
three-to-one odds.
And I'll lay you
another 1,000!
At those odds,
any takers? Come on!
You got any more money?
All we got.
Ah, Buck'll triple it
for us anyway.
John...
I'll put my money
on you.
200 more.
Against my 600.
Done.
Do this for me.
Don't let me down.
Okay.
Come on.
Hey! Hey. Ho!
Come on!
Come on...
Come on.
You can do it.
Come on! Come on.
Come on, come on.
Hey! Hey! Ho!
You can do it,
come on!
Come on!
Come on! Pull!
Yeah! Come on!
There, there.
Come on.
Go! Go!
Come on! Pull!
Come on.
Yeah! Yeah, come on.
Sir! I'll give you
$1,000 for your dog!
1,200!
He's not for sale.
♪
Your share.
And... 150.
Thanks for
the support.
When are you gonna leave?
Pretty soon.
Listen,
why don't, uh...
you just think
about it, huh?
And sleep on it.
Maggie...
Hmm?
Why do you have to give me
such a hard time?
When Buck earned $1,600
in five minutes
for John Thornton,
he made it possible
for his master
to pay off certain debts
and to journey into the east
after a fabled lost mine,
the history of which was as old
as the history of the country.
Many men had sought it,
few had found it,
and more
than a few there were
who had never returned
from the quest.
Good-bye.
Good luck.
From the beginning,
there had been
an ancient
and ramshackle cabin.
Dying men had sworn to it
and to the mine which it marked,
clinching their testimony
with nuggets
that were unlike any known
grade of gold in the Northland.
John Thornton asked little
of man or nature.
He was unafraid of the wild,
with a handful of salt
and a rifle,
he could plunge
into the wilderness
and fare wherever he pleased
and as long as he pleased.
This was Indian country,
and, being in no haste,
Indian fashion,
he hunted and fished
for his dinner
in the course
of the day's travel.
Lying next to Thornton,
dozing lazily
in the heat of the day,
irresistible impulses
were beginning to seize Buck.
Let's see.
Let's see here.
Mm-hmm.
Whoa.
The months came and went,
and at the end
of all their wandering,
they found not the lost cabin,
but a shallow mine
in a broad valley.
They sought no further.
Let's see.
The call was still sounding
in the depths
of the forest.
It filled Buck
with a great unrest
and strange desires,
and he was aware
of wild yearnings and stirrings
for he knew not what.
He pursued the call
into the forest,
running in the dim twilight,
seeking for
the mysterious something
that called for him to come.
Oh, there you are.
I guess now it's time
for breakfast, huh?
From the forest
came the call.
Distinct and definite
as never before.
A long-drawn howl like,
yet unlike,
any noise made by a dog.
And he knew it
in the old familiar way
as a sound heard before.
♪
Buck was wildly glad.
He knew he was at last
answering the call,
running by the side
of his wood brother
toward the place from where
the call surely came.
He had done this thing before,
somewhere in that
dimly-remembered world,
and he was doing it again now.
Then... Buck remembered
John Thornton.
♪
If you think you're
gonna sleep here,
you got another thing
coming.
Get out.
Buck never left camp,
never let Thornton
out of his sight.
But after a while, his
restlessness came back on him.
He was a thing of the wild,
come in from the wild
to sit by John Thornton's fire,
and he was haunted
by recollections
of the wild brother.
Once again, he took to wandering
in the woods,
but the wild brother
came no more.
There's no gold here.
We go home tomorrow.
Let's call it a day.
Buck had lessoned well.
He must be master
or be mastered,
while to show mercy
was a weakness.
Mercy did not exist
in primordial life.
It was misunderstood for fear,
and such misunderstandings
made for death.
Kill or be killed,
eat or be eaten
was the law.
Whoa.
Buck!
Whoo hoo hoo!
Hoo hoo.
Yeah!
We're gonna be...
We're gonna be
pretty rich.
Huh? Let's see...
Here.
Buck!
Gah!
Uhh! Ohh...
Gah!
Buck?
All day, Buck brooded
by Thornton's body.
Death, as a cessation
of movement,
as a passing out and away
from the lives of the living,
he knew...
and he knew John Thornton
was dead.
It left a great void in him,
somewhat akin to hunger,
but a void
which ached and ached
and which food could not fill.
And with
the coming of night,
brooding and mourning
by the river,
buck became alive to a stirring
of the new life in the forest.
It was the call...
sounding more luring
and compelling 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.
♪
And here may well end
the story of Buck.
The years were not many
when the Yeehat Indians
noted a change in the breed
of timber wolves,
for some were seen with splashes
of brown on head and muzzle
and with a rift of gold
centering down the chest.
But more remarkable than this,
the Yeehats
tell of a ghost dog
that runs with the pack.
They are afraid
of this ghost dog,
for it has cunning
greater than they,
stealing from their camps
in fierce winters,
robbing their traps,
slaying their dogs,
defying their bravest hunters,
and there is a certain valley
which they never enter.
When the long winter nights
come on,
and the wolves
follow their meat,
he may be seen running
at the head of the pack
through the pale moonlight,
leaping gigantic
above his fellows,
his great throat a-bellow
as he sings a song
of the younger world,
which is the song of the pack.
♪