Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support
our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online
at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - Buck did not read the newspapers, or
he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for
himself, but for every tide-water 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 steamship and transportation companies were booming the
find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men
wanted dogs, 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 lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara
Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the
road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be
caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The
house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about
through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of
tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale
than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms
and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an
endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green
pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping
plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge
Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot
afternoon.
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