![]() ![]() They will never leave him.”Īnd so it was. The wolves have separated him from the others. Down by the river they saw fresh steps of a big, heavy moose. Zing-ha and he had gone out to play that day. He was with his friend Zing-ha, who was killed later in the Yukon River.Īh, but the moose. Then, he remembered when as a small boy how he watched the wolves kill a moose. And he had seen days of no food and empty stomachs, days when the fish did not come, and the animals were hard to find.įor seven years the animals did not come. He had seen days of much food and laughter fat stomachs when food was left to rot and spoil times when they left animals alone, unkilled days when women had many children. He placed another stick on the fire and began to remember his past. The tree sap in early spring the new-born green leaf, soft and fresh as skin the fall of the yellowed, dry leaf. He had seen examples of it in all his life. This was a deep thought for old Koskoosh. She was interested only in the group, the race, the species. She was not thoughtful of the person alone. He had lived close to the earth, and the law was not new to him. He felt sorrow, but he did not think of his sorrow. The cold would travel slowly from the outside to the inside of him, and he would rest. ![]() When the last stick was gone, the cold would come. He felt the sticks of wood next to him again. He lowered his head to his chest and listened to the snow as his son rode away. My eyes no longer show me the way my feet go. The first breath that blows will knock me to the ground. I am as last year’s leaf that sticks to the tree. Their loads are heavy and their stomachs flat from little food. “The morning is gray and the cold is here. “There is wood next to you and the fire burns bright,” the son said. His mind traveled into the past until his son’s voice brought him back. He remembered other old men whose sons had not done this, who had left without a goodbye. A man stood beside him, and placed a hand gently on his old head. “But what was that?” The snow packed down hard under someone’s shoes. Sled after sled moved slowly away into the silence. Koskoosh listened to other sounds he would hear no more: the men tying strong leather rope around the sleds to hold their belongings the sharp sounds of leather whips, ordering the dogs to move and pull the sleds. “Well, what of it? A few years, and in the end, death. They would cover its small body with stones to keep the wolves away. It would die soon, and they would burn a hole in the frozen ground to bury it. The child was Koo-tee, the old man thought, a sickly child. A child cried, and a woman sang softly to quiet it. ![]() It was the last time he would hear that voice. Koskoosh was being left to die.Īs the women worked, old Koskoosh could hear his son’s voice drive them to work faster. The stiff, crackling noises of frozen animal skins told him that the chief’s tent was being torn down. The days of the northlands were growing short. They had to look for new hunting grounds. He was forgotten by her, and by the others, too. She was beating the dogs, trying to make them stand in front of the snow sleds. “Aha.” That was the sound of his daughter, Sit-cum-to-ha. He could not see, but his ears were wide open to every sound. Now, all he could do was sit and listen to the others. It was Koskoosh, former chief of his tribe. SHEP O’NEAL: The old Indian was sitting in the snow. Our story today is called “The Law of Life.” It was written by Jack London. ![]() Now, the VOA Special English Program, AMERICAN STORIES. ![]()
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