There was continual bickering and jangling.
Trouble was always afoot, and at the bottom of it was Buck.

He kept Francois busy, for the dog-driver was in constant apprehension of the life-and-death struggle between the two which he knew must take place sooner or later; and on more than one night the sounds of quarrelling and strife among the other dogs turned him out of his sleeping robe, fearful that Buck and Spitz were at it.
But the opportunity did not present itself, and they pulled into Dawson one dreary afternoon with the great fight still to come.

Here were many men, and countless dogs, and Buck found them all at work.

It seemed the ordained order of things that dogs should work.

All day they swung up and down the main street in long teams, and in the night their jingling bells still went by.