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diff --git a/910-h/910-h.htm b/910-h/910-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38a9fa5 --- /dev/null +++ b/910-h/910-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9346 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>White Fang | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 910 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]"> +</div> + +<h1>WHITE FANG</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Jack London</h2> + +<hr> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#part01"><b>PART I</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I THE TRAIL OF THE MEAT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II THE SHE-WOLF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III THE HUNGER CRY</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#part02"><b>PART II</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER I THE BATTLE OF THE FANGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER II THE LAIR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER III THE GREY CUB</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER IV THE WALL OF THE WORLD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER V THE LAW OF MEAT</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#part03"><b>PART III</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER I THE MAKERS OF FIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER II THE BONDAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER III THE OUTCAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER IV THE TRAIL OF THE GODS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER V THE COVENANT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER VI THE FAMINE</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#part04"><b>PART IV</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER I THE ENEMY OF HIS KIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER II THE MAD GOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER III THE REIGN OF HATE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER IV THE CLINGING DEATH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER V THE INDOMITABLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER VI THE LOVE-MASTER</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#part05"><b>PART V</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER I THE LONG TRAIL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER II THE SOUTHLAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER III THE GOD’S DOMAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER IV THE CALL OF KIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER V THE SLEEPING WOLF</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="part01"></a>PART I</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I<br> +THE TRAIL OF THE MEAT</h3> + +<p> +Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had +been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they +seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A +vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, +without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of +sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible +than any sadness—a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the +sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of +infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity +laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the +savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild. +</p> + +<p> +But there <i>was</i> life, abroad in the land and defiant. Down the frozen +waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs. Their bristly fur was rimed with +frost. Their breath froze in the air as it left their mouths, spouting forth in +spumes of vapour that settled upon the hair of their bodies and formed into +crystals of frost. Leather harness was on the dogs, and leather traces attached +them to a sled which dragged along behind. The sled was without runners. It was +made of stout birch-bark, and its full surface rested on the snow. The front +end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under +the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it. On the sled, securely +lashed, was a long and narrow oblong box. There were other things on the +sled—blankets, an axe, and a coffee-pot and frying-pan; but prominent, +occupying most of the space, was the long and narrow oblong box. +</p> + +<p> +In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man. At the rear of the +sled toiled a second man. On the sled, in the box, lay a third man whose toil +was over,—a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down until he +would never move nor struggle again. It is not the way of the Wild to like +movement. Life is an offence to it, for life is movement; and the Wild aims +always to destroy movement. It freezes the water to prevent it running to the +sea; it drives the sap out of the trees till they are frozen to their mighty +hearts; and most ferociously and terribly of all does the Wild harry and crush +into submission man—man who is the most restless of life, ever in revolt +against the dictum that all movement must in the end come to the cessation of +movement. +</p> + +<p> +But at front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men who were not +yet dead. Their bodies were covered with fur and soft-tanned leather. Eyelashes +and cheeks and lips were so coated with the crystals from their frozen breath +that their faces were not discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly +masques, undertakers in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But +under it all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and +silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves +against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses +of space. +</p> + +<p> +They travelled on without speech, saving their breath for the work of their +bodies. On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with a tangible +presence. It affected their minds as the many atmospheres of deep water affect +the body of the diver. It crushed them with the weight of unending vastness and +unalterable decree. It crushed them into the remotest recesses of their own +minds, pressing out of them, like juices from the grape, all the false ardours +and exaltations and undue self-values of the human soul, until they perceived +themselves finite and small, specks and motes, moving with weak cunning and +little wisdom amidst the play and inter-play of the great blind elements and +forces. +</p> + +<p> +An hour went by, and a second hour. The pale light of the short sunless day was +beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the still air. It soared +upward with a swift rush, till it reached its topmost note, where it persisted, +palpitant and tense, and then slowly died away. It might have been a lost soul +wailing, had it not been invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry +eagerness. The front man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man +behind. And then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other. +</p> + +<p> +A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needle-like shrillness. Both men +located the sound. It was to the rear, somewhere in the snow expanse they had +just traversed. A third and answering cry arose, also to the rear and to the +left of the second cry. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re after us, Bill,” said the man at the front. +</p> + +<p> +His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Meat is scarce,” answered his comrade. “I ain’t seen a +rabbit sign for days.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the +hunting-cries that continued to rise behind them. +</p> + +<p> +At the fall of darkness they swung the dogs into a cluster of spruce trees on +the edge of the waterway and made a camp. The coffin, at the side of the fire, +served for seat and table. The wolf-dogs, clustered on the far side of the +fire, snarled and bickered among themselves, but evinced no inclination to +stray off into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems to me, Henry, they’re stayin’ remarkable close to +camp,” Bill commented. +</p> + +<p> +Henry, squatting over the fire and settling the pot of coffee with a piece of +ice, nodded. Nor did he speak till he had taken his seat on the coffin and +begun to eat. +</p> + +<p> +“They know where their hides is safe,” he said. “They’d +sooner eat grub than be grub. They’re pretty wise, them dogs.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +His comrade looked at him curiously. “First time I ever heard you say +anything about their not bein’ wise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henry,” said the other, munching with deliberation the beans he +was eating, “did you happen to notice the way them dogs kicked up when I +was a-feedin’ ’em?” +</p> + +<p> +“They did cut up more’n usual,” Henry acknowledged. +</p> + +<p> +“How many dogs ’ve we got, Henry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Henry . . . ” Bill stopped for a moment, in order that his +words might gain greater significance. “As I was sayin’, Henry, +we’ve got six dogs. I took six fish out of the bag. I gave one fish to +each dog, an’, Henry, I was one fish short.” +</p> + +<p> +“You counted wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got six dogs,” the other reiterated dispassionately. +“I took out six fish. One Ear didn’t get no fish. I came back to +the bag afterward an’ got ’m his fish.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve only got six dogs,” Henry said. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry,” Bill went on. “I won’t say they was all dogs, +but there was seven of ’m that got fish.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry stopped eating to glance across the fire and count the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only six now,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw the other one run off across the snow,” Bill announced with +cool positiveness. “I saw seven.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry looked at him commiseratingly, and said, “I’ll be almighty +glad when this trip’s over.” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’ye mean by that?” Bill demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean that this load of ourn is gettin’ on your nerves, an’ +that you’re beginnin’ to see things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought of that,” Bill answered gravely. “An’ so, +when I saw it run off across the snow, I looked in the snow an’ saw its +tracks. Then I counted the dogs an’ there was still six of ’em. The +tracks is there in the snow now. D’ye want to look at ’em? +I’ll show ’em to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry did not reply, but munched on in silence, until, the meal finished, he +topped it with a final cup of coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his +hand and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re thinkin’ as it was—” +</p> + +<p> +A long wailing cry, fiercely sad, from somewhere in the darkness, had +interrupted him. He stopped to listen to it, then he finished his sentence with +a wave of his hand toward the sound of the cry, “—one of +them?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill nodded. “I’d a blame sight sooner think that than anything +else. You noticed yourself the row the dogs made.” +</p> + +<p> +Cry after cry, and answering cries, were turning the silence into a bedlam. +From every side the cries arose, and the dogs betrayed their fear by huddling +together and so close to the fire that their hair was scorched by the heat. +Bill threw on more wood, before lighting his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m thinking you’re down in the mouth some,” Henry +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry . . . ” He sucked meditatively at his pipe for some time +before he went on. “Henry, I was a-thinkin’ what a blame sight +luckier he is than you an’ me’ll ever be.” +</p> + +<p> +He indicated the third person by a downward thrust of the thumb to the box on +which they sat. +</p> + +<p> +“You an’ me, Henry, when we die, we’ll be lucky if we get +enough stones over our carcases to keep the dogs off of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we ain’t got people an’ money an’ all the rest, +like him,” Henry rejoined. “Long-distance funerals is +somethin’ you an’ me can’t exactly afford.” +</p> + +<p> +“What gets me, Henry, is what a chap like this, that’s a lord or +something in his own country, and that’s never had to bother about grub +nor blankets; why he comes a-buttin’ round the Godforsaken ends of the +earth—that’s what I can’t exactly see.” +</p> + +<p> +“He might have lived to a ripe old age if he’d stayed at +home,” Henry agreed. +</p> + +<p> +Bill opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. Instead, he pointed +towards the wall of darkness that pressed about them from every side. There was +no suggestion of form in the utter blackness; only could be seen a pair of eyes +gleaming like live coals. Henry indicated with his head a second pair, and a +third. A circle of the gleaming eyes had drawn about their camp. Now and again +a pair of eyes moved, or disappeared to appear again a moment later. +</p> + +<p> +The unrest of the dogs had been increasing, and they stampeded, in a surge of +sudden fear, to the near side of the fire, cringing and crawling about the legs +of the men. In the scramble one of the dogs had been overturned on the edge of +the fire, and it had yelped with pain and fright as the smell of its singed +coat possessed the air. The commotion caused the circle of eyes to shift +restlessly for a moment and even to withdraw a bit, but it settled down again +as the dogs became quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry, it’s a blame misfortune to be out of ammunition.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill had finished his pipe and was helping his companion to spread the bed of +fur and blanket upon the spruce boughs which he had laid over the snow before +supper. Henry grunted, and began unlacing his moccasins. +</p> + +<p> +“How many cartridges did you say you had left?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Three,” came the answer. “An’ I wisht ’twas +three hundred. Then I’d show ’em what for, damn ’em!” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely to prop his +moccasins before the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ I wisht this cold snap’d break,” he went on. +“It’s ben fifty below for two weeks now. An’ I wisht +I’d never started on this trip, Henry. I don’t like the looks of +it. I don’t feel right, somehow. An’ while I’m wishin’, +I wisht the trip was over an’ done with, an’ you an’ me +a-sittin’ by the fire in Fort McGurry just about now an’ playing +cribbage—that’s what I wisht.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry grunted and crawled into bed. As he dozed off he was aroused by his +comrade’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Henry, that other one that come in an’ got a fish—why +didn’t the dogs pitch into it? That’s what’s botherin’ +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re botherin’ too much, Bill,” came the sleepy +response. “You was never like this before. You jes’ shut up now, +an’ go to sleep, an’ you’ll be all hunkydory in the +mornin’. Your stomach’s sour, that’s what’s +botherin’ you.” +</p> + +<p> +The men slept, breathing heavily, side by side, under the one covering. The +fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer the circle they had flung +about the camp. The dogs clustered together in fear, now and again snarling +menacingly as a pair of eyes drew close. Once their uproar became so loud that +Bill woke up. He got out of bed carefully, so as not to disturb the sleep of +his comrade, and threw more wood on the fire. As it began to flame up, the +circle of eyes drew farther back. He glanced casually at the huddling dogs. He +rubbed his eyes and looked at them more sharply. Then he crawled back into the +blankets. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry,” he said. “Oh, Henry.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry groaned as he passed from sleep to waking, and demanded, +“What’s wrong now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’,” came the answer; “only there’s seven +of ’em again. I just counted.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry acknowledged receipt of the information with a grunt that slid into a +snore as he drifted back into sleep. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning it was Henry who awoke first and routed his companion out of +bed. Daylight was yet three hours away, though it was already six +o’clock; and in the darkness Henry went about preparing breakfast, while +Bill rolled the blankets and made the sled ready for lashing. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Henry,” he asked suddenly, “how many dogs did you say +we had?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong,” Bill proclaimed triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven again?” Henry queried. +</p> + +<p> +“No, five; one’s gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“The hell!” Henry cried in wrath, leaving the cooking to come and +count the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right, Bill,” he concluded. “Fatty’s +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ he went like greased lightnin’ once he got started. +Couldn’t ’ve seen ’m for smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“No chance at all,” Henry concluded. “They jes’ +swallowed ’m alive. I bet he was yelpin’ as he went down their +throats, damn ’em!” +</p> + +<p> +“He always was a fool dog,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“But no fool dog ought to be fool enough to go off an’ commit +suicide that way.” He looked over the remainder of the team with a +speculative eye that summed up instantly the salient traits of each animal. +“I bet none of the others would do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t drive ’em away from the fire with a club,” +Bill agreed. “I always did think there was somethin’ wrong with +Fatty anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +And this was the epitaph of a dead dog on the Northland trail—less scant +than the epitaph of many another dog, of many a man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II<br> +THE SHE-WOLF</h3> + +<p> +Breakfast eaten and the slim camp-outfit lashed to the sled, the men turned +their backs on the cheery fire and launched out into the darkness. At once +began to rise the cries that were fiercely sad—cries that called through +the darkness and cold to one another and answered back. Conversation ceased. +Daylight came at nine o’clock. At midday the sky to the south warmed to +rose-colour, and marked where the bulge of the earth intervened between the +meridian sun and the northern world. But the rose-colour swiftly faded. The +grey light of day that remained lasted until three o’clock, when it, too, +faded, and the pall of the Arctic night descended upon the lone and silent +land. +</p> + +<p> +As darkness came on, the hunting-cries to right and left and rear drew +closer—so close that more than once they sent surges of fear through the +toiling dogs, throwing them into short-lived panics. +</p> + +<p> +At the conclusion of one such panic, when he and Henry had got the dogs back in +the traces, Bill said: +</p> + +<p> +“I wisht they’d strike game somewheres, an’ go away an’ +leave us alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“They do get on the nerves horrible,” Henry sympathised. +</p> + +<p> +They spoke no more until camp was made. +</p> + +<p> +Henry was bending over and adding ice to the babbling pot of beans when he was +startled by the sound of a blow, an exclamation from Bill, and a sharp snarling +cry of pain from among the dogs. He straightened up in time to see a dim form +disappearing across the snow into the shelter of the dark. Then he saw Bill, +standing amid the dogs, half triumphant, half crestfallen, in one hand a stout +club, in the other the tail and part of the body of a sun-cured salmon. +</p> + +<p> +“It got half of it,” he announced; “but I got a whack at it +jes’ the same. D’ye hear it squeal?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’d it look like?” Henry asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t see. But it had four legs an’ a mouth an’ +hair an’ looked like any dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must be a tame wolf, I reckon.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s damned tame, whatever it is, comin’ in here at +feedin’ time an’ gettin’ its whack of fish.” +</p> + +<p> +That night, when supper was finished and they sat on the oblong box and pulled +at their pipes, the circle of gleaming eyes drew in even closer than before. +</p> + +<p> +“I wisht they’d spring up a bunch of moose or something, an’ +go away an’ leave us alone,” Bill said. +</p> + +<p> +Henry grunted with an intonation that was not all sympathy, and for a quarter +of an hour they sat on in silence, Henry staring at the fire, and Bill at the +circle of eyes that burned in the darkness just beyond the firelight. +</p> + +<p> +“I wisht we was pullin’ into McGurry right now,” he began +again. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up your wishin’ and your croakin’,” Henry burst +out angrily. “Your stomach’s sour. That’s what’s +ailin’ you. Swallow a spoonful of sody, an’ you’ll sweeten up +wonderful an’ be more pleasant company.” +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Henry was aroused by fervid blasphemy that proceeded from the +mouth of Bill. Henry propped himself up on an elbow and looked to see his +comrade standing among the dogs beside the replenished fire, his arms raised in +objurgation, his face distorted with passion. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” Henry called. “What’s up now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Frog’s gone,” came the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry leaped out of the blankets and to the dogs. He counted them with care, +and then joined his partner in cursing the power of the Wild that had robbed +them of another dog. +</p> + +<p> +“Frog was the strongest dog of the bunch,” Bill pronounced finally. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ he was no fool dog neither,” Henry added. +</p> + +<p> +And so was recorded the second epitaph in two days. +</p> + +<p> +A gloomy breakfast was eaten, and the four remaining dogs were harnessed to the +sled. The day was a repetition of the days that had gone before. The men toiled +without speech across the face of the frozen world. The silence was unbroken +save by the cries of their pursuers, that, unseen, hung upon their rear. With +the coming of night in the mid-afternoon, the cries sounded closer as the +pursuers drew in according to their custom; and the dogs grew excited and +frightened, and were guilty of panics that tangled the traces and further +depressed the two men. +</p> + +<p> +“There, that’ll fix you fool critters,” Bill said with +satisfaction that night, standing erect at completion of his task. +</p> + +<p> +Henry left the cooking to come and see. Not only had his partner tied the dogs +up, but he had tied them, after the Indian fashion, with sticks. About the neck +of each dog he had fastened a leather thong. To this, and so close to the neck +that the dog could not get his teeth to it, he had tied a stout stick four or +five feet in length. The other end of the stick, in turn, was made fast to a +stake in the ground by means of a leather thong. The dog was unable to gnaw +through the leather at his own end of the stick. The stick prevented him from +getting at the leather that fastened the other end. +</p> + +<p> +Henry nodded his head approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the only contraption that’ll ever hold One Ear,” +he said. “He can gnaw through leather as clean as a knife an’ +jes’ about half as quick. They all’ll be here in the mornin’ +hunkydory.” +</p> + +<p> +“You jes’ bet they will,” Bill affirmed. “If one of +em’ turns up missin’, I’ll go without my coffee.” +</p> + +<p> +“They jes’ know we ain’t loaded to kill,” Henry +remarked at bed-time, indicating the gleaming circle that hemmed them in. +“If we could put a couple of shots into ’em, they’d be more +respectful. They come closer every night. Get the firelight out of your eyes +an’ look hard—there! Did you see that one?” +</p> + +<p> +For some time the two men amused themselves with watching the movement of vague +forms on the edge of the firelight. By looking closely and steadily at where a +pair of eyes burned in the darkness, the form of the animal would slowly take +shape. They could even see these forms move at times. +</p> + +<p> +A sound among the dogs attracted the men’s attention. One Ear was +uttering quick, eager whines, lunging at the length of his stick toward the +darkness, and desisting now and again in order to make frantic attacks on the +stick with his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that, Bill,” Henry whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Full into the firelight, with a stealthy, sidelong movement, glided a doglike +animal. It moved with commingled mistrust and daring, cautiously observing the +men, its attention fixed on the dogs. One Ear strained the full length of the +stick toward the intruder and whined with eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“That fool One Ear don’t seem scairt much,” Bill said in a +low tone. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a she-wolf,” Henry whispered back, “an’ +that accounts for Fatty an’ Frog. She’s the decoy for the pack. She +draws out the dog an’ then all the rest pitches in an’ eats +’m up.” +</p> + +<p> +The fire crackled. A log fell apart with a loud spluttering noise. At the sound +of it the strange animal leaped back into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry, I’m a-thinkin’,” Bill announced. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinkin’ what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a-thinkin’ that was the one I lambasted with the +club.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t the slightest doubt in the world,” was Henry’s +response. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ right here I want to remark,” Bill went on, “that +that animal’s familyarity with campfires is suspicious an’ +immoral.” +</p> + +<p> +“It knows for certain more’n a self-respectin’ wolf ought to +know,” Henry agreed. “A wolf that knows enough to come in with the +dogs at feedin’ time has had experiences.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ol’ Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves,” +Bill cogitates aloud. “I ought to know. I shot it out of the pack in a +moose pasture over ‘on Little Stick. An’ Ol’ Villan cried +like a baby. Hadn’t seen it for three years, he said. Ben with the wolves +all that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you’ve called the turn, Bill. That wolf’s a dog, +an’ it’s eaten fish many’s the time from the hand of +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“An if I get a chance at it, that wolf that’s a dog’ll be +jes’ meat,” Bill declared. “We can’t afford to lose no +more animals.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ve only got three cartridges,” Henry objected. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll wait for a dead sure shot,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to the accompaniment +of his partner’s snoring. +</p> + +<p> +“You was sleepin’ jes’ too comfortable for anything,” +Henry told him, as he routed him out for breakfast. “I hadn’t the +heart to rouse you.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill began to eat sleepily. He noticed that his cup was empty and started to +reach for the pot. But the pot was beyond arm’s length and beside Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Henry,” he chided gently, “ain’t you forgot +somethin’?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. Bill held up the +empty cup. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t get no coffee,” Henry announced. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t run out?” Bill asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Nope.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t thinkin’ it’ll hurt my digestion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nope.” +</p> + +<p> +A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s jes’ warm an’ anxious I am to be +hearin’ you explain yourself,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Spanker’s gone,” Henry answered. +</p> + +<p> +Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune Bill turned his head, +and from where he sat counted the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“How’d it happen?” he asked apathetically. +</p> + +<p> +Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. Unless One Ear gnawed +’m loose. He couldn’t a-done it himself, that’s sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“The darned cuss.” Bill spoke gravely and slowly, with no hint of +the anger that was raging within. “Jes’ because he couldn’t +chew himself loose, he chews Spanker loose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Spanker’s troubles is over anyway; I guess he’s +digested by this time an’ cavortin’ over the landscape in the +bellies of twenty different wolves,” was Henry’s epitaph on this, +the latest lost dog. “Have some coffee, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +But Bill shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” Henry pleaded, elevating the pot. +</p> + +<p> +Bill shoved his cup aside. “I’ll be ding-dong-danged if I do. I +said I wouldn’t if ary dog turned up missin’, an’ I +won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s darn good coffee,” Henry said enticingly. +</p> + +<p> +But Bill was stubborn, and he ate a dry breakfast washed down with mumbled +curses at One Ear for the trick he had played. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tie ’em up out of reach of each other to-night,” +Bill said, as they took the trail. +</p> + +<p> +They had travelled little more than a hundred yards, when Henry, who was in +front, bent down and picked up something with which his snowshoe had collided. +It was dark, and he could not see it, but he recognised it by the touch. He +flung it back, so that it struck the sled and bounced along until it fetched up +on Bill’s snowshoes. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe you’ll need that in your business,” Henry said. +</p> + +<p> +Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker—the +stick with which he had been tied. +</p> + +<p> +“They ate ’m hide an’ all,” Bill announced. “The +stick’s as clean as a whistle. They’ve ate the leather offen both +ends. They’re damn hungry, Henry, an’ they’ll have you +an’ me guessin’ before this trip’s over.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry laughed defiantly. “I ain’t been trailed this way by wolves +before, but I’ve gone through a whole lot worse an’ kept my health. +Takes more’n a handful of them pesky critters to do for yours truly, +Bill, my son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Bill muttered ominously. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ll know all right when we pull into McGurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t feelin’ special enthusiastic,” Bill persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re off colour, that’s what’s the matter with +you,” Henry dogmatised. “What you need is quinine, an’ +I’m goin’ to dose you up stiff as soon as we make McGurry.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill grunted his disagreement with the diagnosis, and lapsed into silence. The +day was like all the days. Light came at nine o’clock. At twelve +o’clock the southern horizon was warmed by the unseen sun; and then began +the cold grey of afternoon that would merge, three hours later, into night. +</p> + +<p> +It was just after the sun’s futile effort to appear, that Bill slipped +the rifle from under the sled-lashings and said: +</p> + +<p> +“You keep right on, Henry, I’m goin’ to see what I can +see.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better stick by the sled,” his partner protested. +“You’ve only got three cartridges, an’ there’s no +tellin’ what might happen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s croaking now?” Bill demanded triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +Henry made no reply, and plodded on alone, though often he cast anxious glances +back into the grey solitude where his partner had disappeared. An hour later, +taking advantage of the cut-offs around which the sled had to go, Bill arrived. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re scattered an’ rangin’ along wide,” he +said: “keeping up with us an’ lookin’ for game at the same +time. You see, they’re sure of us, only they know they’ve got to +wait to get us. In the meantime they’re willin’ to pick up anything +eatable that comes handy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean they <i>think</i> they’re sure of us,” Henry +objected pointedly. +</p> + +<p> +But Bill ignored him. “I seen some of them. They’re pretty thin. +They ain’t had a bite in weeks I reckon, outside of Fatty an’ Frog +an’ Spanker; an’ there’s so many of ’em that that +didn’t go far. They’re remarkable thin. Their ribs is like +wash-boards, an’ their stomachs is right up against their backbones. +They’re pretty desperate, I can tell you. They’ll be goin’ +mad, yet, an’ then watch out.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later, Henry, who was now travelling behind the sled, emitted a +low, warning whistle. Bill turned and looked, then quietly stopped the dogs. To +the rear, from around the last bend and plainly into view, on the very trail +they had just covered, trotted a furry, slinking form. Its nose was to the +trail, and it trotted with a peculiar, sliding, effortless gait. When they +halted, it halted, throwing up its head and regarding them steadily with +nostrils that twitched as it caught and studied the scent of them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the she-wolf,” Bill answered. +</p> + +<p> +The dogs had lain down in the snow, and he walked past them to join his partner +in the sled. Together they watched the strange animal that had pursued them for +days and that had already accomplished the destruction of half their dog-team. +</p> + +<p> +After a searching scrutiny, the animal trotted forward a few steps. This it +repeated several times, till it was a short hundred yards away. It paused, head +up, close by a clump of spruce trees, and with sight and scent studied the +outfit of the watching men. It looked at them in a strangely wistful way, after +the manner of a dog; but in its wistfulness there was none of the dog +affection. It was a wistfulness bred of hunger, as cruel as its own fangs, as +merciless as the frost itself. +</p> + +<p> +It was large for a wolf, its gaunt frame advertising the lines of an animal +that was among the largest of its kind. +</p> + +<p> +“Stands pretty close to two feet an’ a half at the +shoulders,” Henry commented. “An’ I’ll bet it +ain’t far from five feet long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kind of strange colour for a wolf,” was Bill’s criticism. +“I never seen a red wolf before. Looks almost cinnamon to me.” +</p> + +<p> +The animal was certainly not cinnamon-coloured. Its coat was the true +wolf-coat. The dominant colour was grey, and yet there was to it a faint +reddish hue—a hue that was baffling, that appeared and disappeared, that +was more like an illusion of the vision, now grey, distinctly grey, and again +giving hints and glints of a vague redness of colour not classifiable in terms +of ordinary experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Looks for all the world like a big husky sled-dog,” Bill said. +“I wouldn’t be s’prised to see it wag its tail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, you husky!” he called. “Come here, you +whatever-your-name-is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t a bit scairt of you,” Henry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Bill waved his hand at it threateningly and shouted loudly; but the animal +betrayed no fear. The only change in it that they could notice was an accession +of alertness. It still regarded them with the merciless wistfulness of hunger. +They were meat, and it was hungry; and it would like to go in and eat them if +it dared. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Henry,” Bill said, unconsciously lowering his voice to +a whisper because of what he imitated. “We’ve got three cartridges. +But it’s a dead shot. Couldn’t miss it. It’s got away with +three of our dogs, an’ we oughter put a stop to it. What d’ye +say?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry nodded his consent. Bill cautiously slipped the gun from under the +sled-lashing. The gun was on the way to his shoulder, but it never got there. +For in that instant the she-wolf leaped sidewise from the trail into the clump +of spruce trees and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +The two men looked at each other. Henry whistled long and comprehendingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have knowed it,” Bill chided himself aloud as he replaced +the gun. “Of course a wolf that knows enough to come in with the dogs at +feedin’ time, ’d know all about shooting-irons. I tell you right +now, Henry, that critter’s the cause of all our trouble. We’d have +six dogs at the present time, ’stead of three, if it wasn’t for +her. An’ I tell you right now, Henry, I’m goin’ to get her. +She’s too smart to be shot in the open. But I’m goin’ to lay +for her. I’ll bushwhack her as sure as my name is Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t stray off too far in doin’ it,” his +partner admonished. “If that pack ever starts to jump you, them three +cartridges’d be wuth no more’n three whoops in hell. Them animals +is damn hungry, an’ once they start in, they’ll sure get you, +Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +They camped early that night. Three dogs could not drag the sled so fast nor +for so long hours as could six, and they were showing unmistakable signs of +playing out. And the men went early to bed, Bill first seeing to it that the +dogs were tied out of gnawing-reach of one another. +</p> + +<p> +But the wolves were growing bolder, and the men were aroused more than once +from their sleep. So near did the wolves approach, that the dogs became frantic +with terror, and it was necessary to replenish the fire from time to time in +order to keep the adventurous marauders at safer distance. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve hearn sailors talk of sharks followin’ a ship,” +Bill remarked, as he crawled back into the blankets after one such replenishing +of the fire. “Well, them wolves is land sharks. They know their business +better’n we do, an’ they ain’t a-holdin’ our trail this +way for their health. They’re goin’ to get us. They’re sure +goin’ to get us, Henry.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve half got you a’ready, a-talkin’ like +that,” Henry retorted sharply. “A man’s half licked when he +says he is. An’ you’re half eaten from the way you’re +goin’ on about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve got away with better men than you an’ me,” +Bill answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shet up your croakin’. You make me all-fired tired.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry rolled over angrily on his side, but was surprised that Bill made no +similar display of temper. This was not Bill’s way, for he was easily +angered by sharp words. Henry thought long over it before he went to sleep, and +as his eyelids fluttered down and he dozed off, the thought in his mind was: +“There’s no mistakin’ it, Bill’s almighty blue. +I’ll have to cheer him up to-morrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III<br> +THE HUNGER CRY</h3> + +<p> +The day began auspiciously. They had lost no dogs during the night, and they +swung out upon the trail and into the silence, the darkness, and the cold with +spirits that were fairly light. Bill seemed to have forgotten his forebodings +of the previous night, and even waxed facetious with the dogs when, at midday, +they overturned the sled on a bad piece of trail. +</p> + +<p> +It was an awkward mix-up. The sled was upside down and jammed between a +tree-trunk and a huge rock, and they were forced to unharness the dogs in order +to straighten out the tangle. The two men were bent over the sled and trying to +right it, when Henry observed One Ear sidling away. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you, One Ear!” he cried, straightening up and turning around +on the dog. +</p> + +<p> +But One Ear broke into a run across the snow, his traces trailing behind him. +And there, out in the snow of their back track, was the she-wolf waiting for +him. As he neared her, he became suddenly cautious. He slowed down to an alert +and mincing walk and then stopped. He regarded her carefully and dubiously, yet +desirefully. She seemed to smile at him, showing her teeth in an ingratiating +rather than a menacing way. She moved toward him a few steps, playfully, and +then halted. One Ear drew near to her, still alert and cautious, his tail and +ears in the air, his head held high. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to sniff noses with her, but she retreated playfully and coyly. Every +advance on his part was accompanied by a corresponding retreat on her part. +Step by step she was luring him away from the security of his human +companionship. Once, as though a warning had in vague ways flitted through his +intelligence, he turned his head and looked back at the overturned sled, at his +team-mates, and at the two men who were calling to him. +</p> + +<p> +But whatever idea was forming in his mind, was dissipated by the she-wolf, who +advanced upon him, sniffed noses with him for a fleeting instant, and then +resumed her coy retreat before his renewed advances. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Bill had bethought himself of the rifle. But it was jammed +beneath the overturned sled, and by the time Henry had helped him to right the +load, One Ear and the she-wolf were too close together and the distance too +great to risk a shot. +</p> + +<p> +Too late One Ear learned his mistake. Before they saw the cause, the two men +saw him turn and start to run back toward them. Then, approaching at right +angles to the trail and cutting off his retreat they saw a dozen wolves, lean +and grey, bounding across the snow. On the instant, the she-wolf’s +coyness and playfulness disappeared. With a snarl she sprang upon One Ear. He +thrust her off with his shoulder, and, his retreat cut off and still intent on +regaining the sled, he altered his course in an attempt to circle around to it. +More wolves were appearing every moment and joining in the chase. The she-wolf +was one leap behind One Ear and holding her own. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you goin’?” Henry suddenly demanded, laying his +hand on his partner’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +Bill shook it off. “I won’t stand it,” he said. “They +ain’t a-goin’ to get any more of our dogs if I can help it.” +</p> + +<p> +Gun in hand, he plunged into the underbrush that lined the side of the trail. +His intention was apparent enough. Taking the sled as the centre of the circle +that One Ear was making, Bill planned to tap that circle at a point in advance +of the pursuit. With his rifle, in the broad daylight, it might be possible for +him to awe the wolves and save the dog. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Bill!” Henry called after him. “Be careful! Don’t +take no chances!” +</p> + +<p> +Henry sat down on the sled and watched. There was nothing else for him to do. +Bill had already gone from sight; but now and again, appearing and disappearing +amongst the underbrush and the scattered clumps of spruce, could be seen One +Ear. Henry judged his case to be hopeless. The dog was thoroughly alive to its +danger, but it was running on the outer circle while the wolf-pack was running +on the inner and shorter circle. It was vain to think of One Ear so +outdistancing his pursuers as to be able to cut across their circle in advance +of them and to regain the sled. +</p> + +<p> +The different lines were rapidly approaching a point. Somewhere out there in +the snow, screened from his sight by trees and thickets, Henry knew that the +wolf-pack, One Ear, and Bill were coming together. All too quickly, far more +quickly than he had expected, it happened. He heard a shot, then two shots, in +rapid succession, and he knew that Bill’s ammunition was gone. Then he +heard a great outcry of snarls and yelps. He recognised One Ear’s yell of +pain and terror, and he heard a wolf-cry that bespoke a stricken animal. And +that was all. The snarls ceased. The yelping died away. Silence settled down +again over the lonely land. +</p> + +<p> +He sat for a long while upon the sled. There was no need for him to go and see +what had happened. He knew it as though it had taken place before his eyes. +Once, he roused with a start and hastily got the axe out from underneath the +lashings. But for some time longer he sat and brooded, the two remaining dogs +crouching and trembling at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +At last he arose in a weary manner, as though all the resilience had gone out +of his body, and proceeded to fasten the dogs to the sled. He passed a rope +over his shoulder, a man-trace, and pulled with the dogs. He did not go far. At +the first hint of darkness he hastened to make a camp, and he saw to it that he +had a generous supply of firewood. He fed the dogs, cooked and ate his supper, +and made his bed close to the fire. +</p> + +<p> +But he was not destined to enjoy that bed. Before his eyes closed the wolves +had drawn too near for safety. It no longer required an effort of the vision to +see them. They were all about him and the fire, in a narrow circle, and he +could see them plainly in the firelight lying down, sitting up, crawling +forward on their bellies, or slinking back and forth. They even slept. Here and +there he could see one curled up in the snow like a dog, taking the sleep that +was now denied himself. +</p> + +<p> +He kept the fire brightly blazing, for he knew that it alone intervened between +the flesh of his body and their hungry fangs. His two dogs stayed close by him, +one on either side, leaning against him for protection, crying and whimpering, +and at times snarling desperately when a wolf approached a little closer than +usual. At such moments, when his dogs snarled, the whole circle would be +agitated, the wolves coming to their feet and pressing tentatively forward, a +chorus of snarls and eager yelps rising about him. Then the circle would lie +down again, and here and there a wolf would resume its broken nap. +</p> + +<p> +But this circle had a continuous tendency to draw in upon him. Bit by bit, an +inch at a time, with here a wolf bellying forward, and there a wolf bellying +forward, the circle would narrow until the brutes were almost within springing +distance. Then he would seize brands from the fire and hurl them into the pack. +A hasty drawing back always resulted, accompanied by angry yelps and frightened +snarls when a well-aimed brand struck and scorched a too daring animal. +</p> + +<p> +Morning found the man haggard and worn, wide-eyed from want of sleep. He cooked +breakfast in the darkness, and at nine o’clock, when, with the coming of +daylight, the wolf-pack drew back, he set about the task he had planned through +the long hours of the night. Chopping down young saplings, he made them +cross-bars of a scaffold by lashing them high up to the trunks of standing +trees. Using the sled-lashing for a heaving rope, and with the aid of the dogs, +he hoisted the coffin to the top of the scaffold. +</p> + +<p> +“They got Bill, an’ they may get me, but they’ll sure never +get you, young man,” he said, addressing the dead body in its +tree-sepulchre. +</p> + +<p> +Then he took the trail, the lightened sled bounding along behind the willing +dogs; for they, too, knew that safety lay open in the gaining of Fort McGurry. +The wolves were now more open in their pursuit, trotting sedately behind and +ranging along on either side, their red tongues lolling out, their lean sides +showing the undulating ribs with every movement. They were very lean, mere +skin-bags stretched over bony frames, with strings for muscles—so lean +that Henry found it in his mind to marvel that they still kept their feet and +did not collapse forthright in the snow. +</p> + +<p> +He did not dare travel until dark. At midday, not only did the sun warm the +southern horizon, but it even thrust its upper rim, pale and golden, above the +sky-line. He received it as a sign. The days were growing longer. The sun was +returning. But scarcely had the cheer of its light departed, than he went into +camp. There were still several hours of grey daylight and sombre twilight, and +he utilised them in chopping an enormous supply of fire-wood. +</p> + +<p> +With night came horror. Not only were the starving wolves growing bolder, but +lack of sleep was telling upon Henry. He dozed despite himself, crouching by +the fire, the blankets about his shoulders, the axe between his knees, and on +either side a dog pressing close against him. He awoke once and saw in front of +him, not a dozen feet away, a big grey wolf, one of the largest of the pack. +And even as he looked, the brute deliberately stretched himself after the +manner of a lazy dog, yawning full in his face and looking upon him with a +possessive eye, as if, in truth, he were merely a delayed meal that was soon to +be eaten. +</p> + +<p> +This certitude was shown by the whole pack. Fully a score he could count, +staring hungrily at him or calmly sleeping in the snow. They reminded him of +children gathered about a spread table and awaiting permission to begin to eat. +And he was the food they were to eat! He wondered how and when the meal would +begin. +</p> + +<p> +As he piled wood on the fire he discovered an appreciation of his own body +which he had never felt before. He watched his moving muscles and was +interested in the cunning mechanism of his fingers. By the light of the fire he +crooked his fingers slowly and repeatedly now one at a time, now all together, +spreading them wide or making quick gripping movements. He studied the +nail-formation, and prodded the finger-tips, now sharply, and again softly, +gauging the while the nerve-sensations produced. It fascinated him, and he grew +suddenly fond of this subtle flesh of his that worked so beautifully and +smoothly and delicately. Then he would cast a glance of fear at the wolf-circle +drawn expectantly about him, and like a blow the realisation would strike him +that this wonderful body of his, this living flesh, was no more than so much +meat, a quest of ravenous animals, to be torn and slashed by their hungry +fangs, to be sustenance to them as the moose and the rabbit had often been +sustenance to him. +</p> + +<p> +He came out of a doze that was half nightmare, to see the red-hued she-wolf +before him. She was not more than half a dozen feet away sitting in the snow +and wistfully regarding him. The two dogs were whimpering and snarling at his +feet, but she took no notice of them. She was looking at the man, and for some +time he returned her look. There was nothing threatening about her. She looked +at him merely with a great wistfulness, but he knew it to be the wistfulness of +an equally great hunger. He was the food, and the sight of him excited in her +the gustatory sensations. Her mouth opened, the saliva drooled forth, and she +licked her chops with the pleasure of anticipation. +</p> + +<p> +A spasm of fear went through him. He reached hastily for a brand to throw at +her. But even as he reached, and before his fingers had closed on the missile, +she sprang back into safety; and he knew that she was used to having things +thrown at her. She had snarled as she sprang away, baring her white fangs to +their roots, all her wistfulness vanishing, being replaced by a carnivorous +malignity that made him shudder. He glanced at the hand that held the brand, +noticing the cunning delicacy of the fingers that gripped it, how they adjusted +themselves to all the inequalities of the surface, curling over and under and +about the rough wood, and one little finger, too close to the burning portion +of the brand, sensitively and automatically writhing back from the hurtful heat +to a cooler gripping-place; and in the same instant he seemed to see a vision +of those same sensitive and delicate fingers being crushed and torn by the +white teeth of the she-wolf. Never had he been so fond of this body of his as +now when his tenure of it was so precarious. +</p> + +<p> +All night, with burning brands, he fought off the hungry pack. When he dozed +despite himself, the whimpering and snarling of the dogs aroused him. Morning +came, but for the first time the light of day failed to scatter the wolves. The +man waited in vain for them to go. They remained in a circle about him and his +fire, displaying an arrogance of possession that shook his courage born of the +morning light. +</p> + +<p> +He made one desperate attempt to pull out on the trail. But the moment he left +the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped for him, but leaped short. +He saved himself by springing back, the jaws snapping together a scant six +inches from his thigh. The rest of the pack was now up and surging upon him, +and a throwing of firebrands right and left was necessary to drive them back to +a respectful distance. +</p> + +<p> +Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh wood. Twenty +feet away towered a huge dead spruce. He spent half the day extending his +campfire to the tree, at any moment a half dozen burning faggots ready at hand +to fling at his enemies. Once at the tree, he studied the surrounding forest in +order to fell the tree in the direction of the most firewood. +</p> + +<p> +The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need for sleep +was becoming overpowering. The snarling of his dogs was losing its efficacy. +Besides, they were snarling all the time, and his benumbed and drowsy senses no +longer took note of changing pitch and intensity. He awoke with a start. The +she-wolf was less than a yard from him. Mechanically, at short range, without +letting go of it, he thrust a brand full into her open and snarling mouth. She +sprang away, yelling with pain, and while he took delight in the smell of +burning flesh and hair, he watched her shaking her head and growling wrathfully +a score of feet away. +</p> + +<p> +But this time, before he dozed again, he tied a burning pine-knot to his right +hand. His eyes were closed but few minutes when the burn of the flame on his +flesh awakened him. For several hours he adhered to this programme. Every time +he was thus awakened he drove back the wolves with flying brands, replenished +the fire, and rearranged the pine-knot on his hand. All worked well, but there +came a time when he fastened the pine-knot insecurely. As his eyes closed it +fell away from his hand. +</p> + +<p> +He dreamed. It seemed to him that he was in Fort McGurry. It was warm and +comfortable, and he was playing cribbage with the Factor. Also, it seemed to +him that the fort was besieged by wolves. They were howling at the very gates, +and sometimes he and the Factor paused from the game to listen and laugh at the +futile efforts of the wolves to get in. And then, so strange was the dream, +there was a crash. The door was burst open. He could see the wolves flooding +into the big living-room of the fort. They were leaping straight for him and +the Factor. With the bursting open of the door, the noise of their howling had +increased tremendously. This howling now bothered him. His dream was merging +into something else—he knew not what; but through it all, following him, +persisted the howling. +</p> + +<p> +And then he awoke to find the howling real. There was a great snarling and +yelping. The wolves were rushing him. They were all about him and upon him. The +teeth of one had closed upon his arm. Instinctively he leaped into the fire, +and as he leaped, he felt the sharp slash of teeth that tore through the flesh +of his leg. Then began a fire fight. His stout mittens temporarily protected +his hands, and he scooped live coals into the air in all directions, until the +campfire took on the semblance of a volcano. +</p> + +<p> +But it could not last long. His face was blistering in the heat, his eyebrows +and lashes were singed off, and the heat was becoming unbearable to his feet. +With a flaming brand in each hand, he sprang to the edge of the fire. The +wolves had been driven back. On every side, wherever the live coals had fallen, +the snow was sizzling, and every little while a retiring wolf, with wild leap +and snort and snarl, announced that one such live coal had been stepped upon. +</p> + +<p> +Flinging his brands at the nearest of his enemies, the man thrust his +smouldering mittens into the snow and stamped about to cool his feet. His two +dogs were missing, and he well knew that they had served as a course in the +protracted meal which had begun days before with Fatty, the last course of +which would likely be himself in the days to follow. +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t got me yet!” he cried, savagely shaking his fist +at the hungry beasts; and at the sound of his voice the whole circle was +agitated, there was a general snarl, and the she-wolf slid up close to him +across the snow and watched him with hungry wistfulness. +</p> + +<p> +He set to work to carry out a new idea that had come to him. He extended the +fire into a large circle. Inside this circle he crouched, his sleeping outfit +under him as a protection against the melting snow. When he had thus +disappeared within his shelter of flame, the whole pack came curiously to the +rim of the fire to see what had become of him. Hitherto they had been denied +access to the fire, and they now settled down in a close-drawn circle, like so +many dogs, blinking and yawning and stretching their lean bodies in the +unaccustomed warmth. Then the she-wolf sat down, pointed her nose at a star, +and began to howl. One by one the wolves joined her, till the whole pack, on +haunches, with noses pointed skyward, was howling its hunger cry. +</p> + +<p> +Dawn came, and daylight. The fire was burning low. The fuel had run out, and +there was need to get more. The man attempted to step out of his circle of +flame, but the wolves surged to meet him. Burning brands made them spring +aside, but they no longer sprang back. In vain he strove to drive them back. As +he gave up and stumbled inside his circle, a wolf leaped for him, missed, and +landed with all four feet in the coals. It cried out with terror, at the same +time snarling, and scrambled back to cool its paws in the snow. +</p> + +<p> +The man sat down on his blankets in a crouching position. His body leaned +forward from the hips. His shoulders, relaxed and drooping, and his head on his +knees advertised that he had given up the struggle. Now and again he raised his +head to note the dying down of the fire. The circle of flame and coals was +breaking into segments with openings in between. These openings grew in size, +the segments diminished. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you can come an’ get me any time,” he mumbled. +“Anyway, I’m goin’ to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Once he awakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in front of him, he +saw the she-wolf gazing at him. +</p> + +<p> +Again he awakened, a little later, though it seemed hours to him. A mysterious +change had taken place—so mysterious a change that he was shocked wider +awake. Something had happened. He could not understand at first. Then he +discovered it. The wolves were gone. Remained only the trampled snow to show +how closely they had pressed him. Sleep was welling up and gripping him again, +his head was sinking down upon his knees, when he roused with a sudden start. +</p> + +<p> +There were cries of men, and churn of sleds, the creaking of harnesses, and the +eager whimpering of straining dogs. Four sleds pulled in from the river bed to +the camp among the trees. Half a dozen men were about the man who crouched in +the centre of the dying fire. They were shaking and prodding him into +consciousness. He looked at them like a drunken man and maundered in strange, +sleepy speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Red she-wolf. . . . Come in with the dogs at feedin’ time. . . . +First she ate the dog-food. . . . Then she ate the dogs. . . . An’ after +that she ate Bill. . . . ” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Lord Alfred?” one of the men bellowed in his ear, +shaking him roughly. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head slowly. “No, she didn’t eat him. . . . He’s +roostin’ in a tree at the last camp.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead?” the man shouted. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ in a box,” Henry answered. He jerked his shoulder +petulantly away from the grip of his questioner. “Say, you lemme alone. . +. . I’m jes’ plump tuckered out. . . . Goo’ night, +everybody.” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes fluttered and went shut. His chin fell forward on his chest. And even +as they eased him down upon the blankets his snores were rising on the frosty +air. +</p> + +<p> +But there was another sound. Far and faint it was, in the remote distance, the +cry of the hungry wolf-pack as it took the trail of other meat than the man it +had just missed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="part02"></a>PART II</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap04"></a>CHAPTER I<br> +THE BATTLE OF THE FANGS</h3> + +<p> +It was the she-wolf who had first caught the sound of men’s voices and +the whining of the sled-dogs; and it was the she-wolf who was first to spring +away from the cornered man in his circle of dying flame. The pack had been +loath to forego the kill it had hunted down, and it lingered for several +minutes, making sure of the sounds, and then it, too, sprang away on the trail +made by the she-wolf. +</p> + +<p> +Running at the forefront of the pack was a large grey wolf—one of its +several leaders. It was he who directed the pack’s course on the heels of +the she-wolf. It was he who snarled warningly at the younger members of the +pack or slashed at them with his fangs when they ambitiously tried to pass him. +And it was he who increased the pace when he sighted the she-wolf, now trotting +slowly across the snow. +</p> + +<p> +She dropped in alongside by him, as though it were her appointed position, and +took the pace of the pack. He did not snarl at her, nor show his teeth, when +any leap of hers chanced to put her in advance of him. On the contrary, he +seemed kindly disposed toward her—too kindly to suit her, for he was +prone to run near to her, and when he ran too near it was she who snarled and +showed her teeth. Nor was she above slashing his shoulder sharply on occasion. +At such times he betrayed no anger. He merely sprang to the side and ran +stiffly ahead for several awkward leaps, in carriage and conduct resembling an +abashed country swain. +</p> + +<p> +This was his one trouble in the running of the pack; but she had other +troubles. On her other side ran a gaunt old wolf, grizzled and marked with the +scars of many battles. He ran always on her right side. The fact that he had +but one eye, and that the left eye, might account for this. He, also, was +addicted to crowding her, to veering toward her till his scarred muzzle touched +her body, or shoulder, or neck. As with the running mate on the left, she +repelled these attentions with her teeth; but when both bestowed their +attentions at the same time she was roughly jostled, being compelled, with +quick snaps to either side, to drive both lovers away and at the same time to +maintain her forward leap with the pack and see the way of her feet before her. +At such times her running mates flashed their teeth and growled threateningly +across at each other. They might have fought, but even wooing and its rivalry +waited upon the more pressing hunger-need of the pack. +</p> + +<p> +After each repulse, when the old wolf sheered abruptly away from the +sharp-toothed object of his desire, he shouldered against a young +three-year-old that ran on his blind right side. This young wolf had attained +his full size; and, considering the weak and famished condition of the pack, he +possessed more than the average vigour and spirit. Nevertheless, he ran with +his head even with the shoulder of his one-eyed elder. When he ventured to run +abreast of the older wolf (which was seldom), a snarl and a snap sent him back +even with the shoulder again. Sometimes, however, he dropped cautiously and +slowly behind and edged in between the old leader and the she-wolf. This was +doubly resented, even triply resented. When she snarled her displeasure, the +old leader would whirl on the three-year-old. Sometimes she whirled with him. +And sometimes the young leader on the left whirled, too. +</p> + +<p> +At such times, confronted by three sets of savage teeth, the young wolf stopped +precipitately, throwing himself back on his haunches, with fore-legs stiff, +mouth menacing, and mane bristling. This confusion in the front of the moving +pack always caused confusion in the rear. The wolves behind collided with the +young wolf and expressed their displeasure by administering sharp nips on his +hind-legs and flanks. He was laying up trouble for himself, for lack of food +and short tempers went together; but with the boundless faith of youth he +persisted in repeating the manoeuvre every little while, though it never +succeeded in gaining anything for him but discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +Had there been food, love-making and fighting would have gone on apace, and the +pack-formation would have been broken up. But the situation of the pack was +desperate. It was lean with long-standing hunger. It ran below its ordinary +speed. At the rear limped the weak members, the very young and the very old. At +the front were the strongest. Yet all were more like skeletons than full-bodied +wolves. Nevertheless, with the exception of the ones that limped, the movements +of the animals were effortless and tireless. Their stringy muscles seemed +founts of inexhaustible energy. Behind every steel-like contraction of a +muscle, lay another steel-like contraction, and another, and another, +apparently without end. +</p> + +<p> +They ran many miles that day. They ran through the night. And the next day +found them still running. They were running over the surface of a world frozen +and dead. No life stirred. They alone moved through the vast inertness. They +alone were alive, and they sought for other things that were alive in order +that they might devour them and continue to live. +</p> + +<p> +They crossed low divides and ranged a dozen small streams in a lower-lying +country before their quest was rewarded. Then they came upon moose. It was a +big bull they first found. Here was meat and life, and it was guarded by no +mysterious fires nor flying missiles of flame. Splay hoofs and palmated antlers +they knew, and they flung their customary patience and caution to the wind. It +was a brief fight and fierce. The big bull was beset on every side. He ripped +them open or split their skulls with shrewdly driven blows of his great hoofs. +He crushed them and broke them on his large horns. He stamped them into the +snow under him in the wallowing struggle. But he was foredoomed, and he went +down with the she-wolf tearing savagely at his throat, and with other teeth +fixed everywhere upon him, devouring him alive, before ever his last struggles +ceased or his last damage had been wrought. +</p> + +<p> +There was food in plenty. The bull weighed over eight hundred +pounds—fully twenty pounds of meat per mouth for the forty-odd wolves of +the pack. But if they could fast prodigiously, they could feed prodigiously, +and soon a few scattered bones were all that remained of the splendid live +brute that had faced the pack a few hours before. +</p> + +<p> +There was now much resting and sleeping. With full stomachs, bickering and +quarrelling began among the younger males, and this continued through the few +days that followed before the breaking-up of the pack. The famine was over. The +wolves were now in the country of game, and though they still hunted in pack, +they hunted more cautiously, cutting out heavy cows or crippled old bulls from +the small moose-herds they ran across. +</p> + +<p> +There came a day, in this land of plenty, when the wolf-pack split in half and +went in different directions. The she-wolf, the young leader on her left, and +the one-eyed elder on her right, led their half of the pack down to the +Mackenzie River and across into the lake country to the east. Each day this +remnant of the pack dwindled. Two by two, male and female, the wolves were +deserting. Occasionally a solitary male was driven out by the sharp teeth of +his rivals. In the end there remained only four: the she-wolf, the young +leader, the one-eyed one, and the ambitious three-year-old. +</p> + +<p> +The she-wolf had by now developed a ferocious temper. Her three suitors all +bore the marks of her teeth. Yet they never replied in kind, never defended +themselves against her. They turned their shoulders to her most savage slashes, +and with wagging tails and mincing steps strove to placate her wrath. But if +they were all mildness toward her, they were all fierceness toward one another. +The three-year-old grew too ambitious in his fierceness. He caught the one-eyed +elder on his blind side and ripped his ear into ribbons. Though the grizzled +old fellow could see only on one side, against the youth and vigour of the +other he brought into play the wisdom of long years of experience. His lost eye +and his scarred muzzle bore evidence to the nature of his experience. He had +survived too many battles to be in doubt for a moment about what to do. +</p> + +<p> +The battle began fairly, but it did not end fairly. There was no telling what +the outcome would have been, for the third wolf joined the elder, and together, +old leader and young leader, they attacked the ambitious three-year-old and +proceeded to destroy him. He was beset on either side by the merciless fangs of +his erstwhile comrades. Forgotten were the days they had hunted together, the +game they had pulled down, the famine they had suffered. That business was a +thing of the past. The business of love was at hand—ever a sterner and +crueller business than that of food-getting. +</p> + +<p> +And in the meanwhile, the she-wolf, the cause of it all, sat down contentedly +on her haunches and watched. She was even pleased. This was her day—and +it came not often—when manes bristled, and fang smote fang or ripped and +tore the yielding flesh, all for the possession of her. +</p> + +<p> +And in the business of love the three-year-old, who had made this his first +adventure upon it, yielded up his life. On either side of his body stood his +two rivals. They were gazing at the she-wolf, who sat smiling in the snow. But +the elder leader was wise, very wise, in love even as in battle. The younger +leader turned his head to lick a wound on his shoulder. The curve of his neck +was turned toward his rival. With his one eye the elder saw the opportunity. He +darted in low and closed with his fangs. It was a long, ripping slash, and deep +as well. His teeth, in passing, burst the wall of the great vein of the throat. +Then he leaped clear. +</p> + +<p> +The young leader snarled terribly, but his snarl broke midmost into a tickling +cough. Bleeding and coughing, already stricken, he sprang at the elder and +fought while life faded from him, his legs going weak beneath him, the light of +day dulling on his eyes, his blows and springs falling shorter and shorter. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while the she-wolf sat on her haunches and smiled. She was made +glad in vague ways by the battle, for this was the love-making of the Wild, the +sex-tragedy of the natural world that was tragedy only to those that died. To +those that survived it was not tragedy, but realisation and achievement. +</p> + +<p> +When the young leader lay in the snow and moved no more, One Eye stalked over +to the she-wolf. His carriage was one of mingled triumph and caution. He was +plainly expectant of a rebuff, and he was just as plainly surprised when her +teeth did not flash out at him in anger. For the first time she met him with a +kindly manner. She sniffed noses with him, and even condescended to leap about +and frisk and play with him in quite puppyish fashion. And he, for all his grey +years and sage experience, behaved quite as puppyishly and even a little more +foolishly. +</p> + +<p> +Forgotten already were the vanquished rivals and the love-tale red-written on +the snow. Forgotten, save once, when old One Eye stopped for a moment to lick +his stiffening wounds. Then it was that his lips half writhed into a snarl, and +the hair of his neck and shoulders involuntarily bristled, while he half +crouched for a spring, his claws spasmodically clutching into the snow-surface +for firmer footing. But it was all forgotten the next moment, as he sprang +after the she-wolf, who was coyly leading him a chase through the woods. +</p> + +<p> +After that they ran side by side, like good friends who have come to an +understanding. The days passed by, and they kept together, hunting their meat +and killing and eating it in common. After a time the she-wolf began to grow +restless. She seemed to be searching for something that she could not find. The +hollows under fallen trees seemed to attract her, and she spent much time +nosing about among the larger snow-piled crevices in the rocks and in the caves +of overhanging banks. Old One Eye was not interested at all, but he followed +her good-naturedly in her quest, and when her investigations in particular +places were unusually protracted, he would lie down and wait until she was +ready to go on. +</p> + +<p> +They did not remain in one place, but travelled across country until they +regained the Mackenzie River, down which they slowly went, leaving it often to +hunt game along the small streams that entered it, but always returning to it +again. Sometimes they chanced upon other wolves, usually in pairs; but there +was no friendliness of intercourse displayed on either side, no gladness at +meeting, no desire to return to the pack-formation. Several times they +encountered solitary wolves. These were always males, and they were pressingly +insistent on joining with One Eye and his mate. This he resented, and when she +stood shoulder to shoulder with him, bristling and showing her teeth, the +aspiring solitary ones would back off, turn-tail, and continue on their lonely +way. +</p> + +<p> +One moonlight night, running through the quiet forest, One Eye suddenly halted. +His muzzle went up, his tail stiffened, and his nostrils dilated as he scented +the air. One foot also he held up, after the manner of a dog. He was not +satisfied, and he continued to smell the air, striving to understand the +message borne upon it to him. One careless sniff had satisfied his mate, and +she trotted on to reassure him. Though he followed her, he was still dubious, +and he could not forbear an occasional halt in order more carefully to study +the warning. +</p> + +<p> +She crept out cautiously on the edge of a large open space in the midst of the +trees. For some time she stood alone. Then One Eye, creeping and crawling, +every sense on the alert, every hair radiating infinite suspicion, joined her. +They stood side by side, watching and listening and smelling. +</p> + +<p> +To their ears came the sounds of dogs wrangling and scuffling, the guttural +cries of men, the sharper voices of scolding women, and once the shrill and +plaintive cry of a child. With the exception of the huge bulks of the +skin-lodges, little could be seen save the flames of the fire, broken by the +movements of intervening bodies, and the smoke rising slowly on the quiet air. +But to their nostrils came the myriad smells of an Indian camp, carrying a +story that was largely incomprehensible to One Eye, but every detail of which +the she-wolf knew. +</p> + +<p> +She was strangely stirred, and sniffed and sniffed with an increasing delight. +But old One Eye was doubtful. He betrayed his apprehension, and started +tentatively to go. She turned and touched his neck with her muzzle in a +reassuring way, then regarded the camp again. A new wistfulness was in her +face, but it was not the wistfulness of hunger. She was thrilling to a desire +that urged her to go forward, to be in closer to that fire, to be squabbling +with the dogs, and to be avoiding and dodging the stumbling feet of men. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye moved impatiently beside her; her unrest came back upon her, and she +knew again her pressing need to find the thing for which she searched. She +turned and trotted back into the forest, to the great relief of One Eye, who +trotted a little to the fore until they were well within the shelter of the +trees. +</p> + +<p> +As they slid along, noiseless as shadows, in the moonlight, they came upon a +run-way. Both noses went down to the footprints in the snow. These footprints +were very fresh. One Eye ran ahead cautiously, his mate at his heels. The broad +pads of their feet were spread wide and in contact with the snow were like +velvet. One Eye caught sight of a dim movement of white in the midst of the +white. His sliding gait had been deceptively swift, but it was as nothing to +the speed at which he now ran. Before him was bounding the faint patch of white +he had discovered. +</p> + +<p> +They were running along a narrow alley flanked on either side by a growth of +young spruce. Through the trees the mouth of the alley could be seen, opening +out on a moonlit glade. Old One Eye was rapidly overhauling the fleeing shape +of white. Bound by bound he gained. Now he was upon it. One leap more and his +teeth would be sinking into it. But that leap was never made. High in the air, +and straight up, soared the shape of white, now a struggling snowshoe rabbit +that leaped and bounded, executing a fantastic dance there above him in the air +and never once returning to earth. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye sprang back with a snort of sudden fright, then shrank down to the snow +and crouched, snarling threats at this thing of fear he did not understand. But +the she-wolf coolly thrust past him. She poised for a moment, then sprang for +the dancing rabbit. She, too, soared high, but not so high as the quarry, and +her teeth clipped emptily together with a metallic snap. She made another leap, +and another. +</p> + +<p> +Her mate had slowly relaxed from his crouch and was watching her. He now +evinced displeasure at her repeated failures, and himself made a mighty spring +upward. His teeth closed upon the rabbit, and he bore it back to earth with +him. But at the same time there was a suspicious crackling movement beside him, +and his astonished eye saw a young spruce sapling bending down above him to +strike him. His jaws let go their grip, and he leaped backward to escape this +strange danger, his lips drawn back from his fangs, his throat snarling, every +hair bristling with rage and fright. And in that moment the sapling reared its +slender length upright and the rabbit soared dancing in the air again. +</p> + +<p> +The she-wolf was angry. She sank her fangs into her mate’s shoulder in +reproof; and he, frightened, unaware of what constituted this new onslaught, +struck back ferociously and in still greater fright, ripping down the side of +the she-wolf’s muzzle. For him to resent such reproof was equally +unexpected to her, and she sprang upon him in snarling indignation. Then he +discovered his mistake and tried to placate her. But she proceeded to punish +him roundly, until he gave over all attempts at placation, and whirled in a +circle, his head away from her, his shoulders receiving the punishment of her +teeth. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime the rabbit danced above them in the air. The she-wolf sat down +in the snow, and old One Eye, now more in fear of his mate than of the +mysterious sapling, again sprang for the rabbit. As he sank back with it +between his teeth, he kept his eye on the sapling. As before, it followed him +back to earth. He crouched down under the impending blow, his hair bristling, +but his teeth still keeping tight hold of the rabbit. But the blow did not +fall. The sapling remained bent above him. When he moved it moved, and he +growled at it through his clenched jaws; when he remained still, it remained +still, and he concluded it was safer to continue remaining still. Yet the warm +blood of the rabbit tasted good in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +It was his mate who relieved him from the quandary in which he found himself. +She took the rabbit from him, and while the sapling swayed and teetered +threateningly above her she calmly gnawed off the rabbit’s head. At once +the sapling shot up, and after that gave no more trouble, remaining in the +decorous and perpendicular position in which nature had intended it to grow. +Then, between them, the she-wolf and One Eye devoured the game which the +mysterious sapling had caught for them. +</p> + +<p> +There were other run-ways and alleys where rabbits were hanging in the air, and +the wolf-pair prospected them all, the she-wolf leading the way, old One Eye +following and observant, learning the method of robbing snares—a +knowledge destined to stand him in good stead in the days to come. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap05"></a>CHAPTER II<br> +THE LAIR</h3> + +<p> +For two days the she-wolf and One Eye hung about the Indian camp. He was +worried and apprehensive, yet the camp lured his mate and she was loath to +depart. But when, one morning, the air was rent with the report of a rifle +close at hand, and a bullet smashed against a tree trunk several inches from +One Eye’s head, they hesitated no more, but went off on a long, swinging +lope that put quick miles between them and the danger. +</p> + +<p> +They did not go far—a couple of days’ journey. The she-wolf’s +need to find the thing for which she searched had now become imperative. She +was getting very heavy, and could run but slowly. Once, in the pursuit of a +rabbit, which she ordinarily would have caught with ease, she gave over and lay +down and rested. One Eye came to her; but when he touched her neck gently with +his muzzle she snapped at him with such quick fierceness that he tumbled over +backward and cut a ridiculous figure in his effort to escape her teeth. Her +temper was now shorter than ever; but he had become more patient than ever and +more solicitous. +</p> + +<p> +And then she found the thing for which she sought. It was a few miles up a +small stream that in the summer time flowed into the Mackenzie, but that then +was frozen over and frozen down to its rocky bottom—a dead stream of +solid white from source to mouth. The she-wolf was trotting wearily along, her +mate well in advance, when she came upon the overhanging, high clay-bank. She +turned aside and trotted over to it. The wear and tear of spring storms and +melting snows had underwashed the bank and in one place had made a small cave +out of a narrow fissure. +</p> + +<p> +She paused at the mouth of the cave and looked the wall over carefully. Then, +on one side and the other, she ran along the base of the wall to where its +abrupt bulk merged from the softer-lined landscape. Returning to the cave, she +entered its narrow mouth. For a short three feet she was compelled to crouch, +then the walls widened and rose higher in a little round chamber nearly six +feet in diameter. The roof barely cleared her head. It was dry and cosey. She +inspected it with painstaking care, while One Eye, who had returned, stood in +the entrance and patiently watched her. She dropped her head, with her nose to +the ground and directed toward a point near to her closely bunched feet, and +around this point she circled several times; then, with a tired sigh that was +almost a grunt, she curled her body in, relaxed her legs, and dropped down, her +head toward the entrance. One Eye, with pointed, interested ears, laughed at +her, and beyond, outlined against the white light, she could see the brush of +his tail waving good-naturedly. Her own ears, with a snuggling movement, laid +their sharp points backward and down against the head for a moment, while her +mouth opened and her tongue lolled peaceably out, and in this way she expressed +that she was pleased and satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye was hungry. Though he lay down in the entrance and slept, his sleep was +fitful. He kept awaking and cocking his ears at the bright world without, where +the April sun was blazing across the snow. When he dozed, upon his ears would +steal the faint whispers of hidden trickles of running water, and he would +rouse and listen intently. The sun had come back, and all the awakening +Northland world was calling to him. Life was stirring. The feel of spring was +in the air, the feel of growing life under the snow, of sap ascending in the +trees, of buds bursting the shackles of the frost. +</p> + +<p> +He cast anxious glances at his mate, but she showed no desire to get up. He +looked outside, and half a dozen snow-birds fluttered across his field of +vision. He started to get up, then looked back to his mate again, and settled +down and dozed. A shrill and minute singing stole upon his hearing. Once, and +twice, he sleepily brushed his nose with his paw. Then he woke up. There, +buzzing in the air at the tip of his nose, was a lone mosquito. It was a +full-grown mosquito, one that had lain frozen in a dry log all winter and that +had now been thawed out by the sun. He could resist the call of the world no +longer. Besides, he was hungry. +</p> + +<p> +He crawled over to his mate and tried to persuade her to get up. But she only +snarled at him, and he walked out alone into the bright sunshine to find the +snow-surface soft under foot and the travelling difficult. He went up the +frozen bed of the stream, where the snow, shaded by the trees, was yet hard and +crystalline. He was gone eight hours, and he came back through the darkness +hungrier than when he had started. He had found game, but he had not caught it. +He had broken through the melting snow crust, and wallowed, while the snowshoe +rabbits had skimmed along on top lightly as ever. +</p> + +<p> +He paused at the mouth of the cave with a sudden shock of suspicion. Faint, +strange sounds came from within. They were sounds not made by his mate, and yet +they were remotely familiar. He bellied cautiously inside and was met by a +warning snarl from the she-wolf. This he received without perturbation, though +he obeyed it by keeping his distance; but he remained interested in the other +sounds—faint, muffled sobbings and slubberings. +</p> + +<p> +His mate warned him irritably away, and he curled up and slept in the entrance. +When morning came and a dim light pervaded the lair, he again sought after the +source of the remotely familiar sounds. There was a new note in his +mate’s warning snarl. It was a jealous note, and he was very careful in +keeping a respectful distance. Nevertheless, he made out, sheltering between +her legs against the length of her body, five strange little bundles of life, +very feeble, very helpless, making tiny whimpering noises, with eyes that did +not open to the light. He was surprised. It was not the first time in his long +and successful life that this thing had happened. It had happened many times, +yet each time it was as fresh a surprise as ever to him. +</p> + +<p> +His mate looked at him anxiously. Every little while she emitted a low growl, +and at times, when it seemed to her he approached too near, the growl shot up +in her throat to a sharp snarl. Of her own experience she had no memory of the +thing happening; but in her instinct, which was the experience of all the +mothers of wolves, there lurked a memory of fathers that had eaten their +new-born and helpless progeny. It manifested itself as a fear strong within +her, that made her prevent One Eye from more closely inspecting the cubs he had +fathered. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no danger. Old One Eye was feeling the urge of an impulse, that +was, in turn, an instinct that had come down to him from all the fathers of +wolves. He did not question it, nor puzzle over it. It was there, in the fibre +of his being; and it was the most natural thing in the world that he should +obey it by turning his back on his new-born family and by trotting out and away +on the meat-trail whereby he lived. +</p> + +<p> +Five or six miles from the lair, the stream divided, its forks going off among +the mountains at a right angle. Here, leading up the left fork, he came upon a +fresh track. He smelled it and found it so recent that he crouched swiftly, and +looked in the direction in which it disappeared. Then he turned deliberately +and took the right fork. The footprint was much larger than the one his own +feet made, and he knew that in the wake of such a trail there was little meat +for him. +</p> + +<p> +Half a mile up the right fork, his quick ears caught the sound of gnawing +teeth. He stalked the quarry and found it to be a porcupine, standing upright +against a tree and trying his teeth on the bark. One Eye approached carefully +but hopelessly. He knew the breed, though he had never met it so far north +before; and never in his long life had porcupine served him for a meal. But he +had long since learned that there was such a thing as Chance, or Opportunity, +and he continued to draw near. There was never any telling what might happen, +for with live things events were somehow always happening differently. +</p> + +<p> +The porcupine rolled itself into a ball, radiating long, sharp needles in all +directions that defied attack. In his youth One Eye had once sniffed too near a +similar, apparently inert ball of quills, and had the tail flick out suddenly +in his face. One quill he had carried away in his muzzle, where it had remained +for weeks, a rankling flame, until it finally worked out. So he lay down, in a +comfortable crouching position, his nose fully a foot away, and out of the line +of the tail. Thus he waited, keeping perfectly quiet. There was no telling. +Something might happen. The porcupine might unroll. There might be opportunity +for a deft and ripping thrust of paw into the tender, unguarded belly. +</p> + +<p> +But at the end of half an hour he arose, growled wrathfully at the motionless +ball, and trotted on. He had waited too often and futilely in the past for +porcupines to unroll, to waste any more time. He continued up the right fork. +The day wore along, and nothing rewarded his hunt. +</p> + +<p> +The urge of his awakened instinct of fatherhood was strong upon him. He must +find meat. In the afternoon he blundered upon a ptarmigan. He came out of a +thicket and found himself face to face with the slow-witted bird. It was +sitting on a log, not a foot beyond the end of his nose. Each saw the other. +The bird made a startled rise, but he struck it with his paw, and smashed it +down to earth, then pounced upon it, and caught it in his teeth as it scuttled +across the snow trying to rise in the air again. As his teeth crunched through +the tender flesh and fragile bones, he began naturally to eat. Then he +remembered, and, turning on the back-track, started for home, carrying the +ptarmigan in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +A mile above the forks, running velvet-footed as was his custom, a gliding +shadow that cautiously prospected each new vista of the trail, he came upon +later imprints of the large tracks he had discovered in the early morning. As +the track led his way, he followed, prepared to meet the maker of it at every +turn of the stream. +</p> + +<p> +He slid his head around a corner of rock, where began an unusually large bend +in the stream, and his quick eyes made out something that sent him crouching +swiftly down. It was the maker of the track, a large female lynx. She was +crouching as he had crouched once that day, in front of her the tight-rolled +ball of quills. If he had been a gliding shadow before, he now became the ghost +of such a shadow, as he crept and circled around, and came up well to leeward +of the silent, motionless pair. +</p> + +<p> +He lay down in the snow, depositing the ptarmigan beside him, and with eyes +peering through the needles of a low-growing spruce he watched the play of life +before him—the waiting lynx and the waiting porcupine, each intent on +life; and, such was the curiousness of the game, the way of life for one lay in +the eating of the other, and the way of life for the other lay in being not +eaten. While old One Eye, the wolf crouching in the covert, played his part, +too, in the game, waiting for some strange freak of Chance, that might help him +on the meat-trail which was his way of life. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour passed, an hour; and nothing happened. The ball of quills might +have been a stone for all it moved; the lynx might have been frozen to marble; +and old One Eye might have been dead. Yet all three animals were keyed to a +tenseness of living that was almost painful, and scarcely ever would it come to +them to be more alive than they were then in their seeming petrifaction. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye moved slightly and peered forth with increased eagerness. Something was +happening. The porcupine had at last decided that its enemy had gone away. +Slowly, cautiously, it was unrolling its ball of impregnable armour. It was +agitated by no tremor of anticipation. Slowly, slowly, the bristling ball +straightened out and lengthened. One Eye watching, felt a sudden moistness in +his mouth and a drooling of saliva, involuntary, excited by the living meat +that was spreading itself like a repast before him. +</p> + +<p> +Not quite entirely had the porcupine unrolled when it discovered its enemy. In +that instant the lynx struck. The blow was like a flash of light. The paw, with +rigid claws curving like talons, shot under the tender belly and came back with +a swift ripping movement. Had the porcupine been entirely unrolled, or had it +not discovered its enemy a fraction of a second before the blow was struck, the +paw would have escaped unscathed; but a side-flick of the tail sank sharp +quills into it as it was withdrawn. +</p> + +<p> +Everything had happened at once—the blow, the counter-blow, the squeal of +agony from the porcupine, the big cat’s squall of sudden hurt and +astonishment. One Eye half arose in his excitement, his ears up, his tail +straight out and quivering behind him. The lynx’s bad temper got the best +of her. She sprang savagely at the thing that had hurt her. But the porcupine, +squealing and grunting, with disrupted anatomy trying feebly to roll up into +its ball-protection, flicked out its tail again, and again the big cat squalled +with hurt and astonishment. Then she fell to backing away and sneezing, her +nose bristling with quills like a monstrous pin-cushion. She brushed her nose +with her paws, trying to dislodge the fiery darts, thrust it into the snow, and +rubbed it against twigs and branches, and all the time leaping about, ahead, +sidewise, up and down, in a frenzy of pain and fright. +</p> + +<p> +She sneezed continually, and her stub of a tail was doing its best toward +lashing about by giving quick, violent jerks. She quit her antics, and quieted +down for a long minute. One Eye watched. And even he could not repress a start +and an involuntary bristling of hair along his back when she suddenly leaped, +without warning, straight up in the air, at the same time emitting a long and +most terrible squall. Then she sprang away, up the trail, squalling with every +leap she made. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until her racket had faded away in the distance and died out that +One Eye ventured forth. He walked as delicately as though all the snow were +carpeted with porcupine quills, erect and ready to pierce the soft pads of his +feet. The porcupine met his approach with a furious squealing and a clashing of +its long teeth. It had managed to roll up in a ball again, but it was not quite +the old compact ball; its muscles were too much torn for that. It had been +ripped almost in half, and was still bleeding profusely. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye scooped out mouthfuls of the blood-soaked snow, and chewed and tasted +and swallowed. This served as a relish, and his hunger increased mightily; but +he was too old in the world to forget his caution. He waited. He lay down and +waited, while the porcupine grated its teeth and uttered grunts and sobs and +occasional sharp little squeals. In a little while, One Eye noticed that the +quills were drooping and that a great quivering had set up. The quivering came +to an end suddenly. There was a final defiant clash of the long teeth. Then all +the quills drooped quite down, and the body relaxed and moved no more. +</p> + +<p> +With a nervous, shrinking paw, One Eye stretched out the porcupine to its full +length and turned it over on its back. Nothing had happened. It was surely +dead. He studied it intently for a moment, then took a careful grip with his +teeth and started off down the stream, partly carrying, partly dragging the +porcupine, with head turned to the side so as to avoid stepping on the prickly +mass. He recollected something, dropped the burden, and trotted back to where +he had left the ptarmigan. He did not hesitate a moment. He knew clearly what +was to be done, and this he did by promptly eating the ptarmigan. Then he +returned and took up his burden. +</p> + +<p> +When he dragged the result of his day’s hunt into the cave, the she-wolf +inspected it, turned her muzzle to him, and lightly licked him on the neck. But +the next instant she was warning him away from the cubs with a snarl that was +less harsh than usual and that was more apologetic than menacing. Her +instinctive fear of the father of her progeny was toning down. He was behaving +as a wolf-father should, and manifesting no unholy desire to devour the young +lives she had brought into the world. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap06"></a>CHAPTER III<br> +THE GREY CUB</h3> + +<p> +He was different from his brothers and sisters. Their hair already betrayed the +reddish hue inherited from their mother, the she-wolf; while he alone, in this +particular, took after his father. He was the one little grey cub of the +litter. He had bred true to the straight wolf-stock—in fact, he had bred +true to old One Eye himself, physically, with but a single exception, and that +was he had two eyes to his father’s one. +</p> + +<p> +The grey cub’s eyes had not been open long, yet already he could see with +steady clearness. And while his eyes were still closed, he had felt, tasted, +and smelled. He knew his two brothers and his two sisters very well. He had +begun to romp with them in a feeble, awkward way, and even to squabble, his +little throat vibrating with a queer rasping noise (the forerunner of the +growl), as he worked himself into a passion. And long before his eyes had +opened he had learned by touch, taste, and smell to know his mother—a +fount of warmth and liquid food and tenderness. She possessed a gentle, +caressing tongue that soothed him when it passed over his soft little body, and +that impelled him to snuggle close against her and to doze off to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Most of the first month of his life had been passed thus in sleeping; but now +he could see quite well, and he stayed awake for longer periods of time, and he +was coming to learn his world quite well. His world was gloomy; but he did not +know that, for he knew no other world. It was dim-lighted; but his eyes had +never had to adjust themselves to any other light. His world was very small. +Its limits were the walls of the lair; but as he had no knowledge of the wide +world outside, he was never oppressed by the narrow confines of his existence. +</p> + +<p> +But he had early discovered that one wall of his world was different from the +rest. This was the mouth of the cave and the source of light. He had discovered +that it was different from the other walls long before he had any thoughts of +his own, any conscious volitions. It had been an irresistible attraction before +ever his eyes opened and looked upon it. The light from it had beat upon his +sealed lids, and the eyes and the optic nerves had pulsated to little, +sparklike flashes, warm-coloured and strangely pleasing. The life of his body, +and of every fibre of his body, the life that was the very substance of his +body and that was apart from his own personal life, had yearned toward this +light and urged his body toward it in the same way that the cunning chemistry +of a plant urges it toward the sun. +</p> + +<p> +Always, in the beginning, before his conscious life dawned, he had crawled +toward the mouth of the cave. And in this his brothers and sisters were one +with him. Never, in that period, did any of them crawl toward the dark corners +of the back-wall. The light drew them as if they were plants; the chemistry of +the life that composed them demanded the light as a necessity of being; and +their little puppet-bodies crawled blindly and chemically, like the tendrils of +a vine. Later on, when each developed individuality and became personally +conscious of impulsions and desires, the attraction of the light increased. +They were always crawling and sprawling toward it, and being driven back from +it by their mother. +</p> + +<p> +It was in this way that the grey cub learned other attributes of his mother +than the soft, soothing, tongue. In his insistent crawling toward the light, he +discovered in her a nose that with a sharp nudge administered rebuke, and +later, a paw, that crushed him down and rolled him over and over with swift, +calculating stroke. Thus he learned hurt; and on top of it he learned to avoid +hurt, first, by not incurring the risk of it; and second, when he had incurred +the risk, by dodging and by retreating. These were conscious actions, and were +the results of his first generalisations upon the world. Before that he had +recoiled automatically from hurt, as he had crawled automatically toward the +light. After that he recoiled from hurt because he <i>knew</i> that it was +hurt. +</p> + +<p> +He was a fierce little cub. So were his brothers and sisters. It was to be +expected. He was a carnivorous animal. He came of a breed of meat-killers and +meat-eaters. His father and mother lived wholly upon meat. The milk he had +sucked with his first flickering life, was milk transformed directly from meat, +and now, at a month old, when his eyes had been open for but a week, he was +beginning himself to eat meat—meat half-digested by the she-wolf and +disgorged for the five growing cubs that already made too great demand upon her +breast. +</p> + +<p> +But he was, further, the fiercest of the litter. He could make a louder rasping +growl than any of them. His tiny rages were much more terrible than theirs. It +was he that first learned the trick of rolling a fellow-cub over with a cunning +paw-stroke. And it was he that first gripped another cub by the ear and pulled +and tugged and growled through jaws tight-clenched. And certainly it was he +that caused the mother the most trouble in keeping her litter from the mouth of +the cave. +</p> + +<p> +The fascination of the light for the grey cub increased from day to day. He was +perpetually departing on yard-long adventures toward the cave’s entrance, +and as perpetually being driven back. Only he did not know it for an entrance. +He did not know anything about entrances—passages whereby one goes from +one place to another place. He did not know any other place, much less of a way +to get there. So to him the entrance of the cave was a wall—a wall of +light. As the sun was to the outside dweller, this wall was to him the sun of +his world. It attracted him as a candle attracts a moth. He was always striving +to attain it. The life that was so swiftly expanding within him, urged him +continually toward the wall of light. The life that was within him knew that it +was the one way out, the way he was predestined to tread. But he himself did +not know anything about it. He did not know there was any outside at all. +</p> + +<p> +There was one strange thing about this wall of light. His father (he had +already come to recognise his father as the one other dweller in the world, a +creature like his mother, who slept near the light and was a bringer of +meat)—his father had a way of walking right into the white far wall and +disappearing. The grey cub could not understand this. Though never permitted by +his mother to approach that wall, he had approached the other walls, and +encountered hard obstruction on the end of his tender nose. This hurt. And +after several such adventures, he left the walls alone. Without thinking about +it, he accepted this disappearing into the wall as a peculiarity of his father, +as milk and half-digested meat were peculiarities of his mother. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, the grey cub was not given to thinking—at least, to the kind of +thinking customary of men. His brain worked in dim ways. Yet his conclusions +were as sharp and distinct as those achieved by men. He had a method of +accepting things, without questioning the why and wherefore. In reality, this +was the act of classification. He was never disturbed over why a thing +happened. How it happened was sufficient for him. Thus, when he had bumped his +nose on the back-wall a few times, he accepted that he would not disappear into +walls. In the same way he accepted that his father could disappear into walls. +But he was not in the least disturbed by desire to find out the reason for the +difference between his father and himself. Logic and physics were no part of +his mental make-up. +</p> + +<p> +Like most creatures of the Wild, he early experienced famine. There came a time +when not only did the meat-supply cease, but the milk no longer came from his +mother’s breast. At first, the cubs whimpered and cried, but for the most +part they slept. It was not long before they were reduced to a coma of hunger. +There were no more spats and squabbles, no more tiny rages nor attempts at +growling; while the adventures toward the far white wall ceased altogether. The +cubs slept, while the life that was in them flickered and died down. +</p> + +<p> +One Eye was desperate. He ranged far and wide, and slept but little in the lair +that had now become cheerless and miserable. The she-wolf, too, left her litter +and went out in search of meat. In the first days after the birth of the cubs, +One Eye had journeyed several times back to the Indian camp and robbed the +rabbit snares; but, with the melting of the snow and the opening of the +streams, the Indian camp had moved away, and that source of supply was closed +to him. +</p> + +<p> +When the grey cub came back to life and again took interest in the far white +wall, he found that the population of his world had been reduced. Only one +sister remained to him. The rest were gone. As he grew stronger, he found +himself compelled to play alone, for the sister no longer lifted her head nor +moved about. His little body rounded out with the meat he now ate; but the food +had come too late for her. She slept continuously, a tiny skeleton flung round +with skin in which the flame flickered lower and lower and at last went out. +</p> + +<p> +Then there came a time when the grey cub no longer saw his father appearing and +disappearing in the wall nor lying down asleep in the entrance. This had +happened at the end of a second and less severe famine. The she-wolf knew why +One Eye never came back, but there was no way by which she could tell what she +had seen to the grey cub. Hunting herself for meat, up the left fork of the +stream where lived the lynx, she had followed a day-old trail of One Eye. And +she had found him, or what remained of him, at the end of the trail. There were +many signs of the battle that had been fought, and of the lynx’s +withdrawal to her lair after having won the victory. Before she went away, the +she-wolf had found this lair, but the signs told her that the lynx was inside, +and she had not dared to venture in. +</p> + +<p> +After that, the she-wolf in her hunting avoided the left fork. For she knew +that in the lynx’s lair was a litter of kittens, and she knew the lynx +for a fierce, bad-tempered creature and a terrible fighter. It was all very +well for half a dozen wolves to drive a lynx, spitting and bristling, up a +tree; but it was quite a different matter for a lone wolf to encounter a +lynx—especially when the lynx was known to have a litter of hungry +kittens at her back. +</p> + +<p> +But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times fiercely +protective whether in the Wild or out of it; and the time was to come when the +she-wolf, for her grey cub’s sake, would venture the left fork, and the +lair in the rocks, and the lynx’s wrath. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap07"></a>CHAPTER IV<br> +THE WALL OF THE WORLD</h3> + +<p> +By the time his mother began leaving the cave on hunting expeditions, the cub +had learned well the law that forbade his approaching the entrance. Not only +had this law been forcibly and many times impressed on him by his +mother’s nose and paw, but in him the instinct of fear was developing. +Never, in his brief cave-life, had he encountered anything of which to be +afraid. Yet fear was in him. It had come down to him from a remote ancestry +through a thousand thousand lives. It was a heritage he had received directly +from One Eye and the she-wolf; but to them, in turn, it had been passed down +through all the generations of wolves that had gone before. Fear!—that +legacy of the Wild which no animal may escape nor exchange for pottage. +</p> + +<p> +So the grey cub knew fear, though he knew not the stuff of which fear was made. +Possibly he accepted it as one of the restrictions of life. For he had already +learned that there were such restrictions. Hunger he had known; and when he +could not appease his hunger he had felt restriction. The hard obstruction of +the cave-wall, the sharp nudge of his mother’s nose, the smashing stroke +of her paw, the hunger unappeased of several famines, had borne in upon him +that all was not freedom in the world, that to life there was limitations and +restraints. These limitations and restraints were laws. To be obedient to them +was to escape hurt and make for happiness. +</p> + +<p> +He did not reason the question out in this man fashion. He merely classified +the things that hurt and the things that did not hurt. And after such +classification he avoided the things that hurt, the restrictions and +restraints, in order to enjoy the satisfactions and the remunerations of life. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was that in obedience to the law laid down by his mother, and in +obedience to the law of that unknown and nameless thing, fear, he kept away +from the mouth of the cave. It remained to him a white wall of light. When his +mother was absent, he slept most of the time, while during the intervals that +he was awake he kept very quiet, suppressing the whimpering cries that tickled +in his throat and strove for noise. +</p> + +<p> +Once, lying awake, he heard a strange sound in the white wall. He did not know +that it was a wolverine, standing outside, all a-trembling with its own daring, +and cautiously scenting out the contents of the cave. The cub knew only that +the sniff was strange, a something unclassified, therefore unknown and +terrible—for the unknown was one of the chief elements that went into the +making of fear. +</p> + +<p> +The hair bristled upon the grey cub’s back, but it bristled silently. How +was he to know that this thing that sniffed was a thing at which to bristle? It +was not born of any knowledge of his, yet it was the visible expression of the +fear that was in him, and for which, in his own life, there was no accounting. +But fear was accompanied by another instinct—that of concealment. The cub +was in a frenzy of terror, yet he lay without movement or sound, frozen, +petrified into immobility, to all appearances dead. His mother, coming home, +growled as she smelt the wolverine’s track, and bounded into the cave and +licked and nozzled him with undue vehemence of affection. And the cub felt that +somehow he had escaped a great hurt. +</p> + +<p> +But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which was +growth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. But growth demanded +disobedience. His mother and fear impelled him to keep away from the white +wall. Growth is life, and life is for ever destined to make for light. So there +was no damming up the tide of life that was rising within him—rising with +every mouthful of meat he swallowed, with every breath he drew. In the end, one +day, fear and obedience were swept away by the rush of life, and the cub +straddled and sprawled toward the entrance. +</p> + +<p> +Unlike any other wall with which he had had experience, this wall seemed to +recede from him as he approached. No hard surface collided with the tender +little nose he thrust out tentatively before him. The substance of the wall +seemed as permeable and yielding as light. And as condition, in his eyes, had +the seeming of form, so he entered into what had been wall to him and bathed in +the substance that composed it. +</p> + +<p> +It was bewildering. He was sprawling through solidity. And ever the light grew +brighter. Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on. Suddenly he found +himself at the mouth of the cave. The wall, inside which he had thought +himself, as suddenly leaped back before him to an immeasurable distance. The +light had become painfully bright. He was dazzled by it. Likewise he was made +dizzy by this abrupt and tremendous extension of space. Automatically, his eyes +were adjusting themselves to the brightness, focusing themselves to meet the +increased distance of objects. At first, the wall had leaped beyond his vision. +He now saw it again; but it had taken upon itself a remarkable remoteness. +Also, its appearance had changed. It was now a variegated wall, composed of the +trees that fringed the stream, the opposing mountain that towered above the +trees, and the sky that out-towered the mountain. +</p> + +<p> +A great fear came upon him. This was more of the terrible unknown. He crouched +down on the lip of the cave and gazed out on the world. He was very much +afraid. Because it was unknown, it was hostile to him. Therefore the hair stood +up on end along his back and his lips wrinkled weakly in an attempt at a +ferocious and intimidating snarl. Out of his puniness and fright he challenged +and menaced the whole wide world. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing happened. He continued to gaze, and in his interest he forgot to snarl. +Also, he forgot to be afraid. For the time, fear had been routed by growth, +while growth had assumed the guise of curiosity. He began to notice near +objects—an open portion of the stream that flashed in the sun, the +blasted pine-tree that stood at the base of the slope, and the slope itself, +that ran right up to him and ceased two feet beneath the lip of the cave on +which he crouched. +</p> + +<p> +Now the grey cub had lived all his days on a level floor. He had never +experienced the hurt of a fall. He did not know what a fall was. So he stepped +boldly out upon the air. His hind-legs still rested on the cave-lip, so he fell +forward head downward. The earth struck him a harsh blow on the nose that made +him yelp. Then he began rolling down the slope, over and over. He was in a +panic of terror. The unknown had caught him at last. It had gripped savagely +hold of him and was about to wreak upon him some terrific hurt. Growth was now +routed by fear, and he ki-yi’d like any frightened puppy. +</p> + +<p> +The unknown bore him on he knew not to what frightful hurt, and he yelped and +ki-yi’d unceasingly. This was a different proposition from crouching in +frozen fear while the unknown lurked just alongside. Now the unknown had caught +tight hold of him. Silence would do no good. Besides, it was not fear, but +terror, that convulsed him. +</p> + +<p> +But the slope grew more gradual, and its base was grass-covered. Here the cub +lost momentum. When at last he came to a stop, he gave one last agonised yell +and then a long, whimpering wail. Also, and quite as a matter of course, as +though in his life he had already made a thousand toilets, he proceeded to lick +away the dry clay that soiled him. +</p> + +<p> +After that he sat up and gazed about him, as might the first man of the earth +who landed upon Mars. The cub had broken through the wall of the world, the +unknown had let go its hold of him, and here he was without hurt. But the first +man on Mars would have experienced less unfamiliarity than did he. Without any +antecedent knowledge, without any warning whatever that such existed, he found +himself an explorer in a totally new world. +</p> + +<p> +Now that the terrible unknown had let go of him, he forgot that the unknown had +any terrors. He was aware only of curiosity in all the things about him. He +inspected the grass beneath him, the moss-berry plant just beyond, and the dead +trunk of the blasted pine that stood on the edge of an open space among the +trees. A squirrel, running around the base of the trunk, came full upon him, +and gave him a great fright. He cowered down and snarled. But the squirrel was +as badly scared. It ran up the tree, and from a point of safety chattered back +savagely. +</p> + +<p> +This helped the cub’s courage, and though the woodpecker he next +encountered gave him a start, he proceeded confidently on his way. Such was his +confidence, that when a moose-bird impudently hopped up to him, he reached out +at it with a playful paw. The result was a sharp peck on the end of his nose +that made him cower down and ki-yi. The noise he made was too much for the +moose-bird, who sought safety in flight. +</p> + +<p> +But the cub was learning. His misty little mind had already made an unconscious +classification. There were live things and things not alive. Also, he must +watch out for the live things. The things not alive remained always in one +place, but the live things moved about, and there was no telling what they +might do. The thing to expect of them was the unexpected, and for this he must +be prepared. +</p> + +<p> +He travelled very clumsily. He ran into sticks and things. A twig that he +thought a long way off, would the next instant hit him on the nose or rake +along his ribs. There were inequalities of surface. Sometimes he overstepped +and stubbed his nose. Quite as often he understepped and stubbed his feet. Then +there were the pebbles and stones that turned under him when he trod upon them; +and from them he came to know that the things not alive were not all in the +same state of stable equilibrium as was his cave—also, that small things +not alive were more liable than large things to fall down or turn over. But +with every mishap he was learning. The longer he walked, the better he walked. +He was adjusting himself. He was learning to calculate his own muscular +movements, to know his physical limitations, to measure distances between +objects, and between objects and himself. +</p> + +<p> +His was the luck of the beginner. Born to be a hunter of meat (though he did +not know it), he blundered upon meat just outside his own cave-door on his +first foray into the world. It was by sheer blundering that he chanced upon the +shrewdly hidden ptarmigan nest. He fell into it. He had essayed to walk along +the trunk of a fallen pine. The rotten bark gave way under his feet, and with a +despairing yelp he pitched down the rounded crescent, smashed through the +leafage and stalks of a small bush, and in the heart of the bush, on the +ground, fetched up in the midst of seven ptarmigan chicks. +</p> + +<p> +They made noises, and at first he was frightened at them. Then he perceived +that they were very little, and he became bolder. They moved. He placed his paw +on one, and its movements were accelerated. This was a source of enjoyment to +him. He smelled it. He picked it up in his mouth. It struggled and tickled his +tongue. At the same time he was made aware of a sensation of hunger. His jaws +closed together. There was a crunching of fragile bones, and warm blood ran in +his mouth. The taste of it was good. This was meat, the same as his mother gave +him, only it was alive between his teeth and therefore better. So he ate the +ptarmigan. Nor did he stop till he had devoured the whole brood. Then he licked +his chops in quite the same way his mother did, and began to crawl out of the +bush. +</p> + +<p> +He encountered a feathered whirlwind. He was confused and blinded by the rush +of it and the beat of angry wings. He hid his head between his paws and yelped. +The blows increased. The mother ptarmigan was in a fury. Then he became angry. +He rose up, snarling, striking out with his paws. He sank his tiny teeth into +one of the wings and pulled and tugged sturdily. The ptarmigan struggled +against him, showering blows upon him with her free wing. It was his first +battle. He was elated. He forgot all about the unknown. He no longer was afraid +of anything. He was fighting, tearing at a live thing that was striking at him. +Also, this live thing was meat. The lust to kill was on him. He had just +destroyed little live things. He would now destroy a big live thing. He was too +busy and happy to know that he was happy. He was thrilling and exulting in ways +new to him and greater to him than any he had known before. +</p> + +<p> +He held on to the wing and growled between his tight-clenched teeth. The +ptarmigan dragged him out of the bush. When she turned and tried to drag him +back into the bush’s shelter, he pulled her away from it and on into the +open. And all the time she was making outcry and striking with her free wing, +while feathers were flying like a snow-fall. The pitch to which he was aroused +was tremendous. All the fighting blood of his breed was up in him and surging +through him. This was living, though he did not know it. He was realising his +own meaning in the world; he was doing that for which he was made—killing +meat and battling to kill it. He was justifying his existence, than which life +can do no greater; for life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost +that which it was equipped to do. +</p> + +<p> +After a time, the ptarmigan ceased her struggling. He still held her by the +wing, and they lay on the ground and looked at each other. He tried to growl +threateningly, ferociously. She pecked on his nose, which by now, what of +previous adventures was sore. He winced but held on. She pecked him again and +again. From wincing he went to whimpering. He tried to back away from her, +oblivious to the fact that by his hold on her he dragged her after him. A rain +of pecks fell on his ill-used nose. The flood of fight ebbed down in him, and, +releasing his prey, he turned tail and scampered on across the open in +inglorious retreat. +</p> + +<p> +He lay down to rest on the other side of the open, near the edge of the bushes, +his tongue lolling out, his chest heaving and panting, his nose still hurting +him and causing him to continue his whimper. But as he lay there, suddenly +there came to him a feeling as of something terrible impending. The unknown +with all its terrors rushed upon him, and he shrank back instinctively into the +shelter of the bush. As he did so, a draught of air fanned him, and a large, +winged body swept ominously and silently past. A hawk, driving down out of the +blue, had barely missed him. +</p> + +<p> +While he lay in the bush, recovering from his fright and peering fearfully out, +the mother-ptarmigan on the other side of the open space fluttered out of the +ravaged nest. It was because of her loss that she paid no attention to the +winged bolt of the sky. But the cub saw, and it was a warning and a lesson to +him—the swift downward swoop of the hawk, the short skim of its body just +above the ground, the strike of its talons in the body of the ptarmigan, the +ptarmigan’s squawk of agony and fright, and the hawk’s rush upward +into the blue, carrying the ptarmigan away with it. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long time before the cub left its shelter. He had learned much. Live +things were meat. They were good to eat. Also, live things when they were large +enough, could give hurt. It was better to eat small live things like ptarmigan +chicks, and to let alone large live things like ptarmigan hens. Nevertheless he +felt a little prick of ambition, a sneaking desire to have another battle with +that ptarmigan hen—only the hawk had carried her away. May be there were +other ptarmigan hens. He would go and see. +</p> + +<p> +He came down a shelving bank to the stream. He had never seen water before. The +footing looked good. There were no inequalities of surface. He stepped boldly +out on it; and went down, crying with fear, into the embrace of the unknown. It +was cold, and he gasped, breathing quickly. The water rushed into his lungs +instead of the air that had always accompanied his act of breathing. The +suffocation he experienced was like the pang of death. To him it signified +death. He had no conscious knowledge of death, but like every animal of the +Wild, he possessed the instinct of death. To him it stood as the greatest of +hurts. It was the very essence of the unknown; it was the sum of the terrors of +the unknown, the one culminating and unthinkable catastrophe that could happen +to him, about which he knew nothing and about which he feared everything. +</p> + +<p> +He came to the surface, and the sweet air rushed into his open mouth. He did +not go down again. Quite as though it had been a long-established custom of his +he struck out with all his legs and began to swim. The near bank was a yard +away; but he had come up with his back to it, and the first thing his eyes +rested upon was the opposite bank, toward which he immediately began to swim. +The stream was a small one, but in the pool it widened out to a score of feet. +</p> + +<p> +Midway in the passage, the current picked up the cub and swept him downstream. +He was caught in the miniature rapid at the bottom of the pool. Here was little +chance for swimming. The quiet water had become suddenly angry. Sometimes he +was under, sometimes on top. At all times he was in violent motion, now being +turned over or around, and again, being smashed against a rock. And with every +rock he struck, he yelped. His progress was a series of yelps, from which might +have been adduced the number of rocks he encountered. +</p> + +<p> +Below the rapid was a second pool, and here, captured by the eddy, he was +gently borne to the bank, and as gently deposited on a bed of gravel. He +crawled frantically clear of the water and lay down. He had learned some more +about the world. Water was not alive. Yet it moved. Also, it looked as solid as +the earth, but was without any solidity at all. His conclusion was that things +were not always what they appeared to be. The cub’s fear of the unknown +was an inherited distrust, and it had now been strengthened by experience. +Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust of +appearances. He would have to learn the reality of a thing before he could put +his faith into it. +</p> + +<p> +One other adventure was destined for him that day. He had recollected that +there was such a thing in the world as his mother. And then there came to him a +feeling that he wanted her more than all the rest of the things in the world. +Not only was his body tired with the adventures it had undergone, but his +little brain was equally tired. In all the days he had lived it had not worked +so hard as on this one day. Furthermore, he was sleepy. So he started out to +look for the cave and his mother, feeling at the same time an overwhelming rush +of loneliness and helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +He was sprawling along between some bushes, when he heard a sharp intimidating +cry. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes. He saw a weasel leaping +swiftly away from him. It was a small live thing, and he had no fear. Then, +before him, at his feet, he saw an extremely small live thing, only several +inches long, a young weasel, that, like himself, had disobediently gone out +adventuring. It tried to retreat before him. He turned it over with his paw. It +made a queer, grating noise. The next moment the flash of yellow reappeared +before his eyes. He heard again the intimidating cry, and at the same instant +received a sharp blow on the side of the neck and felt the sharp teeth of the +mother-weasel cut into his flesh. +</p> + +<p> +While he yelped and ki-yi’d and scrambled backward, he saw the +mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into the +neighbouring thicket. The cut of her teeth in his neck still hurt, but his +feelings were hurt more grievously, and he sat down and weakly whimpered. This +mother-weasel was so small and so savage. He was yet to learn that for size and +weight the weasel was the most ferocious, vindictive, and terrible of all the +killers of the Wild. But a portion of this knowledge was quickly to be his. +</p> + +<p> +He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. She did not rush +him, now that her young one was safe. She approached more cautiously, and the +cub had full opportunity to observe her lean, snakelike body, and her head, +erect, eager, and snake-like itself. Her sharp, menacing cry sent the hair +bristling along his back, and he snarled warningly at her. She came closer and +closer. There was a leap, swifter than his unpractised sight, and the lean, +yellow body disappeared for a moment out of the field of his vision. The next +moment she was at his throat, her teeth buried in his hair and flesh. +</p> + +<p> +At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young, and this was +only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a whimper, his fight a +struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed her hold. She hung on, striving to +press down with her teeth to the great vein where his life-blood bubbled. The +weasel was a drinker of blood, and it was ever her preference to drink from the +throat of life itself. +</p> + +<p> +The grey cub would have died, and there would have been no story to write about +him, had not the she-wolf come bounding through the bushes. The weasel let go +the cub and flashed at the she-wolf’s throat, missing, but getting a hold +on the jaw instead. The she-wolf flirted her head like the snap of a whip, +breaking the weasel’s hold and flinging it high in the air. And, still in +the air, the she-wolf’s jaws closed on the lean, yellow body, and the +weasel knew death between the crunching teeth. +</p> + +<p> +The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of his mother. Her +joy at finding him seemed even greater than his joy at being found. She nozzled +him and caressed him and licked the cuts made in him by the weasel’s +teeth. Then, between them, mother and cub, they ate the blood-drinker, and +after that went back to the cave and slept. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap08"></a>CHAPTER V<br> +THE LAW OF MEAT</h3> + +<p> +The cub’s development was rapid. He rested for two days, and then +ventured forth from the cave again. It was on this adventure that he found the +young weasel whose mother he had helped eat, and he saw to it that the young +weasel went the way of its mother. But on this trip he did not get lost. When +he grew tired, he found his way back to the cave and slept. And every day +thereafter found him out and ranging a wider area. +</p> + +<p> +He began to get accurate measurement of his strength and his weakness, and to +know when to be bold and when to be cautious. He found it expedient to be +cautious all the time, except for the rare moments, when, assured of his own +intrepidity, he abandoned himself to petty rages and lusts. +</p> + +<p> +He was always a little demon of fury when he chanced upon a stray ptarmigan. +Never did he fail to respond savagely to the chatter of the squirrel he had +first met on the blasted pine. While the sight of a moose-bird almost +invariably put him into the wildest of rages; for he never forgot the peck on +the nose he had received from the first of that ilk he encountered. +</p> + +<p> +But there were times when even a moose-bird failed to affect him, and those +were times when he felt himself to be in danger from some other prowling meat +hunter. He never forgot the hawk, and its moving shadow always sent him +crouching into the nearest thicket. He no longer sprawled and straddled, and +already he was developing the gait of his mother, slinking and furtive, +apparently without exertion, yet sliding along with a swiftness that was as +deceptive as it was imperceptible. +</p> + +<p> +In the matter of meat, his luck had been all in the beginning. The seven +ptarmigan chicks and the baby weasel represented the sum of his killings. His +desire to kill strengthened with the days, and he cherished hungry ambitions +for the squirrel that chattered so volubly and always informed all wild +creatures that the wolf-cub was approaching. But as birds flew in the air, +squirrels could climb trees, and the cub could only try to crawl unobserved +upon the squirrel when it was on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +The cub entertained a great respect for his mother. She could get meat, and she +never failed to bring him his share. Further, she was unafraid of things. It +did not occur to him that this fearlessness was founded upon experience and +knowledge. Its effect on him was that of an impression of power. His mother +represented power; and as he grew older he felt this power in the sharper +admonishment of her paw; while the reproving nudge of her nose gave place to +the slash of her fangs. For this, likewise, he respected his mother. She +compelled obedience from him, and the older he grew the shorter grew her +temper. +</p> + +<p> +Famine came again, and the cub with clearer consciousness knew once more the +bite of hunger. The she-wolf ran herself thin in the quest for meat. She rarely +slept any more in the cave, spending most of her time on the meat-trail, and +spending it vainly. This famine was not a long one, but it was severe while it +lasted. The cub found no more milk in his mother’s breast, nor did he get +one mouthful of meat for himself. +</p> + +<p> +Before, he had hunted in play, for the sheer joyousness of it; now he hunted in +deadly earnestness, and found nothing. Yet the failure of it accelerated his +development. He studied the habits of the squirrel with greater carefulness, +and strove with greater craft to steal upon it and surprise it. He studied the +wood-mice and tried to dig them out of their burrows; and he learned much about +the ways of moose-birds and woodpeckers. And there came a day when the +hawk’s shadow did not drive him crouching into the bushes. He had grown +stronger and wiser, and more confident. Also, he was desperate. So he sat on +his haunches, conspicuously in an open space, and challenged the hawk down out +of the sky. For he knew that there, floating in the blue above him, was meat, +the meat his stomach yearned after so insistently. But the hawk refused to come +down and give battle, and the cub crawled away into a thicket and whimpered his +disappointment and hunger. +</p> + +<p> +The famine broke. The she-wolf brought home meat. It was strange meat, +different from any she had ever brought before. It was a lynx kitten, partly +grown, like the cub, but not so large. And it was all for him. His mother had +satisfied her hunger elsewhere; though he did not know that it was the rest of +the lynx litter that had gone to satisfy her. Nor did he know the desperateness +of her deed. He knew only that the velvet-furred kitten was meat, and he ate +and waxed happier with every mouthful. +</p> + +<p> +A full stomach conduces to inaction, and the cub lay in the cave, sleeping +against his mother’s side. He was aroused by her snarling. Never had he +heard her snarl so terribly. Possibly in her whole life it was the most +terrible snarl she ever gave. There was reason for it, and none knew it better +than she. A lynx’s lair is not despoiled with impunity. In the full glare +of the afternoon light, crouching in the entrance of the cave, the cub saw the +lynx-mother. The hair rippled up along his back at the sight. Here was fear, +and it did not require his instinct to tell him of it. And if sight alone were +not sufficient, the cry of rage the intruder gave, beginning with a snarl and +rushing abruptly upward into a hoarse screech, was convincing enough in itself. +</p> + +<p> +The cub felt the prod of the life that was in him, and stood up and snarled +valiantly by his mother’s side. But she thrust him ignominiously away and +behind her. Because of the low-roofed entrance the lynx could not leap in, and +when she made a crawling rush of it the she-wolf sprang upon her and pinned her +down. The cub saw little of the battle. There was a tremendous snarling and +spitting and screeching. The two animals threshed about, the lynx ripping and +tearing with her claws and using her teeth as well, while the she-wolf used her +teeth alone. +</p> + +<p> +Once, the cub sprang in and sank his teeth into the hind leg of the lynx. He +clung on, growling savagely. Though he did not know it, by the weight of his +body he clogged the action of the leg and thereby saved his mother much damage. +A change in the battle crushed him under both their bodies and wrenched loose +his hold. The next moment the two mothers separated, and, before they rushed +together again, the lynx lashed out at the cub with a huge fore-paw that ripped +his shoulder open to the bone and sent him hurtling sidewise against the wall. +Then was added to the uproar the cub’s shrill yelp of pain and fright. +But the fight lasted so long that he had time to cry himself out and to +experience a second burst of courage; and the end of the battle found him again +clinging to a hind-leg and furiously growling between his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +The lynx was dead. But the she-wolf was very weak and sick. At first she +caressed the cub and licked his wounded shoulder; but the blood she had lost +had taken with it her strength, and for all of a day and a night she lay by her +dead foe’s side, without movement, scarcely breathing. For a week she +never left the cave, except for water, and then her movements were slow and +painful. At the end of that time the lynx was devoured, while the +she-wolf’s wounds had healed sufficiently to permit her to take the +meat-trail again. +</p> + +<p> +The cub’s shoulder was stiff and sore, and for some time he limped from +the terrible slash he had received. But the world now seemed changed. He went +about in it with greater confidence, with a feeling of prowess that had not +been his in the days before the battle with the lynx. He had looked upon life +in a more ferocious aspect; he had fought; he had buried his teeth in the flesh +of a foe; and he had survived. And because of all this, he carried himself more +boldly, with a touch of defiance that was new in him. He was no longer afraid +of minor things, and much of his timidity had vanished, though the unknown +never ceased to press upon him with its mysteries and terrors, intangible and +ever-menacing. +</p> + +<p> +He began to accompany his mother on the meat-trail, and he saw much of the +killing of meat and began to play his part in it. And in his own dim way he +learned the law of meat. There were two kinds of life—his own kind and +the other kind. His own kind included his mother and himself. The other kind +included all live things that moved. But the other kind was divided. One +portion was what his own kind killed and ate. This portion was composed of the +non-killers and the small killers. The other portion killed and ate his own +kind, or was killed and eaten by his own kind. And out of this classification +arose the law. The aim of life was meat. Life itself was meat. Life lived on +life. There were the eaters and the eaten. The law was: EAT OR BE EATEN. He did +not formulate the law in clear, set terms and moralise about it. He did not +even think the law; he merely lived the law without thinking about it at all. +</p> + +<p> +He saw the law operating around him on every side. He had eaten the ptarmigan +chicks. The hawk had eaten the ptarmigan-mother. The hawk would also have eaten +him. Later, when he had grown more formidable, he wanted to eat the hawk. He +had eaten the lynx kitten. The lynx-mother would have eaten him had she not +herself been killed and eaten. And so it went. The law was being lived about +him by all live things, and he himself was part and parcel of the law. He was a +killer. His only food was meat, live meat, that ran away swiftly before him, or +flew into the air, or climbed trees, or hid in the ground, or faced him and +fought with him, or turned the tables and ran after him. +</p> + +<p> +Had the cub thought in man-fashion, he might have epitomised life as a +voracious appetite and the world as a place wherein ranged a multitude of +appetites, pursuing and being pursued, hunting and being hunted, eating and +being eaten, all in blindness and confusion, with violence and disorder, a +chaos of gluttony and slaughter, ruled over by chance, merciless, planless, +endless. +</p> + +<p> +But the cub did not think in man-fashion. He did not look at things with wide +vision. He was single-purposed, and entertained but one thought or desire at a +time. Besides the law of meat, there were a myriad other and lesser laws for +him to learn and obey. The world was filled with surprise. The stir of the life +that was in him, the play of his muscles, was an unending happiness. To run +down meat was to experience thrills and elations. His rages and battles were +pleasures. Terror itself, and the mystery of the unknown, led to his living. +</p> + +<p> +And there were easements and satisfactions. To have a full stomach, to doze +lazily in the sunshine—such things were remuneration in full for his +ardours and toils, while his ardours and tolls were in themselves +self-remunerative. They were expressions of life, and life is always happy when +it is expressing itself. So the cub had no quarrel with his hostile +environment. He was very much alive, very happy, and very proud of himself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="part03"></a>PART III</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap09"></a>CHAPTER I<br> +THE MAKERS OF FIRE</h3> + +<p> +The cub came upon it suddenly. It was his own fault. He had been careless. He +had left the cave and run down to the stream to drink. It might have been that +he took no notice because he was heavy with sleep. (He had been out all night +on the meat-trail, and had but just then awakened.) And his carelessness might +have been due to the familiarity of the trail to the pool. He had travelled it +often, and nothing had ever happened on it. +</p> + +<p> +He went down past the blasted pine, crossed the open space, and trotted in +amongst the trees. Then, at the same instant, he saw and smelt. Before him, +sitting silently on their haunches, were five live things, the like of which he +had never seen before. It was his first glimpse of mankind. But at the sight of +him the five men did not spring to their feet, nor show their teeth, nor snarl. +They did not move, but sat there, silent and ominous. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did the cub move. Every instinct of his nature would have impelled him to +dash wildly away, had there not suddenly and for the first time arisen in him +another and counter instinct. A great awe descended upon him. He was beaten +down to movelessness by an overwhelming sense of his own weakness and +littleness. Here was mastery and power, something far and away beyond him. +</p> + +<p> +The cub had never seen man, yet the instinct concerning man was his. In dim +ways he recognised in man the animal that had fought itself to primacy over the +other animals of the Wild. Not alone out of his own eyes, but out of the eyes +of all his ancestors was the cub now looking upon man—out of eyes that +had circled in the darkness around countless winter camp-fires, that had peered +from safe distances and from the hearts of thickets at the strange, two-legged +animal that was lord over living things. The spell of the cub’s heritage +was upon him, the fear and the respect born of the centuries of struggle and +the accumulated experience of the generations. The heritage was too compelling +for a wolf that was only a cub. Had he been full-grown, he would have run away. +As it was, he cowered down in a paralysis of fear, already half proffering the +submission that his kind had proffered from the first time a wolf came in to +sit by man’s fire and be made warm. +</p> + +<p> +One of the Indians arose and walked over to him and stooped above him. The cub +cowered closer to the ground. It was the unknown, objectified at last, in +concrete flesh and blood, bending over him and reaching down to seize hold of +him. His hair bristled involuntarily; his lips writhed back and his little +fangs were bared. The hand, poised like doom above him, hesitated, and the man +spoke laughing, “<i>Wabam wabisca ip pit tah</i>.” (“Look! +The white fangs!”) +</p> + +<p> +The other Indians laughed loudly, and urged the man on to pick up the cub. As +the hand descended closer and closer, there raged within the cub a battle of +the instincts. He experienced two great impulsions—to yield and to fight. +The resulting action was a compromise. He did both. He yielded till the hand +almost touched him. Then he fought, his teeth flashing in a snap that sank them +into the hand. The next moment he received a clout alongside the head that +knocked him over on his side. Then all fight fled out of him. His puppyhood and +the instinct of submission took charge of him. He sat up on his haunches and +ki-yi’d. But the man whose hand he had bitten was angry. The cub received +a clout on the other side of his head. Whereupon he sat up and ki-yi’d +louder than ever. +</p> + +<p> +The four Indians laughed more loudly, while even the man who had been bitten +began to laugh. They surrounded the cub and laughed at him, while he wailed out +his terror and his hurt. In the midst of it, he heard something. The Indians +heard it too. But the cub knew what it was, and with a last, long wail that had +in it more of triumph than grief, he ceased his noise and waited for the coming +of his mother, of his ferocious and indomitable mother who fought and killed +all things and was never afraid. She was snarling as she ran. She had heard the +cry of her cub and was dashing to save him. +</p> + +<p> +She bounded in amongst them, her anxious and militant motherhood making her +anything but a pretty sight. But to the cub the spectacle of her protective +rage was pleasing. He uttered a glad little cry and bounded to meet her, while +the man-animals went back hastily several steps. The she-wolf stood over +against her cub, facing the men, with bristling hair, a snarl rumbling deep in +her throat. Her face was distorted and malignant with menace, even the bridge +of the nose wrinkling from tip to eyes so prodigious was her snarl. +</p> + +<p> +Then it was that a cry went up from one of the men. “Kiche!” was +what he uttered. It was an exclamation of surprise. The cub felt his mother +wilting at the sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiche!” the man cried again, this time with sharpness and +authority. +</p> + +<p> +And then the cub saw his mother, the she-wolf, the fearless one, crouching down +till her belly touched the ground, whimpering, wagging her tail, making peace +signs. The cub could not understand. He was appalled. The awe of man rushed +over him again. His instinct had been true. His mother verified it. She, too, +rendered submission to the man-animals. +</p> + +<p> +The man who had spoken came over to her. He put his hand upon her head, and she +only crouched closer. She did not snap, nor threaten to snap. The other men +came up, and surrounded her, and felt her, and pawed her, which actions she +made no attempt to resent. They were greatly excited, and made many noises with +their mouths. These noises were not indication of danger, the cub decided, as +he crouched near his mother still bristling from time to time but doing his +best to submit. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not strange,” an Indian was saying. “Her father was a +wolf. It is true, her mother was a dog; but did not my brother tie her out in +the woods all of three nights in the mating season? Therefore was the father of +Kiche a wolf.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a year, Grey Beaver, since she ran away,” spoke a second +Indian. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not strange, Salmon Tongue,” Grey Beaver answered. “It +was the time of the famine, and there was no meat for the dogs.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has lived with the wolves,” said a third Indian. +</p> + +<p> +“So it would seem, Three Eagles,” Grey Beaver answered, laying his +hand on the cub; “and this be the sign of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The cub snarled a little at the touch of the hand, and the hand flew back to +administer a clout. Whereupon the cub covered its fangs, and sank down +submissively, while the hand, returning, rubbed behind his ears, and up and +down his back. +</p> + +<p> +“This be the sign of it,” Grey Beaver went on. “It is plain +that his mother is Kiche. But his father was a wolf. Wherefore is there in him +little dog and much wolf. His fangs be white, and White Fang shall be his name. +I have spoken. He is my dog. For was not Kiche my brother’s dog? And is +not my brother dead?” +</p> + +<p> +The cub, who had thus received a name in the world, lay and watched. For a time +the man-animals continued to make their mouth-noises. Then Grey Beaver took a +knife from a sheath that hung around his neck, and went into the thicket and +cut a stick. White Fang watched him. He notched the stick at each end and in +the notches fastened strings of raw-hide. One string he tied around the throat +of Kiche. Then he led her to a small pine, around which he tied the other +string. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang followed and lay down beside her. Salmon Tongue’s hand reached +out to him and rolled him over on his back. Kiche looked on anxiously. White +Fang felt fear mounting in him again. He could not quite suppress a snarl, but +he made no offer to snap. The hand, with fingers crooked and spread apart, +rubbed his stomach in a playful way and rolled him from side to side. It was +ridiculous and ungainly, lying there on his back with legs sprawling in the +air. Besides, it was a position of such utter helplessness that White +Fang’s whole nature revolted against it. He could do nothing to defend +himself. If this man-animal intended harm, White Fang knew that he could not +escape it. How could he spring away with his four legs in the air above him? +Yet submission made him master his fear, and he only growled softly. This growl +he could not suppress; nor did the man-animal resent it by giving him a blow on +the head. And furthermore, such was the strangeness of it, White Fang +experienced an unaccountable sensation of pleasure as the hand rubbed back and +forth. When he was rolled on his side he ceased to growl, when the fingers +pressed and prodded at the base of his ears the pleasurable sensation +increased; and when, with a final rub and scratch, the man left him alone and +went away, all fear had died out of White Fang. He was to know fear many times +in his dealing with man; yet it was a token of the fearless companionship with +man that was ultimately to be his. +</p> + +<p> +After a time, White Fang heard strange noises approaching. He was quick in his +classification, for he knew them at once for man-animal noises. A few minutes +later the remainder of the tribe, strung out as it was on the march, trailed +in. There were more men and many women and children, forty souls of them, and +all heavily burdened with camp equipage and outfit. Also there were many dogs; +and these, with the exception of the part-grown puppies, were likewise burdened +with camp outfit. On their backs, in bags that fastened tightly around +underneath, the dogs carried from twenty to thirty pounds of weight. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang had never seen dogs before, but at sight of them he felt that they +were his own kind, only somehow different. But they displayed little difference +from the wolf when they discovered the cub and his mother. There was a rush. +White Fang bristled and snarled and snapped in the face of the open-mouthed +oncoming wave of dogs, and went down and under them, feeling the sharp slash of +teeth in his body, himself biting and tearing at the legs and bellies above +him. There was a great uproar. He could hear the snarl of Kiche as she fought +for him; and he could hear the cries of the man-animals, the sound of clubs +striking upon bodies, and the yelps of pain from the dogs so struck. +</p> + +<p> +Only a few seconds elapsed before he was on his feet again. He could now see +the man-animals driving back the dogs with clubs and stones, defending him, +saving him from the savage teeth of his kind that somehow was not his kind. And +though there was no reason in his brain for a clear conception of so abstract a +thing as justice, nevertheless, in his own way, he felt the justice of the +man-animals, and he knew them for what they were—makers of law and +executors of law. Also, he appreciated the power with which they administered +the law. Unlike any animals he had ever encountered, they did not bite nor +claw. They enforced their live strength with the power of dead things. Dead +things did their bidding. Thus, sticks and stones, directed by these strange +creatures, leaped through the air like living things, inflicting grievous hurts +upon the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +To his mind this was power unusual, power inconceivable and beyond the natural, +power that was godlike. White Fang, in the very nature of him, could never know +anything about gods; at the best he could know only things that were beyond +knowing—but the wonder and awe that he had of these man-animals in ways +resembled what would be the wonder and awe of man at sight of some celestial +creature, on a mountain top, hurling thunderbolts from either hand at an +astonished world. +</p> + +<p> +The last dog had been driven back. The hubbub died down. And White Fang licked +his hurts and meditated upon this, his first taste of pack-cruelty and his +introduction to the pack. He had never dreamed that his own kind consisted of +more than One Eye, his mother, and himself. They had constituted a kind apart, +and here, abruptly, he had discovered many more creatures apparently of his own +kind. And there was a subconscious resentment that these, his kind, at first +sight had pitched upon him and tried to destroy him. In the same way he +resented his mother being tied with a stick, even though it was done by the +superior man-animals. It savoured of the trap, of bondage. Yet of the trap and +of bondage he knew nothing. Freedom to roam and run and lie down at will, had +been his heritage; and here it was being infringed upon. His mother’s +movements were restricted to the length of a stick, and by the length of that +same stick was he restricted, for he had not yet got beyond the need of his +mother’s side. +</p> + +<p> +He did not like it. Nor did he like it when the man-animals arose and went on +with their march; for a tiny man-animal took the other end of the stick and led +Kiche captive behind him, and behind Kiche followed White Fang, greatly +perturbed and worried by this new adventure he had entered upon. +</p> + +<p> +They went down the valley of the stream, far beyond White Fang’s widest +ranging, until they came to the end of the valley, where the stream ran into +the Mackenzie River. Here, where canoes were cached on poles high in the air +and where stood fish-racks for the drying of fish, camp was made; and White +Fang looked on with wondering eyes. The superiority of these man-animals +increased with every moment. There was their mastery over all these +sharp-fanged dogs. It breathed of power. But greater than that, to the +wolf-cub, was their mastery over things not alive; their capacity to +communicate motion to unmoving things; their capacity to change the very face +of the world. +</p> + +<p> +It was this last that especially affected him. The elevation of frames of poles +caught his eye; yet this in itself was not so remarkable, being done by the +same creatures that flung sticks and stones to great distances. But when the +frames of poles were made into tepees by being covered with cloth and skins, +White Fang was astounded. It was the colossal bulk of them that impressed him. +They arose around him, on every side, like some monstrous quick-growing form of +life. They occupied nearly the whole circumference of his field of vision. He +was afraid of them. They loomed ominously above him; and when the breeze +stirred them into huge movements, he cowered down in fear, keeping his eyes +warily upon them, and prepared to spring away if they attempted to precipitate +themselves upon him. +</p> + +<p> +But in a short while his fear of the tepees passed away. He saw the women and +children passing in and out of them without harm, and he saw the dogs trying +often to get into them, and being driven away with sharp words and flying +stones. After a time, he left Kiche’s side and crawled cautiously toward +the wall of the nearest tepee. It was the curiosity of growth that urged him +on—the necessity of learning and living and doing that brings experience. +The last few inches to the wall of the tepee were crawled with painful slowness +and precaution. The day’s events had prepared him for the unknown to +manifest itself in most stupendous and unthinkable ways. At last his nose +touched the canvas. He waited. Nothing happened. Then he smelled the strange +fabric, saturated with the man-smell. He closed on the canvas with his teeth +and gave a gentle tug. Nothing happened, though the adjacent portions of the +tepee moved. He tugged harder. There was a greater movement. It was delightful. +He tugged still harder, and repeatedly, until the whole tepee was in motion. +Then the sharp cry of a squaw inside sent him scampering back to Kiche. But +after that he was afraid no more of the looming bulks of the tepees. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later he was straying away again from his mother. Her stick was tied +to a peg in the ground and she could not follow him. A part-grown puppy, +somewhat larger and older than he, came toward him slowly, with ostentatious +and belligerent importance. The puppy’s name, as White Fang was afterward +to hear him called, was Lip-lip. He had had experience in puppy fights and was +already something of a bully. +</p> + +<p> +Lip-lip was White Fang’s own kind, and, being only a puppy, did not seem +dangerous; so White Fang prepared to meet him in a friendly spirit. But when +the strangers walk became stiff-legged and his lips lifted clear of his teeth, +White Fang stiffened too, and answered with lifted lips. They half circled +about each other, tentatively, snarling and bristling. This lasted several +minutes, and White Fang was beginning to enjoy it, as a sort of game. But +suddenly, with remarkable swiftness, Lip-lip leaped in, delivering a slashing +snap, and leaped away again. The snap had taken effect on the shoulder that had +been hurt by the lynx and that was still sore deep down near the bone. The +surprise and hurt of it brought a yelp out of White Fang; but the next moment, +in a rush of anger, he was upon Lip-lip and snapping viciously. +</p> + +<p> +But Lip-lip had lived his life in camp and had fought many puppy fights. Three +times, four times, and half a dozen times, his sharp little teeth scored on the +newcomer, until White Fang, yelping shamelessly, fled to the protection of his +mother. It was the first of the many fights he was to have with Lip-lip, for +they were enemies from the start, born so, with natures destined perpetually to +clash. +</p> + +<p> +Kiche licked White Fang soothingly with her tongue, and tried to prevail upon +him to remain with her. But his curiosity was rampant, and several minutes +later he was venturing forth on a new quest. He came upon one of the +man-animals, Grey Beaver, who was squatting on his hams and doing something +with sticks and dry moss spread before him on the ground. White Fang came near +to him and watched. Grey Beaver made mouth-noises which White Fang interpreted +as not hostile, so he came still nearer. +</p> + +<p> +Women and children were carrying more sticks and branches to Grey Beaver. It +was evidently an affair of moment. White Fang came in until he touched Grey +Beaver’s knee, so curious was he, and already forgetful that this was a +terrible man-animal. Suddenly he saw a strange thing like mist beginning to +arise from the sticks and moss beneath Grey Beaver’s hands. Then, amongst +the sticks themselves, appeared a live thing, twisting and turning, of a colour +like the colour of the sun in the sky. White Fang knew nothing about fire. It +drew him as the light, in the mouth of the cave had drawn him in his early +puppyhood. He crawled the several steps toward the flame. He heard Grey Beaver +chuckle above him, and he knew the sound was not hostile. Then his nose touched +the flame, and at the same instant his little tongue went out to it. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he was paralysed. The unknown, lurking in the midst of the sticks +and moss, was savagely clutching him by the nose. He scrambled backward, +bursting out in an astonished explosion of ki-yi’s. At the sound, Kiche +leaped snarling to the end of her stick, and there raged terribly because she +could not come to his aid. But Grey Beaver laughed loudly, and slapped his +thighs, and told the happening to all the rest of the camp, till everybody was +laughing uproariously. But White Fang sat on his haunches and ki-yi’d and +ki-yi’d, a forlorn and pitiable little figure in the midst of the +man-animals. +</p> + +<p> +It was the worst hurt he had ever known. Both nose and tongue had been scorched +by the live thing, sun-coloured, that had grown up under Grey Beaver’s +hands. He cried and cried interminably, and every fresh wail was greeted by +bursts of laughter on the part of the man-animals. He tried to soothe his nose +with his tongue, but the tongue was burnt too, and the two hurts coming +together produced greater hurt; whereupon he cried more hopelessly and +helplessly than ever. +</p> + +<p> +And then shame came to him. He knew laughter and the meaning of it. It is not +given us to know how some animals know laughter, and know when they are being +laughed at; but it was this same way that White Fang knew it. And he felt shame +that the man-animals should be laughing at him. He turned and fled away, not +from the hurt of the fire, but from the laughter that sank even deeper, and +hurt in the spirit of him. And he fled to Kiche, raging at the end of her stick +like an animal gone mad—to Kiche, the one creature in the world who was +not laughing at him. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight drew down and night came on, and White Fang lay by his mother’s +side. His nose and tongue still hurt, but he was perplexed by a greater +trouble. He was homesick. He felt a vacancy in him, a need for the hush and +quietude of the stream and the cave in the cliff. Life had become too populous. +There were so many of the man-animals, men, women, and children, all making +noises and irritations. And there were the dogs, ever squabbling and bickering, +bursting into uproars and creating confusions. The restful loneliness of the +only life he had known was gone. Here the very air was palpitant with life. It +hummed and buzzed unceasingly. Continually changing its intensity and abruptly +variant in pitch, it impinged on his nerves and senses, made him nervous and +restless and worried him with a perpetual imminence of happening. +</p> + +<p> +He watched the man-animals coming and going and moving about the camp. In +fashion distantly resembling the way men look upon the gods they create, so +looked White Fang upon the man-animals before him. They were superior +creatures, of a verity, gods. To his dim comprehension they were as much +wonder-workers as gods are to men. They were creatures of mastery, possessing +all manner of unknown and impossible potencies, overlords of the alive and the +not alive—making obey that which moved, imparting movement to that which +did not move, and making life, sun-coloured and biting life, to grow out of +dead moss and wood. They were fire-makers! They were gods. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap10"></a>CHAPTER II<br> +THE BONDAGE</h3> + +<p> +The days were thronged with experience for White Fang. During the time that +Kiche was tied by the stick, he ran about over all the camp, inquiring, +investigating, learning. He quickly came to know much of the ways of the +man-animals, but familiarity did not breed contempt. The more he came to know +them, the more they vindicated their superiority, the more they displayed their +mysterious powers, the greater loomed their god-likeness. +</p> + +<p> +To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown and his +altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog that have come in to crouch +at man’s feet, this grief has never come. Unlike man, whose gods are of +the unseen and the overguessed, vapours and mists of fancy eluding the +garmenture of reality, wandering wraiths of desired goodness and power, +intangible out-croppings of self into the realm of spirit—unlike man, the +wolf and the wild dog that have come in to the fire find their gods in the +living flesh, solid to the touch, occupying earth-space and requiring time for +the accomplishment of their ends and their existence. No effort of faith is +necessary to believe in such a god; no effort of will can possibly induce +disbelief in such a god. There is no getting away from it. There it stands, on +its two hind-legs, club in hand, immensely potential, passionate and wrathful +and loving, god and mystery and power all wrapped up and around by flesh that +bleeds when it is torn and that is good to eat like any flesh. +</p> + +<p> +And so it was with White Fang. The man-animals were gods unmistakable and +unescapable. As his mother, Kiche, had rendered her allegiance to them at the +first cry of her name, so he was beginning to render his allegiance. He gave +them the trail as a privilege indubitably theirs. When they walked, he got out +of their way. When they called, he came. When they threatened, he cowered down. +When they commanded him to go, he went away hurriedly. For behind any wish of +theirs was power to enforce that wish, power that hurt, power that expressed +itself in clouts and clubs, in flying stones and stinging lashes of whips. +</p> + +<p> +He belonged to them as all dogs belonged to them. His actions were theirs to +command. His body was theirs to maul, to stamp upon, to tolerate. Such was the +lesson that was quickly borne in upon him. It came hard, going as it did, +counter to much that was strong and dominant in his own nature; and, while he +disliked it in the learning of it, unknown to himself he was learning to like +it. It was a placing of his destiny in another’s hands, a shifting of the +responsibilities of existence. This in itself was compensation, for it is +always easier to lean upon another than to stand alone. +</p> + +<p> +But it did not all happen in a day, this giving over of himself, body and soul, +to the man-animals. He could not immediately forego his wild heritage and his +memories of the Wild. There were days when he crept to the edge of the forest +and stood and listened to something calling him far and away. And always he +returned, restless and uncomfortable, to whimper softly and wistfully at +Kiche’s side and to lick her face with eager, questioning tongue. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang learned rapidly the ways of the camp. He knew the injustice and +greediness of the older dogs when meat or fish was thrown out to be eaten. He +came to know that men were more just, children more cruel, and women more +kindly and more likely to toss him a bit of meat or bone. And after two or +three painful adventures with the mothers of part-grown puppies, he came into +the knowledge that it was always good policy to let such mothers alone, to keep +away from them as far as possible, and to avoid them when he saw them coming. +</p> + +<p> +But the bane of his life was Lip-lip. Larger, older, and stronger, Lip-lip had +selected White Fang for his special object of persecution. White Fang fought +willingly enough, but he was outclassed. His enemy was too big. Lip-lip became +a nightmare to him. Whenever he ventured away from his mother, the bully was +sure to appear, trailing at his heels, snarling at him, picking upon him, and +watchful of an opportunity, when no man-animal was near, to spring upon him and +force a fight. As Lip-lip invariably won, he enjoyed it hugely. It became his +chief delight in life, as it became White Fang’s chief torment. +</p> + +<p> +But the effect upon White Fang was not to cow him. Though he suffered most of +the damage and was always defeated, his spirit remained unsubdued. Yet a bad +effect was produced. He became malignant and morose. His temper had been savage +by birth, but it became more savage under this unending persecution. The +genial, playful, puppyish side of him found little expression. He never played +and gambolled about with the other puppies of the camp. Lip-lip would not +permit it. The moment White Fang appeared near them, Lip-lip was upon him, +bullying and hectoring him, or fighting with him until he had driven him away. +</p> + +<p> +The effect of all this was to rob White Fang of much of his puppyhood and to +make him in his comportment older than his age. Denied the outlet, through +play, of his energies, he recoiled upon himself and developed his mental +processes. He became cunning; he had idle time in which to devote himself to +thoughts of trickery. Prevented from obtaining his share of meat and fish when +a general feed was given to the camp-dogs, he became a clever thief. He had to +forage for himself, and he foraged well, though he was oft-times a plague to +the squaws in consequence. He learned to sneak about camp, to be crafty, to +know what was going on everywhere, to see and to hear everything and to reason +accordingly, and successfully to devise ways and means of avoiding his +implacable persecutor. +</p> + +<p> +It was early in the days of his persecution that he played his first really big +crafty game and got therefrom his first taste of revenge. As Kiche, when with +the wolves, had lured out to destruction dogs from the camps of men, so White +Fang, in manner somewhat similar, lured Lip-lip into Kiche’s avenging +jaws. Retreating before Lip-lip, White Fang made an indirect flight that led in +and out and around the various tepees of the camp. He was a good runner, +swifter than any puppy of his size, and swifter than Lip-lip. But he did not +run his best in this chase. He barely held his own, one leap ahead of his +pursuer. +</p> + +<p> +Lip-lip, excited by the chase and by the persistent nearness of his victim, +forgot caution and locality. When he remembered locality, it was too late. +Dashing at top speed around a tepee, he ran full tilt into Kiche lying at the +end of her stick. He gave one yelp of consternation, and then her punishing +jaws closed upon him. She was tied, but he could not get away from her easily. +She rolled him off his legs so that he could not run, while she repeatedly +ripped and slashed him with her fangs. +</p> + +<p> +When at last he succeeded in rolling clear of her, he crawled to his feet, +badly dishevelled, hurt both in body and in spirit. His hair was standing out +all over him in tufts where her teeth had mauled. He stood where he had arisen, +opened his mouth, and broke out the long, heart-broken puppy wail. But even +this he was not allowed to complete. In the middle of it, White Fang, rushing +in, sank his teeth into Lip-lip’s hind leg. There was no fight left in +Lip-lip, and he ran away shamelessly, his victim hot on his heels and worrying +him all the way back to his own tepee. Here the squaws came to his aid, and +White Fang, transformed into a raging demon, was finally driven off only by a +fusillade of stones. +</p> + +<p> +Came the day when Grey Beaver, deciding that the liability of her running away +was past, released Kiche. White Fang was delighted with his mother’s +freedom. He accompanied her joyfully about the camp; and, so long as he +remained close by her side, Lip-lip kept a respectful distance. White-Fang even +bristled up to him and walked stiff-legged, but Lip-lip ignored the challenge. +He was no fool himself, and whatever vengeance he desired to wreak, he could +wait until he caught White Fang alone. +</p> + +<p> +Later on that day, Kiche and White Fang strayed into the edge of the woods next +to the camp. He had led his mother there, step by step, and now when she +stopped, he tried to inveigle her farther. The stream, the lair, and the quiet +woods were calling to him, and he wanted her to come. He ran on a few steps, +stopped, and looked back. She had not moved. He whined pleadingly, and scurried +playfully in and out of the underbrush. He ran back to her, licked her face, +and ran on again. And still she did not move. He stopped and regarded her, all +of an intentness and eagerness, physically expressed, that slowly faded out of +him as she turned her head and gazed back at the camp. +</p> + +<p> +There was something calling to him out there in the open. His mother heard it +too. But she heard also that other and louder call, the call of the fire and of +man—the call which has been given alone of all animals to the wolf to +answer, to the wolf and the wild-dog, who are brothers. +</p> + +<p> +Kiche turned and slowly trotted back toward camp. Stronger than the physical +restraint of the stick was the clutch of the camp upon her. Unseen and +occultly, the gods still gripped with their power and would not let her go. +White Fang sat down in the shadow of a birch and whimpered softly. There was a +strong smell of pine, and subtle wood fragrances filled the air, reminding him +of his old life of freedom before the days of his bondage. But he was still +only a part-grown puppy, and stronger than the call either of man or of the +Wild was the call of his mother. All the hours of his short life he had +depended upon her. The time was yet to come for independence. So he arose and +trotted forlornly back to camp, pausing once, and twice, to sit down and +whimper and to listen to the call that still sounded in the depths of the +forest. +</p> + +<p> +In the Wild the time of a mother with her young is short; but under the +dominion of man it is sometimes even shorter. Thus it was with White Fang. Grey +Beaver was in the debt of Three Eagles. Three Eagles was going away on a trip +up the Mackenzie to the Great Slave Lake. A strip of scarlet cloth, a bearskin, +twenty cartridges, and Kiche, went to pay the debt. White Fang saw his mother +taken aboard Three Eagles’ canoe, and tried to follow her. A blow from +Three Eagles knocked him backward to the land. The canoe shoved off. He sprang +into the water and swam after it, deaf to the sharp cries of Grey Beaver to +return. Even a man-animal, a god, White Fang ignored, such was the terror he +was in of losing his mother. +</p> + +<p> +But gods are accustomed to being obeyed, and Grey Beaver wrathfully launched a +canoe in pursuit. When he overtook White Fang, he reached down and by the nape +of the neck lifted him clear of the water. He did not deposit him at once in +the bottom of the canoe. Holding him suspended with one hand, with the other +hand he proceeded to give him a beating. And it <i>was</i> a beating. His hand +was heavy. Every blow was shrewd to hurt; and he delivered a multitude of +blows. +</p> + +<p> +Impelled by the blows that rained upon him, now from this side, now from that, +White Fang swung back and forth like an erratic and jerky pendulum. Varying +were the emotions that surged through him. At first, he had known surprise. +Then came a momentary fear, when he yelped several times to the impact of the +hand. But this was quickly followed by anger. His free nature asserted itself, +and he showed his teeth and snarled fearlessly in the face of the wrathful god. +This but served to make the god more wrathful. The blows came faster, heavier, +more shrewd to hurt. +</p> + +<p> +Grey Beaver continued to beat, White Fang continued to snarl. But this could +not last for ever. One or the other must give over, and that one was White +Fang. Fear surged through him again. For the first time he was being really +man-handled. The occasional blows of sticks and stones he had previously +experienced were as caresses compared with this. He broke down and began to cry +and yelp. For a time each blow brought a yelp from him; but fear passed into +terror, until finally his yelps were voiced in unbroken succession, unconnected +with the rhythm of the punishment. +</p> + +<p> +At last Grey Beaver withheld his hand. White Fang, hanging limply, continued to +cry. This seemed to satisfy his master, who flung him down roughly in the +bottom of the canoe. In the meantime the canoe had drifted down the stream. +Grey Beaver picked up the paddle. White Fang was in his way. He spurned him +savagely with his foot. In that moment White Fang’s free nature flashed +forth again, and he sank his teeth into the moccasined foot. +</p> + +<p> +The beating that had gone before was as nothing compared with the beating he +now received. Grey Beaver’s wrath was terrible; likewise was White +Fang’s fright. Not only the hand, but the hard wooden paddle was used +upon him; and he was bruised and sore in all his small body when he was again +flung down in the canoe. Again, and this time with purpose, did Grey Beaver +kick him. White Fang did not repeat his attack on the foot. He had learned +another lesson of his bondage. Never, no matter what the circumstance, must he +dare to bite the god who was lord and master over him; the body of the lord and +master was sacred, not to be defiled by the teeth of such as he. That was +evidently the crime of crimes, the one offence there was no condoning nor +overlooking. +</p> + +<p> +When the canoe touched the shore, White Fang lay whimpering and motionless, +waiting the will of Grey Beaver. It was Grey Beaver’s will that he should +go ashore, for ashore he was flung, striking heavily on his side and hurting +his bruises afresh. He crawled tremblingly to his feet and stood whimpering. +Lip-lip, who had watched the whole proceeding from the bank, now rushed upon +him, knocking him over and sinking his teeth into him. White Fang was too +helpless to defend himself, and it would have gone hard with him had not Grey +Beaver’s foot shot out, lifting Lip-lip into the air with its violence so +that he smashed down to earth a dozen feet away. This was the +man-animal’s justice; and even then, in his own pitiable plight, White +Fang experienced a little grateful thrill. At Grey Beaver’s heels he +limped obediently through the village to the tepee. And so it came that White +Fang learned that the right to punish was something the gods reserved for +themselves and denied to the lesser creatures under them. +</p> + +<p> +That night, when all was still, White Fang remembered his mother and sorrowed +for her. He sorrowed too loudly and woke up Grey Beaver, who beat him. After +that he mourned gently when the gods were around. But sometimes, straying off +to the edge of the woods by himself, he gave vent to his grief, and cried it +out with loud whimperings and wailings. +</p> + +<p> +It was during this period that he might have harkened to the memories of the +lair and the stream and run back to the Wild. But the memory of his mother held +him. As the hunting man-animals went out and came back, so she would come back +to the village some time. So he remained in his bondage waiting for her. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not altogether an unhappy bondage. There was much to interest him. +Something was always happening. There was no end to the strange things these +gods did, and he was always curious to see. Besides, he was learning how to get +along with Grey Beaver. Obedience, rigid, undeviating obedience, was what was +exacted of him; and in return he escaped beatings and his existence was +tolerated. +</p> + +<p> +Nay, Grey Beaver himself sometimes tossed him a piece of meat, and defended him +against the other dogs in the eating of it. And such a piece of meat was of +value. It was worth more, in some strange way, then a dozen pieces of meat from +the hand of a squaw. Grey Beaver never petted nor caressed. Perhaps it was the +weight of his hand, perhaps his justice, perhaps the sheer power of him, and +perhaps it was all these things that influenced White Fang; for a certain tie +of attachment was forming between him and his surly lord. +</p> + +<p> +Insidiously, and by remote ways, as well as by the power of stick and stone and +clout of hand, were the shackles of White Fang’s bondage being riveted +upon him. The qualities in his kind that in the beginning made it possible for +them to come in to the fires of men, were qualities capable of development. +They were developing in him, and the camp-life, replete with misery as it was, +was secretly endearing itself to him all the time. But White Fang was unaware +of it. He knew only grief for the loss of Kiche, hope for her return, and a +hungry yearning for the free life that had been his. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap11"></a>CHAPTER III<br> +THE OUTCAST</h3> + +<p> +Lip-lip continued so to darken his days that White Fang became wickeder and +more ferocious than it was his natural right to be. Savageness was a part of +his make-up, but the savageness thus developed exceeded his make-up. He +acquired a reputation for wickedness amongst the man-animals themselves. +Wherever there was trouble and uproar in camp, fighting and squabbling or the +outcry of a squaw over a bit of stolen meat, they were sure to find White Fang +mixed up in it and usually at the bottom of it. They did not bother to look +after the causes of his conduct. They saw only the effects, and the effects +were bad. He was a sneak and a thief, a mischief-maker, a fomenter of trouble; +and irate squaws told him to his face, the while he eyed them alert and ready +to dodge any quick-flung missile, that he was a wolf and worthless and bound to +come to an evil end. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself an outcast in the midst of the populous camp. All the young +dogs followed Lip-lip’s lead. There was a difference between White Fang +and them. Perhaps they sensed his wild-wood breed, and instinctively felt for +him the enmity that the domestic dog feels for the wolf. But be that as it may, +they joined with Lip-lip in the persecution. And, once declared against him, +they found good reason to continue declared against him. One and all, from time +to time, they felt his teeth; and to his credit, he gave more than he received. +Many of them he could whip in single fight; but single fight was denied him. +The beginning of such a fight was a signal for all the young dogs in camp to +come running and pitch upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Out of this pack-persecution he learned two important things: how to take care +of himself in a mass-fight against him—and how, on a single dog, to +inflict the greatest amount of damage in the briefest space of time. To keep +one’s feet in the midst of the hostile mass meant life, and this he +learnt well. He became cat-like in his ability to stay on his feet. Even grown +dogs might hurtle him backward or sideways with the impact of their heavy +bodies; and backward or sideways he would go, in the air or sliding on the +ground, but always with his legs under him and his feet downward to the mother +earth. +</p> + +<p> +When dogs fight, there are usually preliminaries to the actual +combat—snarlings and bristlings and stiff-legged struttings. But White +Fang learned to omit these preliminaries. Delay meant the coming against him of +all the young dogs. He must do his work quickly and get away. So he learnt to +give no warning of his intention. He rushed in and snapped and slashed on the +instant, without notice, before his foe could prepare to meet him. Thus he +learned how to inflict quick and severe damage. Also he learned the value of +surprise. A dog, taken off its guard, its shoulder slashed open or its ear +ripped in ribbons before it knew what was happening, was a dog half whipped. +</p> + +<p> +Furthermore, it was remarkably easy to overthrow a dog taken by surprise; while +a dog, thus overthrown, invariably exposed for a moment the soft underside of +its neck—the vulnerable point at which to strike for its life. White Fang +knew this point. It was a knowledge bequeathed to him directly from the hunting +generation of wolves. So it was that White Fang’s method when he took the +offensive, was: first to find a young dog alone; second, to surprise it and +knock it off its feet; and third, to drive in with his teeth at the soft +throat. +</p> + +<p> +Being but partly grown his jaws had not yet become large enough nor strong +enough to make his throat-attack deadly; but many a young dog went around camp +with a lacerated throat in token of White Fang’s intention. And one day, +catching one of his enemies alone on the edge of the woods, he managed, by +repeatedly overthrowing him and attacking the throat, to cut the great vein and +let out the life. There was a great row that night. He had been observed, the +news had been carried to the dead dog’s master, the squaws remembered all +the instances of stolen meat, and Grey Beaver was beset by many angry voices. +But he resolutely held the door of his tepee, inside which he had placed the +culprit, and refused to permit the vengeance for which his tribespeople +clamoured. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang became hated by man and dog. During this period of his development +he never knew a moment’s security. The tooth of every dog was against +him, the hand of every man. He was greeted with snarls by his kind, with curses +and stones by his gods. He lived tensely. He was always keyed up, alert for +attack, wary of being attacked, with an eye for sudden and unexpected missiles, +prepared to act precipitately and coolly, to leap in with a flash of teeth, or +to leap away with a menacing snarl. +</p> + +<p> +As for snarling he could snarl more terribly than any dog, young or old, in +camp. The intent of the snarl is to warn or frighten, and judgment is required +to know when it should be used. White Fang knew how to make it and when to make +it. Into his snarl he incorporated all that was vicious, malignant, and +horrible. With nose serrulated by continuous spasms, hair bristling in +recurrent waves, tongue whipping out like a red snake and whipping back again, +ears flattened down, eyes gleaming hatred, lips wrinkled back, and fangs +exposed and dripping, he could compel a pause on the part of almost any +assailant. A temporary pause, when taken off his guard, gave him the vital +moment in which to think and determine his action. But often a pause so gained +lengthened out until it evolved into a complete cessation from the attack. And +before more than one of the grown dogs White Fang’s snarl enabled him to +beat an honourable retreat. +</p> + +<p> +An outcast himself from the pack of the part-grown dogs, his sanguinary methods +and remarkable efficiency made the pack pay for its persecution of him. Not +permitted himself to run with the pack, the curious state of affairs obtained +that no member of the pack could run outside the pack. White Fang would not +permit it. What of his bushwhacking and waylaying tactics, the young dogs were +afraid to run by themselves. With the exception of Lip-lip, they were compelled +to hunch together for mutual protection against the terrible enemy they had +made. A puppy alone by the river bank meant a puppy dead or a puppy that +aroused the camp with its shrill pain and terror as it fled back from the +wolf-cub that had waylaid it. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang’s reprisals did not cease, even when the young dogs had +learned thoroughly that they must stay together. He attacked them when he +caught them alone, and they attacked him when they were bunched. The sight of +him was sufficient to start them rushing after him, at which times his +swiftness usually carried him into safety. But woe the dog that outran his +fellows in such pursuit! White Fang had learned to turn suddenly upon the +pursuer that was ahead of the pack and thoroughly to rip him up before the pack +could arrive. This occurred with great frequency, for, once in full cry, the +dogs were prone to forget themselves in the excitement of the chase, while +White Fang never forgot himself. Stealing backward glances as he ran, he was +always ready to whirl around and down the overzealous pursuer that outran his +fellows. +</p> + +<p> +Young dogs are bound to play, and out of the exigencies of the situation they +realised their play in this mimic warfare. Thus it was that the hunt of White +Fang became their chief game—a deadly game, withal, and at all times a +serious game. He, on the other hand, being the fastest-footed, was unafraid to +venture anywhere. During the period that he waited vainly for his mother to +come back, he led the pack many a wild chase through the adjacent woods. But +the pack invariably lost him. Its noise and outcry warned him of its presence, +while he ran alone, velvet-footed, silently, a moving shadow among the trees +after the manner of his father and mother before him. Further he was more +directly connected with the Wild than they; and he knew more of its secrets and +stratagems. A favourite trick of his was to lose his trail in running water and +then lie quietly in a near-by thicket while their baffled cries arose around +him. +</p> + +<p> +Hated by his kind and by mankind, indomitable, perpetually warred upon and +himself waging perpetual war, his development was rapid and one-sided. This was +no soil for kindliness and affection to blossom in. Of such things he had not +the faintest glimmering. The code he learned was to obey the strong and to +oppress the weak. Grey Beaver was a god, and strong. Therefore White Fang +obeyed him. But the dog younger or smaller than himself was weak, a thing to be +destroyed. His development was in the direction of power. In order to face the +constant danger of hurt and even of destruction, his predatory and protective +faculties were unduly developed. He became quicker of movement than the other +dogs, swifter of foot, craftier, deadlier, more lithe, more lean with ironlike +muscle and sinew, more enduring, more cruel, more ferocious, and more +intelligent. He had to become all these things, else he would not have held his +own nor survive the hostile environment in which he found himself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap12"></a>CHAPTER IV<br> +THE TRAIL OF THE GODS</h3> + +<p> +In the fall of the year, when the days were shortening and the bite of the +frost was coming into the air, White Fang got his chance for liberty. For +several days there had been a great hubbub in the village. The summer camp was +being dismantled, and the tribe, bag and baggage, was preparing to go off to +the fall hunting. White Fang watched it all with eager eyes, and when the +tepees began to come down and the canoes were loading at the bank, he +understood. Already the canoes were departing, and some had disappeared down +the river. +</p> + +<p> +Quite deliberately he determined to stay behind. He waited his opportunity to +slink out of camp to the woods. Here, in the running stream where ice was +beginning to form, he hid his trail. Then he crawled into the heart of a dense +thicket and waited. The time passed by, and he slept intermittently for hours. +Then he was aroused by Grey Beaver’s voice calling him by name. There +were other voices. White Fang could hear Grey Beaver’s squaw taking part +in the search, and Mit-sah, who was Grey Beaver’s son. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang trembled with fear, and though the impulse came to crawl out of his +hiding-place, he resisted it. After a time the voices died away, and some time +after that he crept out to enjoy the success of his undertaking. Darkness was +coming on, and for a while he played about among the trees, pleasuring in his +freedom. Then, and quite suddenly, he became aware of loneliness. He sat down +to consider, listening to the silence of the forest and perturbed by it. That +nothing moved nor sounded, seemed ominous. He felt the lurking of danger, +unseen and unguessed. He was suspicious of the looming bulks of the trees and +of the dark shadows that might conceal all manner of perilous things. +</p> + +<p> +Then it was cold. Here was no warm side of a tepee against which to snuggle. +The frost was in his feet, and he kept lifting first one fore-foot and then the +other. He curved his bushy tail around to cover them, and at the same time he +saw a vision. There was nothing strange about it. Upon his inward sight was +impressed a succession of memory-pictures. He saw the camp again, the tepees, +and the blaze of the fires. He heard the shrill voices of the women, the gruff +basses of the men, and the snarling of the dogs. He was hungry, and he +remembered pieces of meat and fish that had been thrown him. Here was no meat, +nothing but a threatening and inedible silence. +</p> + +<p> +His bondage had softened him. Irresponsibility had weakened him. He had +forgotten how to shift for himself. The night yawned about him. His senses, +accustomed to the hum and bustle of the camp, used to the continuous impact of +sights and sounds, were now left idle. There was nothing to do, nothing to see +nor hear. They strained to catch some interruption of the silence and +immobility of nature. They were appalled by inaction and by the feel of +something terrible impending. +</p> + +<p> +He gave a great start of fright. A colossal and formless something was rushing +across the field of his vision. It was a tree-shadow flung by the moon, from +whose face the clouds had been brushed away. Reassured, he whimpered softly; +then he suppressed the whimper for fear that it might attract the attention of +the lurking dangers. +</p> + +<p> +A tree, contracting in the cool of the night, made a loud noise. It was +directly above him. He yelped in his fright. A panic seized him, and he ran +madly toward the village. He knew an overpowering desire for the protection and +companionship of man. In his nostrils was the smell of the camp-smoke. In his +ears the camp-sounds and cries were ringing loud. He passed out of the forest +and into the moonlit open where were no shadows nor darknesses. But no village +greeted his eyes. He had forgotten. The village had gone away. +</p> + +<p> +His wild flight ceased abruptly. There was no place to which to flee. He slunk +forlornly through the deserted camp, smelling the rubbish-heaps and the +discarded rags and tags of the gods. He would have been glad for the rattle of +stones about him, flung by an angry squaw, glad for the hand of Grey Beaver +descending upon him in wrath; while he would have welcomed with delight Lip-lip +and the whole snarling, cowardly pack. +</p> + +<p> +He came to where Grey Beaver’s tepee had stood. In the centre of the +space it had occupied, he sat down. He pointed his nose at the moon. His throat +was afflicted by rigid spasms, his mouth opened, and in a heart-broken cry +bubbled up his loneliness and fear, his grief for Kiche, all his past sorrows +and miseries as well as his apprehension of sufferings and dangers to come. It +was the long wolf-howl, full-throated and mournful, the first howl he had ever +uttered. +</p> + +<p> +The coming of daylight dispelled his fears but increased his loneliness. The +naked earth, which so shortly before had been so populous; thrust his +loneliness more forcibly upon him. It did not take him long to make up his +mind. He plunged into the forest and followed the river bank down the stream. +All day he ran. He did not rest. He seemed made to run on for ever. His +iron-like body ignored fatigue. And even after fatigue came, his heritage of +endurance braced him to endless endeavour and enabled him to drive his +complaining body onward. +</p> + +<p> +Where the river swung in against precipitous bluffs, he climbed the high +mountains behind. Rivers and streams that entered the main river he forded or +swam. Often he took to the rim-ice that was beginning to form, and more than +once he crashed through and struggled for life in the icy current. Always he +was on the lookout for the trail of the gods where it might leave the river and +proceed inland. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was intelligent beyond the average of his kind; yet his mental +vision was not wide enough to embrace the other bank of the Mackenzie. What if +the trail of the gods led out on that side? It never entered his head. Later +on, when he had travelled more and grown older and wiser and come to know more +of trails and rivers, it might be that he could grasp and apprehend such a +possibility. But that mental power was yet in the future. Just now he ran +blindly, his own bank of the Mackenzie alone entering into his calculations. +</p> + +<p> +All night he ran, blundering in the darkness into mishaps and obstacles that +delayed but did not daunt. By the middle of the second day he had been running +continuously for thirty hours, and the iron of his flesh was giving out. It was +the endurance of his mind that kept him going. He had not eaten in forty hours, +and he was weak with hunger. The repeated drenchings in the icy water had +likewise had their effect on him. His handsome coat was draggled. The broad +pads of his feet were bruised and bleeding. He had begun to limp, and this limp +increased with the hours. To make it worse, the light of the sky was obscured +and snow began to fall—a raw, moist, melting, clinging snow, slippery +under foot, that hid from him the landscape he traversed, and that covered over +the inequalities of the ground so that the way of his feet was more difficult +and painful. +</p> + +<p> +Grey Beaver had intended camping that night on the far bank of the Mackenzie, +for it was in that direction that the hunting lay. But on the near bank, +shortly before dark, a moose coming down to drink, had been espied by +Kloo-kooch, who was Grey Beaver’s squaw. Now, had not the moose come down +to drink, had not Mit-sah been steering out of the course because of the snow, +had not Kloo-kooch sighted the moose, and had not Grey Beaver killed it with a +lucky shot from his rifle, all subsequent things would have happened +differently. Grey Beaver would not have camped on the near side of the +Mackenzie, and White Fang would have passed by and gone on, either to die or to +find his way to his wild brothers and become one of them—a wolf to the +end of his days. +</p> + +<p> +Night had fallen. The snow was flying more thickly, and White Fang, whimpering +softly to himself as he stumbled and limped along, came upon a fresh trail in +the snow. So fresh was it that he knew it immediately for what it was. Whining +with eagerness, he followed back from the river bank and in among the trees. +The camp-sounds came to his ears. He saw the blaze of the fire, Kloo-kooch +cooking, and Grey Beaver squatting on his hams and mumbling a chunk of raw +tallow. There was fresh meat in camp! +</p> + +<p> +White Fang expected a beating. He crouched and bristled a little at the thought +of it. Then he went forward again. He feared and disliked the beating he knew +to be waiting for him. But he knew, further, that the comfort of the fire would +be his, the protection of the gods, the companionship of the dogs—the +last, a companionship of enmity, but none the less a companionship and +satisfying to his gregarious needs. +</p> + +<p> +He came cringing and crawling into the firelight. Grey Beaver saw him, and +stopped munching the tallow. White Fang crawled slowly, cringing and grovelling +in the abjectness of his abasement and submission. He crawled straight toward +Grey Beaver, every inch of his progress becoming slower and more painful. At +last he lay at the master’s feet, into whose possession he now +surrendered himself, voluntarily, body and soul. Of his own choice, he came in +to sit by man’s fire and to be ruled by him. White Fang trembled, waiting +for the punishment to fall upon him. There was a movement of the hand above +him. He cringed involuntarily under the expected blow. It did not fall. He +stole a glance upward. Grey Beaver was breaking the lump of tallow in half! +Grey Beaver was offering him one piece of the tallow! Very gently and somewhat +suspiciously, he first smelled the tallow and then proceeded to eat it. Grey +Beaver ordered meat to be brought to him, and guarded him from the other dogs +while he ate. After that, grateful and content, White Fang lay at Grey +Beaver’s feet, gazing at the fire that warmed him, blinking and dozing, +secure in the knowledge that the morrow would find him, not wandering forlorn +through bleak forest-stretches, but in the camp of the man-animals, with the +gods to whom he had given himself and upon whom he was now dependent. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap13"></a>CHAPTER V<br> +THE COVENANT</h3> + +<p> +When December was well along, Grey Beaver went on a journey up the Mackenzie. +Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch went with him. One sled he drove himself, drawn by dogs +he had traded for or borrowed. A second and smaller sled was driven by Mit-sah, +and to this was harnessed a team of puppies. It was more of a toy affair than +anything else, yet it was the delight of Mit-sah, who felt that he was +beginning to do a man’s work in the world. Also, he was learning to drive +dogs and to train dogs; while the puppies themselves were being broken in to +the harness. Furthermore, the sled was of some service, for it carried nearly +two hundred pounds of outfit and food. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang had seen the camp-dogs toiling in the harness, so that he did not +resent overmuch the first placing of the harness upon himself. About his neck +was put a moss-stuffed collar, which was connected by two pulling-traces to a +strap that passed around his chest and over his back. It was to this that was +fastened the long rope by which he pulled at the sled. +</p> + +<p> +There were seven puppies in the team. The others had been born earlier in the +year and were nine and ten months old, while White Fang was only eight months +old. Each dog was fastened to the sled by a single rope. No two ropes were of +the same length, while the difference in length between any two ropes was at +least that of a dog’s body. Every rope was brought to a ring at the front +end of the sled. The sled itself was without runners, being a birch-bark +toboggan, with upturned forward end to keep it from ploughing under the snow. +This construction enabled the weight of the sled and load to be distributed +over the largest snow-surface; for the snow was crystal-powder and very soft. +Observing the same principle of widest distribution of weight, the dogs at the +ends of their ropes radiated fan-fashion from the nose of the sled, so that no +dog trod in another’s footsteps. +</p> + +<p> +There was, furthermore, another virtue in the fan-formation. The ropes of +varying length prevented the dogs attacking from the rear those that ran in +front of them. For a dog to attack another, it would have to turn upon one at a +shorter rope. In which case it would find itself face to face with the dog +attacked, and also it would find itself facing the whip of the driver. But the +most peculiar virtue of all lay in the fact that the dog that strove to attack +one in front of him must pull the sled faster, and that the faster the sled +travelled, the faster could the dog attacked run away. Thus, the dog behind +could never catch up with the one in front. The faster he ran, the faster ran +the one he was after, and the faster ran all the dogs. Incidentally, the sled +went faster, and thus, by cunning indirection, did man increase his mastery +over the beasts. +</p> + +<p> +Mit-sah resembled his father, much of whose grey wisdom he possessed. In the +past he had observed Lip-lip’s persecution of White Fang; but at that +time Lip-lip was another man’s dog, and Mit-sah had never dared more than +to shy an occasional stone at him. But now Lip-lip was his dog, and he +proceeded to wreak his vengeance on him by putting him at the end of the +longest rope. This made Lip-lip the leader, and was apparently an honour! but +in reality it took away from him all honour, and instead of being bully and +master of the pack, he now found himself hated and persecuted by the pack. +</p> + +<p> +Because he ran at the end of the longest rope, the dogs had always the view of +him running away before them. All that they saw of him was his bushy tail and +fleeing hind legs—a view far less ferocious and intimidating than his +bristling mane and gleaming fangs. Also, dogs being so constituted in their +mental ways, the sight of him running away gave desire to run after him and a +feeling that he ran away from them. +</p> + +<p> +The moment the sled started, the team took after Lip-lip in a chase that +extended throughout the day. At first he had been prone to turn upon his +pursuers, jealous of his dignity and wrathful; but at such times Mit-sah would +throw the stinging lash of the thirty-foot cariboo-gut whip into his face and +compel him to turn tail and run on. Lip-lip might face the pack, but he could +not face that whip, and all that was left him to do was to keep his long rope +taut and his flanks ahead of the teeth of his mates. +</p> + +<p> +But a still greater cunning lurked in the recesses of the Indian mind. To give +point to unending pursuit of the leader, Mit-sah favoured him over the other +dogs. These favours aroused in them jealousy and hatred. In their presence +Mit-sah would give him meat and would give it to him only. This was maddening +to them. They would rage around just outside the throwing-distance of the whip, +while Lip-lip devoured the meat and Mit-sah protected him. And when there was +no meat to give, Mit-sah would keep the team at a distance and make believe to +give meat to Lip-lip. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang took kindly to the work. He had travelled a greater distance than +the other dogs in the yielding of himself to the rule of the gods, and he had +learned more thoroughly the futility of opposing their will. In addition, the +persecution he had suffered from the pack had made the pack less to him in the +scheme of things, and man more. He had not learned to be dependent on his kind +for companionship. Besides, Kiche was well-nigh forgotten; and the chief outlet +of expression that remained to him was in the allegiance he tendered the gods +he had accepted as masters. So he worked hard, learned discipline, and was +obedient. Faithfulness and willingness characterised his toil. These are +essential traits of the wolf and the wild-dog when they have become +domesticated, and these traits White Fang possessed in unusual measure. +</p> + +<p> +A companionship did exist between White Fang and the other dogs, but it was one +of warfare and enmity. He had never learned to play with them. He knew only how +to fight, and fight with them he did, returning to them a hundred-fold the +snaps and slashes they had given him in the days when Lip-lip was leader of the +pack. But Lip-lip was no longer leader—except when he fled away before +his mates at the end of his rope, the sled bounding along behind. In camp he +kept close to Mit-sah or Grey Beaver or Kloo-kooch. He did not dare venture +away from the gods, for now the fangs of all dogs were against him, and he +tasted to the dregs the persecution that had been White Fang’s. +</p> + +<p> +With the overthrow of Lip-lip, White Fang could have become leader of the pack. +But he was too morose and solitary for that. He merely thrashed his team-mates. +Otherwise he ignored them. They got out of his way when he came along; nor did +the boldest of them ever dare to rob him of his meat. On the contrary, they +devoured their own meat hurriedly, for fear that he would take it away from +them. White Fang knew the law well: <i>to oppress the weak and obey the +strong</i>. He ate his share of meat as rapidly as he could. And then woe the +dog that had not yet finished! A snarl and a flash of fangs, and that dog would +wail his indignation to the uncomforting stars while White Fang finished his +portion for him. +</p> + +<p> +Every little while, however, one dog or another would flame up in revolt and be +promptly subdued. Thus White Fang was kept in training. He was jealous of the +isolation in which he kept himself in the midst of the pack, and he fought +often to maintain it. But such fights were of brief duration. He was too quick +for the others. They were slashed open and bleeding before they knew what had +happened, were whipped almost before they had begun to fight. +</p> + +<p> +As rigid as the sled-discipline of the gods, was the discipline maintained by +White Fang amongst his fellows. He never allowed them any latitude. He +compelled them to an unremitting respect for him. They might do as they pleased +amongst themselves. That was no concern of his. But it <i>was</i> his concern +that they leave him alone in his isolation, get out of his way when he elected +to walk among them, and at all times acknowledge his mastery over them. A hint +of stiff-leggedness on their part, a lifted lip or a bristle of hair, and he +would be upon them, merciless and cruel, swiftly convincing them of the error +of their way. +</p> + +<p> +He was a monstrous tyrant. His mastery was rigid as steel. He oppressed the +weak with a vengeance. Not for nothing had he been exposed to the pitiless +struggles for life in the day of his cubhood, when his mother and he, alone and +unaided, held their own and survived in the ferocious environment of the Wild. +And not for nothing had he learned to walk softly when superior strength went +by. He oppressed the weak, but he respected the strong. And in the course of +the long journey with Grey Beaver he walked softly indeed amongst the +full-grown dogs in the camps of the strange man-animals they encountered. +</p> + +<p> +The months passed by. Still continued the journey of Grey Beaver. White +Fang’s strength was developed by the long hours on trail and the steady +toil at the sled; and it would have seemed that his mental development was +well-nigh complete. He had come to know quite thoroughly the world in which he +lived. His outlook was bleak and materialistic. The world as he saw it was a +fierce and brutal world, a world without warmth, a world in which caresses and +affection and the bright sweetnesses of the spirit did not exist. +</p> + +<p> +He had no affection for Grey Beaver. True, he was a god, but a most savage god. +White Fang was glad to acknowledge his lordship, but it was a lordship based +upon superior intelligence and brute strength. There was something in the fibre +of White Fang’s being that made his lordship a thing to be desired, else +he would not have come back from the Wild when he did to tender his allegiance. +There were deeps in his nature which had never been sounded. A kind word, a +caressing touch of the hand, on the part of Grey Beaver, might have sounded +these deeps; but Grey Beaver did not caress, nor speak kind words. It was not +his way. His primacy was savage, and savagely he ruled, administering justice +with a club, punishing transgression with the pain of a blow, and rewarding +merit, not by kindness, but by withholding a blow. +</p> + +<p> +So White Fang knew nothing of the heaven a man’s hand might contain for +him. Besides, he did not like the hands of the man-animals. He was suspicious +of them. It was true that they sometimes gave meat, but more often they gave +hurt. Hands were things to keep away from. They hurled stones, wielded sticks +and clubs and whips, administered slaps and clouts, and, when they touched him, +were cunning to hurt with pinch and twist and wrench. In strange villages he +had encountered the hands of the children and learned that they were cruel to +hurt. Also, he had once nearly had an eye poked out by a toddling papoose. From +these experiences he became suspicious of all children. He could not tolerate +them. When they came near with their ominous hands, he got up. +</p> + +<p> +It was in a village at the Great Slave Lake, that, in the course of resenting +the evil of the hands of the man-animals, he came to modify the law that he had +learned from Grey Beaver: namely, that the unpardonable crime was to bite one +of the gods. In this village, after the custom of all dogs in all villages, +White Fang went foraging, for food. A boy was chopping frozen moose-meat with +an axe, and the chips were flying in the snow. White Fang, sliding by in quest +of meat, stopped and began to eat the chips. He observed the boy lay down the +axe and take up a stout club. White Fang sprang clear, just in time to escape +the descending blow. The boy pursued him, and he, a stranger in the village, +fled between two tepees to find himself cornered against a high earth bank. +</p> + +<p> +There was no escape for White Fang. The only way out was between the two +tepees, and this the boy guarded. Holding his club prepared to strike, he drew +in on his cornered quarry. White Fang was furious. He faced the boy, bristling +and snarling, his sense of justice outraged. He knew the law of forage. All the +wastage of meat, such as the frozen chips, belonged to the dog that found it. +He had done no wrong, broken no law, yet here was this boy preparing to give +him a beating. White Fang scarcely knew what happened. He did it in a surge of +rage. And he did it so quickly that the boy did not know either. All the boy +knew was that he had in some unaccountable way been overturned into the snow, +and that his club-hand had been ripped wide open by White Fang’s teeth. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang knew that he had broken the law of the gods. He had driven his +teeth into the sacred flesh of one of them, and could expect nothing but a most +terrible punishment. He fled away to Grey Beaver, behind whose protecting legs +he crouched when the bitten boy and the boy’s family came, demanding +vengeance. But they went away with vengeance unsatisfied. Grey Beaver defended +White Fang. So did Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch. White Fang, listening to the wordy +war and watching the angry gestures, knew that his act was justified. And so it +came that he learned there were gods and gods. There were his gods, and there +were other gods, and between them there was a difference. Justice or injustice, +it was all the same, he must take all things from the hands of his own gods. +But he was not compelled to take injustice from the other gods. It was his +privilege to resent it with his teeth. And this also was a law of the gods. +</p> + +<p> +Before the day was out, White Fang was to learn more about this law. Mit-sah, +alone, gathering firewood in the forest, encountered the boy that had been +bitten. With him were other boys. Hot words passed. Then all the boys attacked +Mit-sah. It was going hard with him. Blows were raining upon him from all +sides. White Fang looked on at first. This was an affair of the gods, and no +concern of his. Then he realised that this was Mit-sah, one of his own +particular gods, who was being maltreated. It was no reasoned impulse that made +White Fang do what he then did. A mad rush of anger sent him leaping in amongst +the combatants. Five minutes later the landscape was covered with fleeing boys, +many of whom dripped blood upon the snow in token that White Fang’s teeth +had not been idle. When Mit-sah told the story in camp, Grey Beaver ordered +meat to be given to White Fang. He ordered much meat to be given, and White +Fang, gorged and sleepy by the fire, knew that the law had received its +verification. +</p> + +<p> +It was in line with these experiences that White Fang came to learn the law of +property and the duty of the defence of property. From the protection of his +god’s body to the protection of his god’s possessions was a step, +and this step he made. What was his god’s was to be defended against all +the world—even to the extent of biting other gods. Not only was such an +act sacrilegious in its nature, but it was fraught with peril. The gods were +all-powerful, and a dog was no match against them; yet White Fang learned to +face them, fiercely belligerent and unafraid. Duty rose above fear, and +thieving gods learned to leave Grey Beaver’s property alone. +</p> + +<p> +One thing, in this connection, White Fang quickly learnt, and that was that a +thieving god was usually a cowardly god and prone to run away at the sounding +of the alarm. Also, he learned that but brief time elapsed between his sounding +of the alarm and Grey Beaver coming to his aid. He came to know that it was not +fear of him that drove the thief away, but fear of Grey Beaver. White Fang did +not give the alarm by barking. He never barked. His method was to drive +straight at the intruder, and to sink his teeth in if he could. Because he was +morose and solitary, having nothing to do with the other dogs, he was unusually +fitted to guard his master’s property; and in this he was encouraged and +trained by Grey Beaver. One result of this was to make White Fang more +ferocious and indomitable, and more solitary. +</p> + +<p> +The months went by, binding stronger and stronger the covenant between dog and +man. This was the ancient covenant that the first wolf that came in from the +Wild entered into with man. And, like all succeeding wolves and wild dogs that +had done likewise, White Fang worked the covenant out for himself. The terms +were simple. For the possession of a flesh-and-blood god, he exchanged his own +liberty. Food and fire, protection and companionship, were some of the things +he received from the god. In return, he guarded the god’s property, +defended his body, worked for him, and obeyed him. +</p> + +<p> +The possession of a god implies service. White Fang’s was a service of +duty and awe, but not of love. He did not know what love was. He had no +experience of love. Kiche was a remote memory. Besides, not only had he +abandoned the Wild and his kind when he gave himself up to man, but the terms +of the covenant were such that if ever he met Kiche again he would not desert +his god to go with her. His allegiance to man seemed somehow a law of his being +greater than the love of liberty, of kind and kin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap14"></a>CHAPTER VI<br> +THE FAMINE</h3> + +<p> +The spring of the year was at hand when Grey Beaver finished his long journey. +It was April, and White Fang was a year old when he pulled into the home +villages and was loosed from the harness by Mit-sah. Though a long way from his +full growth, White Fang, next to Lip-lip, was the largest yearling in the +village. Both from his father, the wolf, and from Kiche, he had inherited +stature and strength, and already he was measuring up alongside the full-grown +dogs. But he had not yet grown compact. His body was slender and rangy, and his +strength more stringy than massive, His coat was the true wolf-grey, and to all +appearances he was true wolf himself. The quarter-strain of dog he had +inherited from Kiche had left no mark on him physically, though it had played +its part in his mental make-up. +</p> + +<p> +He wandered through the village, recognising with staid satisfaction the +various gods he had known before the long journey. Then there were the dogs, +puppies growing up like himself, and grown dogs that did not look so large and +formidable as the memory pictures he retained of them. Also, he stood less in +fear of them than formerly, stalking among them with a certain careless ease +that was as new to him as it was enjoyable. +</p> + +<p> +There was Baseek, a grizzled old fellow that in his younger days had but to +uncover his fangs to send White Fang cringing and crouching to the right about. +From him White Fang had learned much of his own insignificance; and from him he +was now to learn much of the change and development that had taken place in +himself. While Baseek had been growing weaker with age, White Fang had been +growing stronger with youth. +</p> + +<p> +It was at the cutting-up of a moose, fresh-killed, that White Fang learned of +the changed relations in which he stood to the dog-world. He had got for +himself a hoof and part of the shin-bone, to which quite a bit of meat was +attached. Withdrawn from the immediate scramble of the other dogs—in fact +out of sight behind a thicket—he was devouring his prize, when Baseek +rushed in upon him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had slashed the +intruder twice and sprung clear. Baseek was surprised by the other’s +temerity and swiftness of attack. He stood, gazing stupidly across at White +Fang, the raw, red shin-bone between them. +</p> + +<p> +Baseek was old, and already he had come to know the increasing valour of the +dogs it had been his wont to bully. Bitter experiences these, which, perforce, +he swallowed, calling upon all his wisdom to cope with them. In the old days he +would have sprung upon White Fang in a fury of righteous wrath. But now his +waning powers would not permit such a course. He bristled fiercely and looked +ominously across the shin-bone at White Fang. And White Fang, resurrecting +quite a deal of the old awe, seemed to wilt and to shrink in upon himself and +grow small, as he cast about in his mind for a way to beat a retreat not too +inglorious. +</p> + +<p> +And right here Baseek erred. Had he contented himself with looking fierce and +ominous, all would have been well. White Fang, on the verge of retreat, would +have retreated, leaving the meat to him. But Baseek did not wait. He considered +the victory already his and stepped forward to the meat. As he bent his head +carelessly to smell it, White Fang bristled slightly. Even then it was not too +late for Baseek to retrieve the situation. Had he merely stood over the meat, +head up and glowering, White Fang would ultimately have slunk away. But the +fresh meat was strong in Baseek’s nostrils, and greed urged him to take a +bite of it. +</p> + +<p> +This was too much for White Fang. Fresh upon his months of mastery over his own +team-mates, it was beyond his self-control to stand idly by while another +devoured the meat that belonged to him. He struck, after his custom, without +warning. With the first slash, Baseek’s right ear was ripped into +ribbons. He was astounded at the suddenness of it. But more things, and most +grievous ones, were happening with equal suddenness. He was knocked off his +feet. His throat was bitten. While he was struggling to his feet the young dog +sank teeth twice into his shoulder. The swiftness of it was bewildering. He +made a futile rush at White Fang, clipping the empty air with an outraged snap. +The next moment his nose was laid open, and he was staggering backward away +from the meat. +</p> + +<p> +The situation was now reversed. White Fang stood over the shin-bone, bristling +and menacing, while Baseek stood a little way off, preparing to retreat. He +dared not risk a fight with this young lightning-flash, and again he knew, and +more bitterly, the enfeeblement of oncoming age. His attempt to maintain his +dignity was heroic. Calmly turning his back upon young dog and shin-bone, as +though both were beneath his notice and unworthy of his consideration, he +stalked grandly away. Nor, until well out of sight, did he stop to lick his +bleeding wounds. +</p> + +<p> +The effect on White Fang was to give him a greater faith in himself, and a +greater pride. He walked less softly among the grown dogs; his attitude toward +them was less compromising. Not that he went out of his way looking for +trouble. Far from it. But upon his way he demanded consideration. He stood upon +his right to go his way unmolested and to give trail to no dog. He had to be +taken into account, that was all. He was no longer to be disregarded and +ignored, as was the lot of puppies, and as continued to be the lot of the +puppies that were his team-mates. They got out of the way, gave trail to the +grown dogs, and gave up meat to them under compulsion. But White Fang, +uncompanionable, solitary, morose, scarcely looking to right or left, +redoubtable, forbidding of aspect, remote and alien, was accepted as an equal +by his puzzled elders. They quickly learned to leave him alone, neither +venturing hostile acts nor making overtures of friendliness. If they left him +alone, he left them alone—a state of affairs that they found, after a few +encounters, to be pre-eminently desirable. +</p> + +<p> +In midsummer White Fang had an experience. Trotting along in his silent way to +investigate a new tepee which had been erected on the edge of the village while +he was away with the hunters after moose, he came full upon Kiche. He paused +and looked at her. He remembered her vaguely, but he <i>remembered</i> her, and +that was more than could be said for her. She lifted her lip at him in the old +snarl of menace, and his memory became clear. His forgotten cubhood, all that +was associated with that familiar snarl, rushed back to him. Before he had +known the gods, she had been to him the centre-pin of the universe. The old +familiar feelings of that time came back upon him, surged up within him. He +bounded towards her joyously, and she met him with shrewd fangs that laid his +cheek open to the bone. He did not understand. He backed away, bewildered and +puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not Kiche’s fault. A wolf-mother was not made to remember her +cubs of a year or so before. So she did not remember White Fang. He was a +strange animal, an intruder; and her present litter of puppies gave her the +right to resent such intrusion. +</p> + +<p> +One of the puppies sprawled up to White Fang. They were half-brothers, only +they did not know it. White Fang sniffed the puppy curiously, whereupon Kiche +rushed upon him, gashing his face a second time. He backed farther away. All +the old memories and associations died down again and passed into the grave +from which they had been resurrected. He looked at Kiche licking her puppy and +stopping now and then to snarl at him. She was without value to him. He had +learned to get along without her. Her meaning was forgotten. There was no place +for her in his scheme of things, as there was no place for him in hers. +</p> + +<p> +He was still standing, stupid and bewildered, the memories forgotten, wondering +what it was all about, when Kiche attacked him a third time, intent on driving +him away altogether from the vicinity. And White Fang allowed himself to be +driven away. This was a female of his kind, and it was a law of his kind that +the males must not fight the females. He did not know anything about this law, +for it was no generalisation of the mind, not a something acquired by +experience of the world. He knew it as a secret prompting, as an urge of +instinct—of the same instinct that made him howl at the moon and stars of +nights, and that made him fear death and the unknown. +</p> + +<p> +The months went by. White Fang grew stronger, heavier, and more compact, while +his character was developing along the lines laid down by his heredity and his +environment. His heredity was a life-stuff that may be likened to clay. It +possessed many possibilities, was capable of being moulded into many different +forms. Environment served to model the clay, to give it a particular form. +Thus, had White Fang never come in to the fires of man, the Wild would have +moulded him into a true wolf. But the gods had given him a different +environment, and he was moulded into a dog that was rather wolfish, but that +was a dog and not a wolf. +</p> + +<p> +And so, according to the clay of his nature and the pressure of his +surroundings, his character was being moulded into a certain particular shape. +There was no escaping it. He was becoming more morose, more uncompanionable, +more solitary, more ferocious; while the dogs were learning more and more that +it was better to be at peace with him than at war, and Grey Beaver was coming +to prize him more greatly with the passage of each day. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang, seeming to sum up strength in all his qualities, nevertheless +suffered from one besetting weakness. He could not stand being laughed at. The +laughter of men was a hateful thing. They might laugh among themselves about +anything they pleased except himself, and he did not mind. But the moment +laughter was turned upon him he would fly into a most terrible rage. Grave, +dignified, sombre, a laugh made him frantic to ridiculousness. It so outraged +him and upset him that for hours he would behave like a demon. And woe to the +dog that at such times ran foul of him. He knew the law too well to take it out +on Grey Beaver; behind Grey Beaver were a club and godhead. But behind the dogs +there was nothing but space, and into this space they flew when White Fang came +on the scene, made mad by laughter. +</p> + +<p> +In the third year of his life there came a great famine to the Mackenzie +Indians. In the summer the fish failed. In the winter the cariboo forsook their +accustomed track. Moose were scarce, the rabbits almost disappeared, hunting +and preying animals perished. Denied their usual food-supply, weakened by +hunger, they fell upon and devoured one another. Only the strong survived. +White Fang’s gods were always hunting animals. The old and the weak of +them died of hunger. There was wailing in the village, where the women and +children went without in order that what little they had might go into the +bellies of the lean and hollow-eyed hunters who trod the forest in the vain +pursuit of meat. +</p> + +<p> +To such extremity were the gods driven that they ate the soft-tanned leather of +their mocassins and mittens, while the dogs ate the harnesses off their backs +and the very whip-lashes. Also, the dogs ate one another, and also the gods ate +the dogs. The weakest and the more worthless were eaten first. The dogs that +still lived, looked on and understood. A few of the boldest and wisest forsook +the fires of the gods, which had now become a shambles, and fled into the +forest, where, in the end, they starved to death or were eaten by wolves. +</p> + +<p> +In this time of misery, White Fang, too, stole away into the woods. He was +better fitted for the life than the other dogs, for he had the training of his +cubhood to guide him. Especially adept did he become in stalking small living +things. He would lie concealed for hours, following every movement of a +cautious tree-squirrel, waiting, with a patience as huge as the hunger he +suffered from, until the squirrel ventured out upon the ground. Even then, +White Fang was not premature. He waited until he was sure of striking before +the squirrel could gain a tree-refuge. Then, and not until then, would he flash +from his hiding-place, a grey projectile, incredibly swift, never failing its +mark—the fleeing squirrel that fled not fast enough. +</p> + +<p> +Successful as he was with squirrels, there was one difficulty that prevented +him from living and growing fat on them. There were not enough squirrels. So he +was driven to hunt still smaller things. So acute did his hunger become at +times that he was not above rooting out wood-mice from their burrows in the +ground. Nor did he scorn to do battle with a weasel as hungry as himself and +many times more ferocious. +</p> + +<p> +In the worst pinches of the famine he stole back to the fires of the gods. But +he did not go into the fires. He lurked in the forest, avoiding discovery and +robbing the snares at the rare intervals when game was caught. He even robbed +Grey Beaver’s snare of a rabbit at a time when Grey Beaver staggered and +tottered through the forest, sitting down often to rest, what of weakness and +of shortness of breath. +</p> + +<p> +One day White Fang encountered a young wolf, gaunt and scrawny, loose-jointed +with famine. Had he not been hungry himself, White Fang might have gone with +him and eventually found his way into the pack amongst his wild brethren. As it +was, he ran the young wolf down and killed and ate him. +</p> + +<p> +Fortune seemed to favour him. Always, when hardest pressed for food, he found +something to kill. Again, when he was weak, it was his luck that none of the +larger preying animals chanced upon him. Thus, he was strong from the two +days’ eating a lynx had afforded him when the hungry wolf-pack ran full +tilt upon him. It was a long, cruel chase, but he was better nourished than +they, and in the end outran them. And not only did he outrun them, but, +circling widely back on his track, he gathered in one of his exhausted +pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +After that he left that part of the country and journeyed over to the valley +wherein he had been born. Here, in the old lair, he encountered Kiche. Up to +her old tricks, she, too, had fled the inhospitable fires of the gods and gone +back to her old refuge to give birth to her young. Of this litter but one +remained alive when White Fang came upon the scene, and this one was not +destined to live long. Young life had little chance in such a famine. +</p> + +<p> +Kiche’s greeting of her grown son was anything but affectionate. But +White Fang did not mind. He had outgrown his mother. So he turned tail +philosophically and trotted on up the stream. At the forks he took the turning +to the left, where he found the lair of the lynx with whom his mother and he +had fought long before. Here, in the abandoned lair, he settled down and rested +for a day. +</p> + +<p> +During the early summer, in the last days of the famine, he met Lip-lip, who +had likewise taken to the woods, where he had eked out a miserable existence. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang came upon him unexpectedly. Trotting in opposite directions along +the base of a high bluff, they rounded a corner of rock and found themselves +face to face. They paused with instant alarm, and looked at each other +suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was in splendid condition. His hunting had been good, and for a week +he had eaten his fill. He was even gorged from his latest kill. But in the +moment he looked at Lip-lip his hair rose on end all along his back. It was an +involuntary bristling on his part, the physical state that in the past had +always accompanied the mental state produced in him by Lip-lip’s bullying +and persecution. As in the past he had bristled and snarled at sight of +Lip-lip, so now, and automatically, he bristled and snarled. He did not waste +any time. The thing was done thoroughly and with despatch. Lip-lip essayed to +back away, but White Fang struck him hard, shoulder to shoulder. Lip-lip was +overthrown and rolled upon his back. White Fang’s teeth drove into the +scrawny throat. There was a death-struggle, during which White Fang walked +around, stiff-legged and observant. Then he resumed his course and trotted on +along the base of the bluff. +</p> + +<p> +One day, not long after, he came to the edge of the forest, where a narrow +stretch of open land sloped down to the Mackenzie. He had been over this ground +before, when it was bare, but now a village occupied it. Still hidden amongst +the trees, he paused to study the situation. Sights and sounds and scents were +familiar to him. It was the old village changed to a new place. But sights and +sounds and smells were different from those he had last had when he fled away +from it. There was no whimpering nor wailing. Contented sounds saluted his ear, +and when he heard the angry voice of a woman he knew it to be the anger that +proceeds from a full stomach. And there was a smell in the air of fish. There +was food. The famine was gone. He came out boldly from the forest and trotted +into camp straight to Grey Beaver’s tepee. Grey Beaver was not there; but +Kloo-kooch welcomed him with glad cries and the whole of a fresh-caught fish, +and he lay down to wait Grey Beaver’s coming. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="part04"></a>PART IV</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap15"></a>CHAPTER I<br> +THE ENEMY OF HIS KIND</h3> + +<p> +Had there been in White Fang’s nature any possibility, no matter how +remote, of his ever coming to fraternise with his kind, such possibility was +irretrievably destroyed when he was made leader of the sled-team. For now the +dogs hated him—hated him for the extra meat bestowed upon him by Mit-sah; +hated him for all the real and fancied favours he received; hated him for that +he fled always at the head of the team, his waving brush of a tail and his +perpetually retreating hind-quarters for ever maddening their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And White Fang just as bitterly hated them back. Being sled-leader was anything +but gratifying to him. To be compelled to run away before the yelling pack, +every dog of which, for three years, he had thrashed and mastered, was almost +more than he could endure. But endure it he must, or perish, and the life that +was in him had no desire to perish out. The moment Mit-sah gave his order for +the start, that moment the whole team, with eager, savage cries, sprang forward +at White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +There was no defence for him. If he turned upon them, Mit-sah would throw the +stinging lash of the whip into his face. Only remained to him to run away. He +could not encounter that howling horde with his tail and hind-quarters. These +were scarcely fit weapons with which to meet the many merciless fangs. So run +away he did, violating his own nature and pride with every leap he made, and +leaping all day long. +</p> + +<p> +One cannot violate the promptings of one’s nature without having that +nature recoil upon itself. Such a recoil is like that of a hair, made to grow +out from the body, turning unnaturally upon the direction of its growth and +growing into the body—a rankling, festering thing of hurt. And so with +White Fang. Every urge of his being impelled him to spring upon the pack that +cried at his heels, but it was the will of the gods that this should not be; +and behind the will, to enforce it, was the whip of cariboo-gut with its biting +thirty-foot lash. So White Fang could only eat his heart in bitterness and +develop a hatred and malice commensurate with the ferocity and indomitability +of his nature. +</p> + +<p> +If ever a creature was the enemy of its kind, White Fang was that creature. He +asked no quarter, gave none. He was continually marred and scarred by the teeth +of the pack, and as continually he left his own marks upon the pack. Unlike +most leaders, who, when camp was made and the dogs were unhitched, huddled near +to the gods for protection, White Fang disdained such protection. He walked +boldly about the camp, inflicting punishment in the night for what he had +suffered in the day. In the time before he was made leader of the team, the +pack had learned to get out of his way. But now it was different. Excited by +the day-long pursuit of him, swayed subconsciously by the insistent iteration +on their brains of the sight of him fleeing away, mastered by the feeling of +mastery enjoyed all day, the dogs could not bring themselves to give way to +him. When he appeared amongst them, there was always a squabble. His progress +was marked by snarl and snap and growl. The very atmosphere he breathed was +surcharged with hatred and malice, and this but served to increase the hatred +and malice within him. +</p> + +<p> +When Mit-sah cried out his command for the team to stop, White Fang obeyed. At +first this caused trouble for the other dogs. All of them would spring upon the +hated leader only to find the tables turned. Behind him would be Mit-sah, the +great whip singing in his hand. So the dogs came to understand that when the +team stopped by order, White Fang was to be let alone. But when White Fang +stopped without orders, then it was allowed them to spring upon him and destroy +him if they could. After several experiences, White Fang never stopped without +orders. He learned quickly. It was in the nature of things, that he must learn +quickly if he were to survive the unusually severe conditions under which life +was vouchsafed him. +</p> + +<p> +But the dogs could never learn the lesson to leave him alone in camp. Each day, +pursuing him and crying defiance at him, the lesson of the previous night was +erased, and that night would have to be learned over again, to be as +immediately forgotten. Besides, there was a greater consistence in their +dislike of him. They sensed between themselves and him a difference of +kind—cause sufficient in itself for hostility. Like him, they were +domesticated wolves. But they had been domesticated for generations. Much of +the Wild had been lost, so that to them the Wild was the unknown, the terrible, +the ever-menacing and ever warring. But to him, in appearance and action and +impulse, still clung the Wild. He symbolised it, was its personification: so +that when they showed their teeth to him they were defending themselves against +the powers of destruction that lurked in the shadows of the forest and in the +dark beyond the camp-fire. +</p> + +<p> +But there was one lesson the dogs did learn, and that was to keep together. +White Fang was too terrible for any of them to face single-handed. They met him +with the mass-formation, otherwise he would have killed them, one by one, in a +night. As it was, he never had a chance to kill them. He might roll a dog off +its feet, but the pack would be upon him before he could follow up and deliver +the deadly throat-stroke. At the first hint of conflict, the whole team drew +together and faced him. The dogs had quarrels among themselves, but these were +forgotten when trouble was brewing with White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, try as they would, they could not kill White Fang. He was +too quick for them, too formidable, too wise. He avoided tight places and +always backed out of it when they bade fair to surround him. While, as for +getting him off his feet, there was no dog among them capable of doing the +trick. His feet clung to the earth with the same tenacity that he clung to +life. For that matter, life and footing were synonymous in this unending +warfare with the pack, and none knew it better than White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +So he became the enemy of his kind, domesticated wolves that they were, +softened by the fires of man, weakened in the sheltering shadow of man’s +strength. White Fang was bitter and implacable. The clay of him was so moulded. +He declared a vendetta against all dogs. And so terribly did he live this +vendetta that Grey Beaver, fierce savage himself, could not but marvel at White +Fang’s ferocity. Never, he swore, had there been the like of this animal; +and the Indians in strange villages swore likewise when they considered the +tale of his killings amongst their dogs. +</p> + +<p> +When White Fang was nearly five years old, Grey Beaver took him on another +great journey, and long remembered was the havoc he worked amongst the dogs of +the many villages along the Mackenzie, across the Rockies, and down the +Porcupine to the Yukon. He revelled in the vengeance he wreaked upon his kind. +They were ordinary, unsuspecting dogs. They were not prepared for his swiftness +and directness, for his attack without warning. They did not know him for what +he was, a lightning-flash of slaughter. They bristled up to him, stiff-legged +and challenging, while he, wasting no time on elaborate preliminaries, snapping +into action like a steel spring, was at their throats and destroying them +before they knew what was happening and while they were yet in the throes of +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +He became an adept at fighting. He economised. He never wasted his strength, +never tussled. He was in too quickly for that, and, if he missed, was out again +too quickly. The dislike of the wolf for close quarters was his to an unusual +degree. He could not endure a prolonged contact with another body. It smacked +of danger. It made him frantic. He must be away, free, on his own legs, +touching no living thing. It was the Wild still clinging to him, asserting +itself through him. This feeling had been accentuated by the Ishmaelite life he +had led from his puppyhood. Danger lurked in contacts. It was the trap, ever +the trap, the fear of it lurking deep in the life of him, woven into the fibre +of him. +</p> + +<p> +In consequence, the strange dogs he encountered had no chance against him. He +eluded their fangs. He got them, or got away, himself untouched in either +event. In the natural course of things there were exceptions to this. There +were times when several dogs, pitching on to him, punished him before he could +get away; and there were times when a single dog scored deeply on him. But +these were accidents. In the main, so efficient a fighter had he become, he +went his way unscathed. +</p> + +<p> +Another advantage he possessed was that of correctly judging time and distance. +Not that he did this consciously, however. He did not calculate such things. It +was all automatic. His eyes saw correctly, and the nerves carried the vision +correctly to his brain. The parts of him were better adjusted than those of the +average dog. They worked together more smoothly and steadily. His was a better, +far better, nervous, mental, and muscular co-ordination. When his eyes conveyed +to his brain the moving image of an action, his brain without conscious effort, +knew the space that limited that action and the time required for its +completion. Thus, he could avoid the leap of another dog, or the drive of its +fangs, and at the same moment could seize the infinitesimal fraction of time in +which to deliver his own attack. Body and brain, his was a more perfected +mechanism. Not that he was to be praised for it. Nature had been more generous +to him than to the average animal, that was all. +</p> + +<p> +It was in the summer that White Fang arrived at Fort Yukon. Grey Beaver had +crossed the great watershed between Mackenzie and the Yukon in the late winter, +and spent the spring in hunting among the western outlying spurs of the +Rockies. Then, after the break-up of the ice on the Porcupine, he had built a +canoe and paddled down that stream to where it effected its junction with the +Yukon just under the Artic circle. Here stood the old Hudson’s Bay +Company fort; and here were many Indians, much food, and unprecedented +excitement. It was the summer of 1898, and thousands of gold-hunters were going +up the Yukon to Dawson and the Klondike. Still hundreds of miles from their +goal, nevertheless many of them had been on the way for a year, and the least +any of them had travelled to get that far was five thousand miles, while some +had come from the other side of the world. +</p> + +<p> +Here Grey Beaver stopped. A whisper of the gold-rush had reached his ears, and +he had come with several bales of furs, and another of gut-sewn mittens and +moccasins. He would not have ventured so long a trip had he not expected +generous profits. But what he had expected was nothing to what he realised. His +wildest dreams had not exceeded a hundred per cent. profit; he made a thousand +per cent. And like a true Indian, he settled down to trade carefully and +slowly, even if it took all summer and the rest of the winter to dispose of his +goods. +</p> + +<p> +It was at Fort Yukon that White Fang saw his first white men. As compared with +the Indians he had known, they were to him another race of beings, a race of +superior gods. They impressed him as possessing superior power, and it is on +power that godhead rests. White Fang did not reason it out, did not in his mind +make the sharp generalisation that the white gods were more powerful. It was a +feeling, nothing more, and yet none the less potent. As, in his puppyhood, the +looming bulks of the tepees, man-reared, had affected him as manifestations of +power, so was he affected now by the houses and the huge fort all of massive +logs. Here was power. Those white gods were strong. They possessed greater +mastery over matter than the gods he had known, most powerful among which was +Grey Beaver. And yet Grey Beaver was as a child-god among these white-skinned +ones. +</p> + +<p> +To be sure, White Fang only felt these things. He was not conscious of them. +Yet it is upon feeling, more often than thinking, that animals act; and every +act White Fang now performed was based upon the feeling that the white men were +the superior gods. In the first place he was very suspicious of them. There was +no telling what unknown terrors were theirs, what unknown hurts they could +administer. He was curious to observe them, fearful of being noticed by them. +For the first few hours he was content with slinking around and watching them +from a safe distance. Then he saw that no harm befell the dogs that were near +to them, and he came in closer. +</p> + +<p> +In turn he was an object of great curiosity to them. His wolfish appearance +caught their eyes at once, and they pointed him out to one another. This act of +pointing put White Fang on his guard, and when they tried to approach him he +showed his teeth and backed away. Not one succeeded in laying a hand on him, +and it was well that they did not. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang soon learned that very few of these gods—not more than a +dozen—lived at this place. Every two or three days a steamer (another and +colossal manifestation of power) came into the bank and stopped for several +hours. The white men came from off these steamers and went away on them again. +There seemed untold numbers of these white men. In the first day or so, he saw +more of them than he had seen Indians in all his life; and as the days went by +they continued to come up the river, stop, and then go on up the river out of +sight. +</p> + +<p> +But if the white gods were all-powerful, their dogs did not amount to much. +This White Fang quickly discovered by mixing with those that came ashore with +their masters. They were irregular shapes and sizes. Some were +short-legged—too short; others were long-legged—too long. They had +hair instead of fur, and a few had very little hair at that. And none of them +knew how to fight. +</p> + +<p> +As an enemy of his kind, it was in White Fang’s province to fight with +them. This he did, and he quickly achieved for them a mighty contempt. They +were soft and helpless, made much noise, and floundered around clumsily trying +to accomplish by main strength what he accomplished by dexterity and cunning. +They rushed bellowing at him. He sprang to the side. They did not know what had +become of him; and in that moment he struck them on the shoulder, rolling them +off their feet and delivering his stroke at the throat. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes this stroke was successful, and a stricken dog rolled in the dirt, to +be pounced upon and torn to pieces by the pack of Indian dogs that waited. +White Fang was wise. He had long since learned that the gods were made angry +when their dogs were killed. The white men were no exception to this. So he was +content, when he had overthrown and slashed wide the throat of one of their +dogs, to drop back and let the pack go in and do the cruel finishing work. It +was then that the white men rushed in, visiting their wrath heavily on the +pack, while White Fang went free. He would stand off at a little distance and +look on, while stones, clubs, axes, and all sorts of weapons fell upon his +fellows. White Fang was very wise. +</p> + +<p> +But his fellows grew wise in their own way; and in this White Fang grew wise +with them. They learned that it was when a steamer first tied to the bank that +they had their fun. After the first two or three strange dogs had been downed +and destroyed, the white men hustled their own animals back on board and +wrecked savage vengeance on the offenders. One white man, having seen his dog, +a setter, torn to pieces before his eyes, drew a revolver. He fired rapidly, +six times, and six of the pack lay dead or dying—another manifestation of +power that sank deep into White Fang’s consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang enjoyed it all. He did not love his kind, and he was shrewd enough +to escape hurt himself. At first, the killing of the white men’s dogs had +been a diversion. After a time it became his occupation. There was no work for +him to do. Grey Beaver was busy trading and getting wealthy. So White Fang hung +around the landing with the disreputable gang of Indian dogs, waiting for +steamers. With the arrival of a steamer the fun began. After a few minutes, by +the time the white men had got over their surprise, the gang scattered. The fun +was over until the next steamer should arrive. +</p> + +<p> +But it can scarcely be said that White Fang was a member of the gang. He did +not mingle with it, but remained aloof, always himself, and was even feared by +it. It is true, he worked with it. He picked the quarrel with the strange dog +while the gang waited. And when he had overthrown the strange dog the gang went +in to finish it. But it is equally true that he then withdrew, leaving the gang +to receive the punishment of the outraged gods. +</p> + +<p> +It did not require much exertion to pick these quarrels. All he had to do, when +the strange dogs came ashore, was to show himself. When they saw him they +rushed for him. It was their instinct. He was the Wild—the unknown, the +terrible, the ever-menacing, the thing that prowled in the darkness around the +fires of the primeval world when they, cowering close to the fires, were +reshaping their instincts, learning to fear the Wild out of which they had +come, and which they had deserted and betrayed. Generation by generation, down +all the generations, had this fear of the Wild been stamped into their natures. +For centuries the Wild had stood for terror and destruction. And during all +this time free licence had been theirs, from their masters, to kill the things +of the Wild. In doing this they had protected both themselves and the gods +whose companionship they shared. +</p> + +<p> +And so, fresh from the soft southern world, these dogs, trotting down the +gang-plank and out upon the Yukon shore had but to see White Fang to experience +the irresistible impulse to rush upon him and destroy him. They might be +town-reared dogs, but the instinctive fear of the Wild was theirs just the +same. Not alone with their own eyes did they see the wolfish creature in the +clear light of day, standing before them. They saw him with the eyes of their +ancestors, and by their inherited memory they knew White Fang for the wolf, and +they remembered the ancient feud. +</p> + +<p> +All of which served to make White Fang’s days enjoyable. If the sight of +him drove these strange dogs upon him, so much the better for him, so much the +worse for them. They looked upon him as legitimate prey, and as legitimate prey +he looked upon them. +</p> + +<p> +Not for nothing had he first seen the light of day in a lonely lair and fought +his first fights with the ptarmigan, the weasel, and the lynx. And not for +nothing had his puppyhood been made bitter by the persecution of Lip-lip and +the whole puppy pack. It might have been otherwise, and he would then have been +otherwise. Had Lip-lip not existed, he would have passed his puppyhood with the +other puppies and grown up more doglike and with more liking for dogs. Had Grey +Beaver possessed the plummet of affection and love, he might have sounded the +deeps of White Fang’s nature and brought up to the surface all manner of +kindly qualities. But these things had not been so. The clay of White Fang had +been moulded until he became what he was, morose and lonely, unloving and +ferocious, the enemy of all his kind. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap16"></a>CHAPTER II<br> +THE MAD GOD</h3> + +<p> +A small number of white men lived in Fort Yukon. These men had been long in the +country. They called themselves Sour-doughs, and took great pride in so +classifying themselves. For other men, new in the land, they felt nothing but +disdain. The men who came ashore from the steamers were newcomers. They were +known as <i>chechaquos</i>, and they always wilted at the application of the +name. They made their bread with baking-powder. This was the invidious +distinction between them and the Sour-doughs, who, forsooth, made their bread +from sour-dough because they had no baking-powder. +</p> + +<p> +All of which is neither here nor there. The men in the fort disdained the +newcomers and enjoyed seeing them come to grief. Especially did they enjoy the +havoc worked amongst the newcomers’ dogs by White Fang and his +disreputable gang. When a steamer arrived, the men of the fort made it a point +always to come down to the bank and see the fun. They looked forward to it with +as much anticipation as did the Indian dogs, while they were not slow to +appreciate the savage and crafty part played by White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +But there was one man amongst them who particularly enjoyed the sport. He would +come running at the first sound of a steamboat’s whistle; and when the +last fight was over and White Fang and the pack had scattered, he would return +slowly to the fort, his face heavy with regret. Sometimes, when a soft +southland dog went down, shrieking its death-cry under the fangs of the pack, +this man would be unable to contain himself, and would leap into the air and +cry out with delight. And always he had a sharp and covetous eye for White +Fang. +</p> + +<p> +This man was called “Beauty” by the other men of the fort. No one +knew his first name, and in general he was known in the country as Beauty +Smith. But he was anything save a beauty. To antithesis was due his naming. He +was pre-eminently unbeautiful. Nature had been niggardly with him. He was a +small man to begin with; and upon his meagre frame was deposited an even more +strikingly meagre head. Its apex might be likened to a point. In fact, in his +boyhood, before he had been named Beauty by his fellows, he had been called +“Pinhead.” +</p> + +<p> +Backward, from the apex, his head slanted down to his neck and forward it +slanted uncompromisingly to meet a low and remarkably wide forehead. Beginning +here, as though regretting her parsimony, Nature had spread his features with a +lavish hand. His eyes were large, and between them was the distance of two +eyes. His face, in relation to the rest of him, was prodigious. In order to +discover the necessary area, Nature had given him an enormous prognathous jaw. +It was wide and heavy, and protruded outward and down until it seemed to rest +on his chest. Possibly this appearance was due to the weariness of the slender +neck, unable properly to support so great a burden. +</p> + +<p> +This jaw gave the impression of ferocious determination. But something lacked. +Perhaps it was from excess. Perhaps the jaw was too large. At any rate, it was +a lie. Beauty Smith was known far and wide as the weakest of weak-kneed and +snivelling cowards. To complete his description, his teeth were large and +yellow, while the two eye-teeth, larger than their fellows, showed under his +lean lips like fangs. His eyes were yellow and muddy, as though Nature had run +short on pigments and squeezed together the dregs of all her tubes. It was the +same with his hair, sparse and irregular of growth, muddy-yellow and +dirty-yellow, rising on his head and sprouting out of his face in unexpected +tufts and bunches, in appearance like clumped and wind-blown grain. +</p> + +<p> +In short, Beauty Smith was a monstrosity, and the blame of it lay elsewhere. He +was not responsible. The clay of him had been so moulded in the making. He did +the cooking for the other men in the fort, the dish-washing and the drudgery. +They did not despise him. Rather did they tolerate him in a broad human way, as +one tolerates any creature evilly treated in the making. Also, they feared him. +His cowardly rages made them dread a shot in the back or poison in their +coffee. But somebody had to do the cooking, and whatever else his shortcomings, +Beauty Smith could cook. +</p> + +<p> +This was the man that looked at White Fang, delighted in his ferocious prowess, +and desired to possess him. He made overtures to White Fang from the first. +White Fang began by ignoring him. Later on, when the overtures became more +insistent, White Fang bristled and bared his teeth and backed away. He did not +like the man. The feel of him was bad. He sensed the evil in him, and feared +the extended hand and the attempts at soft-spoken speech. Because of all this, +he hated the man. +</p> + +<p> +With the simpler creatures, good and bad are things simply understood. The good +stands for all things that bring easement and satisfaction and surcease from +pain. Therefore, the good is liked. The bad stands for all things that are +fraught with discomfort, menace, and hurt, and is hated accordingly. White +Fang’s feel of Beauty Smith was bad. From the man’s distorted body +and twisted mind, in occult ways, like mists rising from malarial marshes, came +emanations of the unhealth within. Not by reasoning, not by the five senses +alone, but by other and remoter and uncharted senses, came the feeling to White +Fang that the man was ominous with evil, pregnant with hurtfulness, and +therefore a thing bad, and wisely to be hated. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was in Grey Beaver’s camp when Beauty Smith first visited it. +At the faint sound of his distant feet, before he came in sight, White Fang +knew who was coming and began to bristle. He had been lying down in an abandon +of comfort, but he arose quickly, and, as the man arrived, slid away in true +wolf-fashion to the edge of the camp. He did not know what they said, but he +could see the man and Grey Beaver talking together. Once, the man pointed at +him, and White Fang snarled back as though the hand were just descending upon +him instead of being, as it was, fifty feet away. The man laughed at this; and +White Fang slunk away to the sheltering woods, his head turned to observe as he +glided softly over the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Grey Beaver refused to sell the dog. He had grown rich with his trading and +stood in need of nothing. Besides, White Fang was a valuable animal, the +strongest sled-dog he had ever owned, and the best leader. Furthermore, there +was no dog like him on the Mackenzie nor the Yukon. He could fight. He killed +other dogs as easily as men killed mosquitoes. (Beauty Smith’s eyes +lighted up at this, and he licked his thin lips with an eager tongue). No, +White Fang was not for sale at any price. +</p> + +<p> +But Beauty Smith knew the ways of Indians. He visited Grey Beaver’s camp +often, and hidden under his coat was always a black bottle or so. One of the +potencies of whisky is the breeding of thirst. Grey Beaver got the thirst. His +fevered membranes and burnt stomach began to clamour for more and more of the +scorching fluid; while his brain, thrust all awry by the unwonted stimulant, +permitted him to go any length to obtain it. The money he had received for his +furs and mittens and moccasins began to go. It went faster and faster, and the +shorter his money-sack grew, the shorter grew his temper. +</p> + +<p> +In the end his money and goods and temper were all gone. Nothing remained to +him but his thirst, a prodigious possession in itself that grew more prodigious +with every sober breath he drew. Then it was that Beauty Smith had talk with +him again about the sale of White Fang; but this time the price offered was in +bottles, not dollars, and Grey Beaver’s ears were more eager to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“You ketch um dog you take um all right,” was his last word. +</p> + +<p> +The bottles were delivered, but after two days. “You ketch um dog,” +were Beauty Smith’s words to Grey Beaver. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang slunk into camp one evening and dropped down with a sigh of content. +The dreaded white god was not there. For days his manifestations of desire to +lay hands on him had been growing more insistent, and during that time White +Fang had been compelled to avoid the camp. He did not know what evil was +threatened by those insistent hands. He knew only that they did threaten evil +of some sort, and that it was best for him to keep out of their reach. +</p> + +<p> +But scarcely had he lain down when Grey Beaver staggered over to him and tied a +leather thong around his neck. He sat down beside White Fang, holding the end +of the thong in his hand. In the other hand he held a bottle, which, from time +to time, was inverted above his head to the accompaniment of gurgling noises. +</p> + +<p> +An hour of this passed, when the vibrations of feet in contact with the ground +foreran the one who approached. White Fang heard it first, and he was bristling +with recognition while Grey Beaver still nodded stupidly. White Fang tried to +draw the thong softly out of his master’s hand; but the relaxed fingers +closed tightly and Grey Beaver roused himself. +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith strode into camp and stood over White Fang. He snarled softly up +at the thing of fear, watching keenly the deportment of the hands. One hand +extended outward and began to descend upon his head. His soft snarl grew tense +and harsh. The hand continued slowly to descend, while he crouched beneath it, +eyeing it malignantly, his snarl growing shorter and shorter as, with +quickening breath, it approached its culmination. Suddenly he snapped, striking +with his fangs like a snake. The hand was jerked back, and the teeth came +together emptily with a sharp click. Beauty Smith was frightened and angry. +Grey Beaver clouted White Fang alongside the head, so that he cowered down +close to the earth in respectful obedience. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang’s suspicious eyes followed every movement. He saw Beauty Smith +go away and return with a stout club. Then the end of the thong was given over +to him by Grey Beaver. Beauty Smith started to walk away. The thong grew taut. +White Fang resisted it. Grey Beaver clouted him right and left to make him get +up and follow. He obeyed, but with a rush, hurling himself upon the stranger +who was dragging him away. Beauty Smith did not jump away. He had been waiting +for this. He swung the club smartly, stopping the rush midway and smashing +White Fang down upon the ground. Grey Beaver laughed and nodded approval. +Beauty Smith tightened the thong again, and White Fang crawled limply and +dizzily to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +He did not rush a second time. One smash from the club was sufficient to +convince him that the white god knew how to handle it, and he was too wise to +fight the inevitable. So he followed morosely at Beauty Smith’s heels, +his tail between his legs, yet snarling softly under his breath. But Beauty +Smith kept a wary eye on him, and the club was held always ready to strike. +</p> + +<p> +At the fort Beauty Smith left him securely tied and went in to bed. White Fang +waited an hour. Then he applied his teeth to the thong, and in the space of ten +seconds was free. He had wasted no time with his teeth. There had been no +useless gnawing. The thong was cut across, diagonally, almost as clean as +though done by a knife. White Fang looked up at the fort, at the same time +bristling and growling. Then he turned and trotted back to Grey Beaver’s +camp. He owed no allegiance to this strange and terrible god. He had given +himself to Grey Beaver, and to Grey Beaver he considered he still belonged. +</p> + +<p> +But what had occurred before was repeated—with a difference. Grey Beaver +again made him fast with a thong, and in the morning turned him over to Beauty +Smith. And here was where the difference came in. Beauty Smith gave him a +beating. Tied securely, White Fang could only rage futilely and endure the +punishment. Club and whip were both used upon him, and he experienced the worst +beating he had ever received in his life. Even the big beating given him in his +puppyhood by Grey Beaver was mild compared with this. +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith enjoyed the task. He delighted in it. He gloated over his victim, +and his eyes flamed dully, as he swung the whip or club and listened to White +Fang’s cries of pain and to his helpless bellows and snarls. For Beauty +Smith was cruel in the way that cowards are cruel. Cringing and snivelling +himself before the blows or angry speech of a man, he revenged himself, in +turn, upon creatures weaker than he. All life likes power, and Beauty Smith was +no exception. Denied the expression of power amongst his own kind, he fell back +upon the lesser creatures and there vindicated the life that was in him. But +Beauty Smith had not created himself, and no blame was to be attached to him. +He had come into the world with a twisted body and a brute intelligence. This +had constituted the clay of him, and it had not been kindly moulded by the +world. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang knew why he was being beaten. When Grey Beaver tied the thong around +his neck, and passed the end of the thong into Beauty Smith’s keeping, +White Fang knew that it was his god’s will for him to go with Beauty +Smith. And when Beauty Smith left him tied outside the fort, he knew that it +was Beauty Smith’s will that he should remain there. Therefore, he had +disobeyed the will of both the gods, and earned the consequent punishment. He +had seen dogs change owners in the past, and he had seen the runaways beaten as +he was being beaten. He was wise, and yet in the nature of him there were +forces greater than wisdom. One of these was fidelity. He did not love Grey +Beaver, yet, even in the face of his will and his anger, he was faithful to +him. He could not help it. This faithfulness was a quality of the clay that +composed him. It was the quality that was peculiarly the possession of his +kind; the quality that set apart his species from all other species; the +quality that has enabled the wolf and the wild dog to come in from the open and +be the companions of man. +</p> + +<p> +After the beating, White Fang was dragged back to the fort. But this time +Beauty Smith left him tied with a stick. One does not give up a god easily, and +so with White Fang. Grey Beaver was his own particular god, and, in spite of +Grey Beaver’s will, White Fang still clung to him and would not give him +up. Grey Beaver had betrayed and forsaken him, but that had no effect upon him. +Not for nothing had he surrendered himself body and soul to Grey Beaver. There +had been no reservation on White Fang’s part, and the bond was not to be +broken easily. +</p> + +<p> +So, in the night, when the men in the fort were asleep, White Fang applied his +teeth to the stick that held him. The wood was seasoned and dry, and it was +tied so closely to his neck that he could scarcely get his teeth to it. It was +only by the severest muscular exertion and neck-arching that he succeeded in +getting the wood between his teeth, and barely between his teeth at that; and +it was only by the exercise of an immense patience, extending through many +hours, that he succeeded in gnawing through the stick. This was something that +dogs were not supposed to do. It was unprecedented. But White Fang did it, +trotting away from the fort in the early morning, with the end of the stick +hanging to his neck. +</p> + +<p> +He was wise. But had he been merely wise he would not have gone back to Grey +Beaver who had already twice betrayed him. But there was his faithfulness, and +he went back to be betrayed yet a third time. Again he yielded to the tying of +a thong around his neck by Grey Beaver, and again Beauty Smith came to claim +him. And this time he was beaten even more severely than before. +</p> + +<p> +Grey Beaver looked on stolidly while the white man wielded the whip. He gave no +protection. It was no longer his dog. When the beating was over White Fang was +sick. A soft southland dog would have died under it, but not he. His school of +life had been sterner, and he was himself of sterner stuff. He had too great +vitality. His clutch on life was too strong. But he was very sick. At first he +was unable to drag himself along, and Beauty Smith had to wait half-an-hour for +him. And then, blind and reeling, he followed at Beauty Smith’s heels +back to the fort. +</p> + +<p> +But now he was tied with a chain that defied his teeth, and he strove in vain, +by lunging, to draw the staple from the timber into which it was driven. After +a few days, sober and bankrupt, Grey Beaver departed up the Porcupine on his +long journey to the Mackenzie. White Fang remained on the Yukon, the property +of a man more than half mad and all brute. But what is a dog to know in its +consciousness of madness? To White Fang, Beauty Smith was a veritable, if +terrible, god. He was a mad god at best, but White Fang knew nothing of +madness; he knew only that he must submit to the will of this new master, obey +his every whim and fancy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap17"></a>CHAPTER III<br> +THE REIGN OF HATE</h3> + +<p> +Under the tutelage of the mad god, White Fang became a fiend. He was kept +chained in a pen at the rear of the fort, and here Beauty Smith teased and +irritated and drove him wild with petty torments. The man early discovered +White Fang’s susceptibility to laughter, and made it a point after +painfully tricking him, to laugh at him. This laughter was uproarious and +scornful, and at the same time the god pointed his finger derisively at White +Fang. At such times reason fled from White Fang, and in his transports of rage +he was even more mad than Beauty Smith. +</p> + +<p> +Formerly, White Fang had been merely the enemy of his kind, withal a ferocious +enemy. He now became the enemy of all things, and more ferocious than ever. To +such an extent was he tormented, that he hated blindly and without the faintest +spark of reason. He hated the chain that bound him, the men who peered in at +him through the slats of the pen, the dogs that accompanied the men and that +snarled malignantly at him in his helplessness. He hated the very wood of the +pen that confined him. And, first, last, and most of all, he hated Beauty +Smith. +</p> + +<p> +But Beauty Smith had a purpose in all that he did to White Fang. One day a +number of men gathered about the pen. Beauty Smith entered, club in hand, and +took the chain off from White Fang’s neck. When his master had gone out, +White Fang turned loose and tore around the pen, trying to get at the men +outside. He was magnificently terrible. Fully five feet in length, and standing +two and one-half feet at the shoulder, he far outweighed a wolf of +corresponding size. From his mother he had inherited the heavier proportions of +the dog, so that he weighed, without any fat and without an ounce of +superfluous flesh, over ninety pounds. It was all muscle, bone, and +sinew-fighting flesh in the finest condition. +</p> + +<p> +The door of the pen was being opened again. White Fang paused. Something +unusual was happening. He waited. The door was opened wider. Then a huge dog +was thrust inside, and the door was slammed shut behind him. White Fang had +never seen such a dog (it was a mastiff); but the size and fierce aspect of the +intruder did not deter him. Here was some thing, not wood nor iron, upon which +to wreak his hate. He leaped in with a flash of fangs that ripped down the side +of the mastiff’s neck. The mastiff shook his head, growled hoarsely, and +plunged at White Fang. But White Fang was here, there, and everywhere, always +evading and eluding, and always leaping in and slashing with his fangs and +leaping out again in time to escape punishment. +</p> + +<p> +The men outside shouted and applauded, while Beauty Smith, in an ecstasy of +delight, gloated over the ripping and mangling performed by White Fang. There +was no hope for the mastiff from the first. He was too ponderous and slow. In +the end, while Beauty Smith beat White Fang back with a club, the mastiff was +dragged out by its owner. Then there was a payment of bets, and money clinked +in Beauty Smith’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang came to look forward eagerly to the gathering of the men around his +pen. It meant a fight; and this was the only way that was now vouchsafed him of +expressing the life that was in him. Tormented, incited to hate, he was kept a +prisoner so that there was no way of satisfying that hate except at the times +his master saw fit to put another dog against him. Beauty Smith had estimated +his powers well, for he was invariably the victor. One day, three dogs were +turned in upon him in succession. Another day a full-grown wolf, fresh-caught +from the Wild, was shoved in through the door of the pen. And on still another +day two dogs were set against him at the same time. This was his severest +fight, and though in the end he killed them both he was himself half killed in +doing it. +</p> + +<p> +In the fall of the year, when the first snows were falling and mush-ice was +running in the river, Beauty Smith took passage for himself and White Fang on a +steamboat bound up the Yukon to Dawson. White Fang had now achieved a +reputation in the land. As “the Fighting Wolf” he was known far and +wide, and the cage in which he was kept on the steam-boat’s deck was +usually surrounded by curious men. He raged and snarled at them, or lay quietly +and studied them with cold hatred. Why should he not hate them? He never asked +himself the question. He knew only hate and lost himself in the passion of it. +Life had become a hell to him. He had not been made for the close confinement +wild beasts endure at the hands of men. And yet it was in precisely this way +that he was treated. Men stared at him, poked sticks between the bars to make +him snarl, and then laughed at him. +</p> + +<p> +They were his environment, these men, and they were moulding the clay of him +into a more ferocious thing than had been intended by Nature. Nevertheless, +Nature had given him plasticity. Where many another animal would have died or +had its spirit broken, he adjusted himself and lived, and at no expense of the +spirit. Possibly Beauty Smith, arch-fiend and tormentor, was capable of +breaking White Fang’s spirit, but as yet there were no signs of his +succeeding. +</p> + +<p> +If Beauty Smith had in him a devil, White Fang had another; and the two of them +raged against each other unceasingly. In the days before, White Fang had had +the wisdom to cower down and submit to a man with a club in his hand; but this +wisdom now left him. The mere sight of Beauty Smith was sufficient to send him +into transports of fury. And when they came to close quarters, and he had been +beaten back by the club, he went on growling and snarling, and showing his +fangs. The last growl could never be extracted from him. No matter how terribly +he was beaten, he had always another growl; and when Beauty Smith gave up and +withdrew, the defiant growl followed after him, or White Fang sprang at the +bars of the cage bellowing his hatred. +</p> + +<p> +When the steamboat arrived at Dawson, White Fang went ashore. But he still +lived a public life, in a cage, surrounded by curious men. He was exhibited as +“the Fighting Wolf,” and men paid fifty cents in gold dust to see +him. He was given no rest. Did he lie down to sleep, he was stirred up by a +sharp stick—so that the audience might get its money’s worth. In +order to make the exhibition interesting, he was kept in a rage most of the +time. But worse than all this, was the atmosphere in which he lived. He was +regarded as the most fearful of wild beasts, and this was borne in to him +through the bars of the cage. Every word, every cautious action, on the part of +the men, impressed upon him his own terrible ferocity. It was so much added +fuel to the flame of his fierceness. There could be but one result, and that +was that his ferocity fed upon itself and increased. It was another instance of +the plasticity of his clay, of his capacity for being moulded by the pressure +of environment. +</p> + +<p> +In addition to being exhibited he was a professional fighting animal. At +irregular intervals, whenever a fight could be arranged, he was taken out of +his cage and led off into the woods a few miles from town. Usually this +occurred at night, so as to avoid interference from the mounted police of the +Territory. After a few hours of waiting, when daylight had come, the audience +and the dog with which he was to fight arrived. In this manner it came about +that he fought all sizes and breeds of dogs. It was a savage land, the men were +savage, and the fights were usually to the death. +</p> + +<p> +Since White Fang continued to fight, it is obvious that it was the other dogs +that died. He never knew defeat. His early training, when he fought with +Lip-lip and the whole puppy-pack, stood him in good stead. There was the +tenacity with which he clung to the earth. No dog could make him lose his +footing. This was the favourite trick of the wolf breeds—to rush in upon +him, either directly or with an unexpected swerve, in the hope of striking his +shoulder and overthrowing him. Mackenzie hounds, Eskimo and Labrador dogs, +huskies and Malemutes—all tried it on him, and all failed. He was never +known to lose his footing. Men told this to one another, and looked each time +to see it happen; but White Fang always disappointed them. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was his lightning quickness. It gave him a tremendous advantage over +his antagonists. No matter what their fighting experience, they had never +encountered a dog that moved so swiftly as he. Also to be reckoned with, was +the immediateness of his attack. The average dog was accustomed to the +preliminaries of snarling and bristling and growling, and the average dog was +knocked off his feet and finished before he had begun to fight or recovered +from his surprise. So often did this happen, that it became the custom to hold +White Fang until the other dog went through its preliminaries, was good and +ready, and even made the first attack. +</p> + +<p> +But greatest of all the advantages in White Fang’s favour, was his +experience. He knew more about fighting than did any of the dogs that faced +him. He had fought more fights, knew how to meet more tricks and methods, and +had more tricks himself, while his own method was scarcely to be improved upon. +</p> + +<p> +As the time went by, he had fewer and fewer fights. Men despaired of matching +him with an equal, and Beauty Smith was compelled to pit wolves against him. +These were trapped by the Indians for the purpose, and a fight between White +Fang and a wolf was always sure to draw a crowd. Once, a full-grown female lynx +was secured, and this time White Fang fought for his life. Her quickness +matched his; her ferocity equalled his; while he fought with his fangs alone, +and she fought with her sharp-clawed feet as well. +</p> + +<p> +But after the lynx, all fighting ceased for White Fang. There were no more +animals with which to fight—at least, there was none considered worthy of +fighting with him. So he remained on exhibition until spring, when one Tim +Keenan, a faro-dealer, arrived in the land. With him came the first bull-dog +that had ever entered the Klondike. That this dog and White Fang should come +together was inevitable, and for a week the anticipated fight was the +mainspring of conversation in certain quarters of the town. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap18"></a>CHAPTER IV<br> +THE CLINGING DEATH</h3> + +<p> +Beauty Smith slipped the chain from his neck and stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +For once White Fang did not make an immediate attack. He stood still, ears +pricked forward, alert and curious, surveying the strange animal that faced +him. He had never seen such a dog before. Tim Keenan shoved the bull-dog +forward with a muttered “Go to it.” The animal waddled toward the +centre of the circle, short and squat and ungainly. He came to a stop and +blinked across at White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +There were cries from the crowd of, “Go to him, Cherokee! Sick ’m, +Cherokee! Eat ’m up!” +</p> + +<p> +But Cherokee did not seem anxious to fight. He turned his head and blinked at +the men who shouted, at the same time wagging his stump of a tail +good-naturedly. He was not afraid, but merely lazy. Besides, it did not seem to +him that it was intended he should fight with the dog he saw before him. He was +not used to fighting with that kind of dog, and he was waiting for them to +bring on the real dog. +</p> + +<p> +Tim Keenan stepped in and bent over Cherokee, fondling him on both sides of the +shoulders with hands that rubbed against the grain of the hair and that made +slight, pushing-forward movements. These were so many suggestions. Also, their +effect was irritating, for Cherokee began to growl, very softly, deep down in +his throat. There was a correspondence in rhythm between the growls and the +movements of the man’s hands. The growl rose in the throat with the +culmination of each forward-pushing movement, and ebbed down to start up afresh +with the beginning of the next movement. The end of each movement was the +accent of the rhythm, the movement ending abruptly and the growling rising with +a jerk. +</p> + +<p> +This was not without its effect on White Fang. The hair began to rise on his +neck and across the shoulders. Tim Keenan gave a final shove forward and +stepped back again. As the impetus that carried Cherokee forward died down, he +continued to go forward of his own volition, in a swift, bow-legged run. Then +White Fang struck. A cry of startled admiration went up. He had covered the +distance and gone in more like a cat than a dog; and with the same cat-like +swiftness he had slashed with his fangs and leaped clear. +</p> + +<p> +The bull-dog was bleeding back of one ear from a rip in his thick neck. He gave +no sign, did not even snarl, but turned and followed after White Fang. The +display on both sides, the quickness of the one and the steadiness of the +other, had excited the partisan spirit of the crowd, and the men were making +new bets and increasing original bets. Again, and yet again, White Fang sprang +in, slashed, and got away untouched, and still his strange foe followed after +him, without too great haste, not slowly, but deliberately and determinedly, in +a businesslike sort of way. There was purpose in his method—something for +him to do that he was intent upon doing and from which nothing could distract +him. +</p> + +<p> +His whole demeanour, every action, was stamped with this purpose. It puzzled +White Fang. Never had he seen such a dog. It had no hair protection. It was +soft, and bled easily. There was no thick mat of fur to baffle White +Fang’s teeth as they were often baffled by dogs of his own breed. Each +time that his teeth struck they sank easily into the yielding flesh, while the +animal did not seem able to defend itself. Another disconcerting thing was that +it made no outcry, such as he had been accustomed to with the other dogs he had +fought. Beyond a growl or a grunt, the dog took its punishment silently. And +never did it flag in its pursuit of him. +</p> + +<p> +Not that Cherokee was slow. He could turn and whirl swiftly enough, but White +Fang was never there. Cherokee was puzzled, too. He had never fought before +with a dog with which he could not close. The desire to close had always been +mutual. But here was a dog that kept at a distance, dancing and dodging here +and there and all about. And when it did get its teeth into him, it did not +hold on but let go instantly and darted away again. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang could not get at the soft underside of the throat. The bull-dog +stood too short, while its massive jaws were an added protection. White Fang +darted in and out unscathed, while Cherokee’s wounds increased. Both +sides of his neck and head were ripped and slashed. He bled freely, but showed +no signs of being disconcerted. He continued his plodding pursuit, though once, +for the moment baffled, he came to a full stop and blinked at the men who +looked on, at the same time wagging his stump of a tail as an expression of his +willingness to fight. +</p> + +<p> +In that moment White Fang was in upon him and out, in passing ripping his +trimmed remnant of an ear. With a slight manifestation of anger, Cherokee took +up the pursuit again, running on the inside of the circle White Fang was +making, and striving to fasten his deadly grip on White Fang’s throat. +The bull-dog missed by a hair’s-breadth, and cries of praise went up as +White Fang doubled suddenly out of danger in the opposite direction. +</p> + +<p> +The time went by. White Fang still danced on, dodging and doubling, leaping in +and out, and ever inflicting damage. And still the bull-dog, with grim +certitude, toiled after him. Sooner or later he would accomplish his purpose, +get the grip that would win the battle. In the meantime, he accepted all the +punishment the other could deal him. His tufts of ears had become tassels, his +neck and shoulders were slashed in a score of places, and his very lips were +cut and bleeding—all from these lightning snaps that were beyond his +foreseeing and guarding. +</p> + +<p> +Time and again White Fang had attempted to knock Cherokee off his feet; but the +difference in their height was too great. Cherokee was too squat, too close to +the ground. White Fang tried the trick once too often. The chance came in one +of his quick doublings and counter-circlings. He caught Cherokee with head +turned away as he whirled more slowly. His shoulder was exposed. White Fang +drove in upon it: but his own shoulder was high above, while he struck with +such force that his momentum carried him on across over the other’s body. +For the first time in his fighting history, men saw White Fang lose his +footing. His body turned a half-somersault in the air, and he would have landed +on his back had he not twisted, catlike, still in the air, in the effort to +bring his feet to the earth. As it was, he struck heavily on his side. The next +instant he was on his feet, but in that instant Cherokee’s teeth closed +on his throat. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a good grip, being too low down toward the chest; but Cherokee held +on. White Fang sprang to his feet and tore wildly around, trying to shake off +the bull-dog’s body. It made him frantic, this clinging, dragging weight. +It bound his movements, restricted his freedom. It was like the trap, and all +his instinct resented it and revolted against it. It was a mad revolt. For +several minutes he was to all intents insane. The basic life that was in him +took charge of him. The will to exist of his body surged over him. He was +dominated by this mere flesh-love of life. All intelligence was gone. It was as +though he had no brain. His reason was unseated by the blind yearning of the +flesh to exist and move, at all hazards to move, to continue to move, for +movement was the expression of its existence. +</p> + +<p> +Round and round he went, whirling and turning and reversing, trying to shake +off the fifty-pound weight that dragged at his throat. The bull-dog did little +but keep his grip. Sometimes, and rarely, he managed to get his feet to the +earth and for a moment to brace himself against White Fang. But the next moment +his footing would be lost and he would be dragging around in the whirl of one +of White Fang’s mad gyrations. Cherokee identified himself with his +instinct. He knew that he was doing the right thing by holding on, and there +came to him certain blissful thrills of satisfaction. At such moments he even +closed his eyes and allowed his body to be hurled hither and thither, +willy-nilly, careless of any hurt that might thereby come to it. That did not +count. The grip was the thing, and the grip he kept. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang ceased only when he had tired himself out. He could do nothing, and +he could not understand. Never, in all his fighting, had this thing happened. +The dogs he had fought with did not fight that way. With them it was snap and +slash and get away, snap and slash and get away. He lay partly on his side, +panting for breath. Cherokee still holding his grip, urged against him, trying +to get him over entirely on his side. White Fang resisted, and he could feel +the jaws shifting their grip, slightly relaxing and coming together again in a +chewing movement. Each shift brought the grip closer to his throat. The +bull-dog’s method was to hold what he had, and when opportunity favoured +to work in for more. Opportunity favoured when White Fang remained quiet. When +White Fang struggled, Cherokee was content merely to hold on. +</p> + +<p> +The bulging back of Cherokee’s neck was the only portion of his body that +White Fang’s teeth could reach. He got hold toward the base where the +neck comes out from the shoulders; but he did not know the chewing method of +fighting, nor were his jaws adapted to it. He spasmodically ripped and tore +with his fangs for a space. Then a change in their position diverted him. The +bull-dog had managed to roll him over on his back, and still hanging on to his +throat, was on top of him. Like a cat, White Fang bowed his hind-quarters in, +and, with the feet digging into his enemy’s abdomen above him, he began +to claw with long tearing-strokes. Cherokee might well have been disembowelled +had he not quickly pivoted on his grip and got his body off of White +Fang’s and at right angles to it. +</p> + +<p> +There was no escaping that grip. It was like Fate itself, and as inexorable. +Slowly it shifted up along the jugular. All that saved White Fang from death +was the loose skin of his neck and the thick fur that covered it. This served +to form a large roll in Cherokee’s mouth, the fur of which well-nigh +defied his teeth. But bit by bit, whenever the chance offered, he was getting +more of the loose skin and fur in his mouth. The result was that he was slowly +throttling White Fang. The latter’s breath was drawn with greater and +greater difficulty as the moments went by. +</p> + +<p> +It began to look as though the battle were over. The backers of Cherokee waxed +jubilant and offered ridiculous odds. White Fang’s backers were +correspondingly depressed, and refused bets of ten to one and twenty to one, +though one man was rash enough to close a wager of fifty to one. This man was +Beauty Smith. He took a step into the ring and pointed his finger at White +Fang. Then he began to laugh derisively and scornfully. This produced the +desired effect. White Fang went wild with rage. He called up his reserves of +strength, and gained his feet. As he struggled around the ring, the fifty +pounds of his foe ever dragging on his throat, his anger passed on into panic. +The basic life of him dominated him again, and his intelligence fled before the +will of his flesh to live. Round and round and back again, stumbling and +falling and rising, even uprearing at times on his hind-legs and lifting his +foe clear of the earth, he struggled vainly to shake off the clinging death. +</p> + +<p> +At last he fell, toppling backward, exhausted; and the bull-dog promptly +shifted his grip, getting in closer, mangling more and more of the fur-folded +flesh, throttling White Fang more severely than ever. Shouts of applause went +up for the victor, and there were many cries of “Cherokee!” +“Cherokee!” To this Cherokee responded by vigorous wagging of the +stump of his tail. But the clamour of approval did not distract him. There was +no sympathetic relation between his tail and his massive jaws. The one might +wag, but the others held their terrible grip on White Fang’s throat. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this time that a diversion came to the spectators. There was a jingle +of bells. Dog-mushers’ cries were heard. Everybody, save Beauty Smith, +looked apprehensively, the fear of the police strong upon them. But they saw, +up the trail, and not down, two men running with sled and dogs. They were +evidently coming down the creek from some prospecting trip. At sight of the +crowd they stopped their dogs and came over and joined it, curious to see the +cause of the excitement. The dog-musher wore a moustache, but the other, a +taller and younger man, was smooth-shaven, his skin rosy from the pounding of +his blood and the running in the frosty air. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang had practically ceased struggling. Now and again he resisted +spasmodically and to no purpose. He could get little air, and that little grew +less and less under the merciless grip that ever tightened. In spite of his +armour of fur, the great vein of his throat would have long since been torn +open, had not the first grip of the bull-dog been so low down as to be +practically on the chest. It had taken Cherokee a long time to shift that grip +upward, and this had also tended further to clog his jaws with fur and +skin-fold. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the abysmal brute in Beauty Smith had been rising into his +brain and mastering the small bit of sanity that he possessed at best. When he +saw White Fang’s eyes beginning to glaze, he knew beyond doubt that the +fight was lost. Then he broke loose. He sprang upon White Fang and began +savagely to kick him. There were hisses from the crowd and cries of protest, +but that was all. While this went on, and Beauty Smith continued to kick White +Fang, there was a commotion in the crowd. The tall young newcomer was forcing +his way through, shouldering men right and left without ceremony or gentleness. +When he broke through into the ring, Beauty Smith was just in the act of +delivering another kick. All his weight was on one foot, and he was in a state +of unstable equilibrium. At that moment the newcomer’s fist landed a +smashing blow full in his face. Beauty Smith’s remaining leg left the +ground, and his whole body seemed to lift into the air as he turned over +backward and struck the snow. The newcomer turned upon the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“You cowards!” he cried. “You beasts!” +</p> + +<p> +He was in a rage himself—a sane rage. His grey eyes seemed metallic and +steel-like as they flashed upon the crowd. Beauty Smith regained his feet and +came toward him, sniffling and cowardly. The new-comer did not understand. He +did not know how abject a coward the other was, and thought he was coming back +intent on fighting. So, with a “You beast!” he smashed Beauty Smith +over backward with a second blow in the face. Beauty Smith decided that the +snow was the safest place for him, and lay where he had fallen, making no +effort to get up. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Matt, lend a hand,” the newcomer called the dog-musher, +who had followed him into the ring. +</p> + +<p> +Both men bent over the dogs. Matt took hold of White Fang, ready to pull when +Cherokee’s jaws should be loosened. This the younger man endeavoured to +accomplish by clutching the bulldog’s jaws in his hands and trying to +spread them. It was a vain undertaking. As he pulled and tugged and wrenched, +he kept exclaiming with every expulsion of breath, “Beasts!” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd began to grow unruly, and some of the men were protesting against the +spoiling of the sport; but they were silenced when the newcomer lifted his head +from his work for a moment and glared at them. +</p> + +<p> +“You damn beasts!” he finally exploded, and went back to his task. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no use, Mr. Scott, you can’t break ’m apart that +way,” Matt said at last. +</p> + +<p> +The pair paused and surveyed the locked dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t bleedin’ much,” Matt announced. +“Ain’t got all the way in yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s liable to any moment,” Scott answered. +“There, did you see that! He shifted his grip in a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +The younger man’s excitement and apprehension for White Fang was growing. +He struck Cherokee about the head savagely again and again. But that did not +loosen the jaws. Cherokee wagged the stump of his tail in advertisement that he +understood the meaning of the blows, but that he knew he was himself in the +right and only doing his duty by keeping his grip. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t some of you help?” Scott cried desperately at the +crowd. +</p> + +<p> +But no help was offered. Instead, the crowd began sarcastically to cheer him on +and showered him with facetious advice. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to get a pry,” Matt counselled. +</p> + +<p> +The other reached into the holster at his hip, drew his revolver, and tried to +thrust its muzzle between the bull-dog’s jaws. He shoved, and shoved +hard, till the grating of the steel against the locked teeth could be +distinctly heard. Both men were on their knees, bending over the dogs. Tim +Keenan strode into the ring. He paused beside Scott and touched him on the +shoulder, saying ominously: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t break them teeth, stranger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll break his neck,” Scott retorted, continuing his +shoving and wedging with the revolver muzzle. +</p> + +<p> +“I said don’t break them teeth,” the faro-dealer repeated +more ominously than before. +</p> + +<p> +But if it was a bluff he intended, it did not work. Scott never desisted from +his efforts, though he looked up coolly and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Your dog?” +</p> + +<p> +The faro-dealer grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Then get in here and break this grip.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, stranger,” the other drawled irritatingly, “I +don’t mind telling you that’s something I ain’t worked out +for myself. I don’t know how to turn the trick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then get out of the way,” was the reply, “and don’t +bother me. I’m busy.” +</p> + +<p> +Tim Keenan continued standing over him, but Scott took no further notice of his +presence. He had managed to get the muzzle in between the jaws on one side, and +was trying to get it out between the jaws on the other side. This accomplished, +he pried gently and carefully, loosening the jaws a bit at a time, while Matt, +a bit at a time, extricated White Fang’s mangled neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand by to receive your dog,” was Scott’s peremptory order +to Cherokee’s owner. +</p> + +<p> +The faro-dealer stooped down obediently and got a firm hold on Cherokee. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” Scott warned, giving the final pry. +</p> + +<p> +The dogs were drawn apart, the bull-dog struggling vigorously. +</p> + +<p> +“Take him away,” Scott commanded, and Tim Keenan dragged Cherokee +back into the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang made several ineffectual efforts to get up. Once he gained his feet, +but his legs were too weak to sustain him, and he slowly wilted and sank back +into the snow. His eyes were half closed, and the surface of them was glassy. +His jaws were apart, and through them the tongue protruded, draggled and limp. +To all appearances he looked like a dog that had been strangled to death. Matt +examined him. +</p> + +<p> +“Just about all in,” he announced; “but he’s +breathin’ all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith had regained his feet and come over to look at White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“Matt, how much is a good sled-dog worth?” Scott asked. +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher, still on his knees and stooped over White Fang, calculated for +a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Three hundred dollars,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And how much for one that’s all chewed up like this one?” +Scott asked, nudging White Fang with his foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Half of that,” was the dog-musher’s judgment. Scott turned +upon Beauty Smith. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear, Mr. Beast? I’m going to take your dog from you, and +I’m going to give you a hundred and fifty for him.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened his pocket-book and counted out the bills. +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith put his hands behind his back, refusing to touch the proffered +money. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t a-sellin’,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes you are,” the other assured him. “Because I’m +buying. Here’s your money. The dog’s mine.” +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith, his hands still behind him, began to back away. +</p> + +<p> +Scott sprang toward him, drawing his fist back to strike. Beauty Smith cowered +down in anticipation of the blow. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got my rights,” he whimpered. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve forfeited your rights to own that dog,” was the +rejoinder. “Are you going to take the money? or do I have to hit you +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” Beauty Smith spoke up with the alacrity of fear. +“But I take the money under protest,” he added. “The +dog’s a mint. I ain’t a-goin’ to be robbed. A man’s got +his rights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Correct,” Scott answered, passing the money over to him. “A +man’s got his rights. But you’re not a man. You’re a +beast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till I get back to Dawson,” Beauty Smith threatened. +“I’ll have the law on you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you open your mouth when you get back to Dawson, I’ll have you +run out of town. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +Beauty Smith replied with a grunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Understand?” the other thundered with abrupt fierceness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Beauty Smith grunted, shrinking away. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” Beauty Smith snarled. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out! He’ll bite!” some one shouted, and a guffaw of +laughter went up. +</p> + +<p> +Scott turned his back on him, and returned to help the dog-musher, who was +working over White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +Some of the men were already departing; others stood in groups, looking on and +talking. Tim Keenan joined one of the groups. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that mug?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Weedon Scott,” some one answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And who in hell is Weedon Scott?” the faro-dealer demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, one of them crackerjack minin’ experts. He’s in with all +the big bugs. If you want to keep out of trouble, you’ll steer clear of +him, that’s my talk. He’s all hunky with the officials. The Gold +Commissioner’s a special pal of his.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought he must be somebody,” was the faro-dealer’s +comment. “That’s why I kept my hands offen him at the start.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap19"></a>CHAPTER V<br> +THE INDOMITABLE</h3> + +<p> +“It’s hopeless,” Weedon Scott confessed. +</p> + +<p> +He sat on the step of his cabin and stared at the dog-musher, who responded +with a shrug that was equally hopeless. +</p> + +<p> +Together they looked at White Fang at the end of his stretched chain, +bristling, snarling, ferocious, straining to get at the sled-dogs. Having +received sundry lessons from Matt, said lessons being imparted by means of a +club, the sled-dogs had learned to leave White Fang alone; and even then they +were lying down at a distance, apparently oblivious of his existence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a wolf and there’s no taming it,” Weedon Scott +announced. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Matt objected. “Might be +a lot of dog in ’m, for all you can tell. But there’s one thing I +know sure, an’ that there’s no gettin’ away from.” +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher paused and nodded his head confidentially at Moosehide Mountain. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t be a miser with what you know,” Scott said +sharply, after waiting a suitable length of time. “Spit it out. What is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher indicated White Fang with a backward thrust of his thumb. +</p> + +<p> +“Wolf or dog, it’s all the same—he’s ben tamed +’ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you yes, an’ broke to harness. Look close there. D’ye +see them marks across the chest?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right, Matt. He was a sled-dog before Beauty Smith got hold +of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s not much reason against his bein’ a sled-dog +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’ye think?” Scott queried eagerly. Then the hope died +down as he added, shaking his head, “We’ve had him two weeks now, +and if anything he’s wilder than ever at the present moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give ’m a chance,” Matt counselled. “Turn ’m +loose for a spell.” +</p> + +<p> +The other looked at him incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Matt went on, “I know you’ve tried to, but you +didn’t take a club.” +</p> + +<p> +“You try it then.” +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher secured a club and went over to the chained animal. White Fang +watched the club after the manner of a caged lion watching the whip of its +trainer. +</p> + +<p> +“See ’m keep his eye on that club,” Matt said. +“That’s a good sign. He’s no fool. Don’t dast tackle me +so long as I got that club handy. He’s not clean crazy, sure.” +</p> + +<p> +As the man’s hand approached his neck, White Fang bristled and snarled +and crouched down. But while he eyed the approaching hand, he at the same time +contrived to keep track of the club in the other hand, suspended threateningly +above him. Matt unsnapped the chain from the collar and stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang could scarcely realise that he was free. Many months had gone by +since he passed into the possession of Beauty Smith, and in all that period he +had never known a moment of freedom except at the times he had been loosed to +fight with other dogs. Immediately after such fights he had always been +imprisoned again. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know what to make of it. Perhaps some new devilry of the gods was +about to be perpetrated on him. He walked slowly and cautiously, prepared to be +assailed at any moment. He did not know what to do, it was all so +unprecedented. He took the precaution to sheer off from the two watching gods, +and walked carefully to the corner of the cabin. Nothing happened. He was +plainly perplexed, and he came back again, pausing a dozen feet away and +regarding the two men intently. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t he run away?” his new owner asked. +</p> + +<p> +Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Got to take a gamble. Only way to find out +is to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor devil,” Scott murmured pityingly. “What he needs is +some show of human kindness,” he added, turning and going into the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +He came out with a piece of meat, which he tossed to White Fang. He sprang away +from it, and from a distance studied it suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi-yu, Major!” Matt shouted warningly, but too late. +</p> + +<p> +Major had made a spring for the meat. At the instant his jaws closed on it, +White Fang struck him. He was overthrown. Matt rushed in, but quicker than he +was White Fang. Major staggered to his feet, but the blood spouting from his +throat reddened the snow in a widening path. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too bad, but it served him right,” Scott said hastily. +</p> + +<p> +But Matt’s foot had already started on its way to kick White Fang. There +was a leap, a flash of teeth, a sharp exclamation. White Fang, snarling +fiercely, scrambled backward for several yards, while Matt stooped and +investigated his leg. +</p> + +<p> +“He got me all right,” he announced, pointing to the torn trousers +and undercloths, and the growing stain of red. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you it was hopeless, Matt,” Scott said in a discouraged +voice. “I’ve thought about it off and on, while not wanting to +think of it. But we’ve come to it now. It’s the only thing to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +As he talked, with reluctant movements he drew his revolver, threw open the +cylinder, and assured himself of its contents. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Mr. Scott,” Matt objected; “that dog’s ben +through hell. You can’t expect ’m to come out a white an’ +shinin’ angel. Give ’m time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look at Major,” the other rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher surveyed the stricken dog. He had sunk down on the snow in the +circle of his blood and was plainly in the last gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“Served ’m right. You said so yourself, Mr. Scott. He tried to take +White Fang’s meat, an’ he’s dead-O. That was to be expected. +I wouldn’t give two whoops in hell for a dog that wouldn’t fight +for his own meat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But look at yourself, Matt. It’s all right about the dogs, but we +must draw the line somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Served me right,” Matt argued stubbornly. “What’d I +want to kick ’m for? You said yourself that he’d done right. Then I +had no right to kick ’m.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be a mercy to kill him,” Scott insisted. +“He’s untamable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now look here, Mr. Scott, give the poor devil a fightin’ chance. +He ain’t had no chance yet. He’s just come through hell, an’ +this is the first time he’s ben loose. Give ’m a fair chance, +an’ if he don’t deliver the goods, I’ll kill ’m myself. +There!” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows I don’t want to kill him or have him killed,” +Scott answered, putting away the revolver. “We’ll let him run loose +and see what kindness can do for him. And here’s a try at it.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked over to White Fang and began talking to him gently and soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Better have a club handy,” Matt warned. +</p> + +<p> +Scott shook his head and went on trying to win White Fang’s confidence. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was suspicious. Something was impending. He had killed this +god’s dog, bitten his companion god, and what else was to be expected +than some terrible punishment? But in the face of it he was indomitable. He +bristled and showed his teeth, his eyes vigilant, his whole body wary and +prepared for anything. The god had no club, so he suffered him to approach +quite near. The god’s hand had come out and was descending upon his head. +White Fang shrank together and grew tense as he crouched under it. Here was +danger, some treachery or something. He knew the hands of the gods, their +proved mastery, their cunning to hurt. Besides, there was his old antipathy to +being touched. He snarled more menacingly, crouched still lower, and still the +hand descended. He did not want to bite the hand, and he endured the peril of +it until his instinct surged up in him, mastering him with its insatiable +yearning for life. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott had believed that he was quick enough to avoid any snap or slash. +But he had yet to learn the remarkable quickness of White Fang, who struck with +the certainty and swiftness of a coiled snake. +</p> + +<p> +Scott cried out sharply with surprise, catching his torn hand and holding it +tightly in his other hand. Matt uttered a great oath and sprang to his side. +White Fang crouched down, and backed away, bristling, showing his fangs, his +eyes malignant with menace. Now he could expect a beating as fearful as any he +had received from Beauty Smith. +</p> + +<p> +“Here! What are you doing?” Scott cried suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Matt had dashed into the cabin and come out with a rifle. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’,” he said slowly, with a careless calmness that was +assumed, “only goin’ to keep that promise I made. I reckon +it’s up to me to kill ’m as I said I’d do.” +</p> + +<p> +“No you don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes I do. Watch me.” +</p> + +<p> +As Matt had pleaded for White Fang when he had been bitten, it was now Weedon +Scott’s turn to plead. +</p> + +<p> +“You said to give him a chance. Well, give it to him. We’ve only +just started, and we can’t quit at the beginning. It served me right, +this time. And—look at him!” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang, near the corner of the cabin and forty feet away, was snarling with +blood-curdling viciousness, not at Scott, but at the dog-musher. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be everlastingly gosh-swoggled!” was the +dog-musher’s expression of astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at the intelligence of him,” Scott went on hastily. “He +knows the meaning of firearms as well as you do. He’s got intelligence +and we’ve got to give that intelligence a chance. Put up the gun.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, I’m willin’,” Matt agreed, leaning the +rifle against the woodpile. +</p> + +<p> +“But will you look at that!” he exclaimed the next moment. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang had quieted down and ceased snarling. “This is worth +investigatin’. Watch.” +</p> + +<p> +Matt, reached for the rifle, and at the same moment White Fang snarled. He +stepped away from the rifle, and White Fang’s lifted lips descended, +covering his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, just for fun.” +</p> + +<p> +Matt took the rifle and began slowly to raise it to his shoulder. White +Fang’s snarling began with the movement, and increased as the movement +approached its culmination. But the moment before the rifle came to a level on +him, he leaped sidewise behind the corner of the cabin. Matt stood staring +along the sights at the empty space of snow which had been occupied by White +Fang. +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher put the rifle down solemnly, then turned and looked at his +employer. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you, Mr. Scott. That dog’s too intelligent to +kill.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap20"></a>CHAPTER VI<br> +THE LOVE-MASTER</h3> + +<p> +As White Fang watched Weedon Scott approach, he bristled and snarled to +advertise that he would not submit to punishment. Twenty-four hours had passed +since he had slashed open the hand that was now bandaged and held up by a sling +to keep the blood out of it. In the past White Fang had experienced delayed +punishments, and he apprehended that such a one was about to befall him. How +could it be otherwise? He had committed what was to him sacrilege, sunk his +fangs into the holy flesh of a god, and of a white-skinned superior god at +that. In the nature of things, and of intercourse with gods, something terrible +awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +The god sat down several feet away. White Fang could see nothing dangerous in +that. When the gods administered punishment they stood on their legs. Besides, +this god had no club, no whip, no firearm. And furthermore, he himself was +free. No chain nor stick bound him. He could escape into safety while the god +was scrambling to his feet. In the meantime he would wait and see. +</p> + +<p> +The god remained quiet, made no movement; and White Fang’s snarl slowly +dwindled to a growl that ebbed down in his throat and ceased. Then the god +spoke, and at the first sound of his voice, the hair rose on White Fang’s +neck and the growl rushed up in his throat. But the god made no hostile +movement, and went on calmly talking. For a time White Fang growled in unison +with him, a correspondence of rhythm being established between growl and voice. +But the god talked on interminably. He talked to White Fang as White Fang had +never been talked to before. He talked softly and soothingly, with a gentleness +that somehow, somewhere, touched White Fang. In spite of himself and all the +pricking warnings of his instinct, White Fang began to have confidence in this +god. He had a feeling of security that was belied by all his experience with +men. +</p> + +<p> +After a long time, the god got up and went into the cabin. White Fang scanned +him apprehensively when he came out. He had neither whip nor club nor weapon. +Nor was his uninjured hand behind his back hiding something. He sat down as +before, in the same spot, several feet away. He held out a small piece of meat. +White Fang pricked his ears and investigated it suspiciously, managing to look +at the same time both at the meat and the god, alert for any overt act, his +body tense and ready to spring away at the first sign of hostility. +</p> + +<p> +Still the punishment delayed. The god merely held near to his nose a piece of +meat. And about the meat there seemed nothing wrong. Still White Fang +suspected; and though the meat was proffered to him with short inviting thrusts +of the hand, he refused to touch it. The gods were all-wise, and there was no +telling what masterful treachery lurked behind that apparently harmless piece +of meat. In past experience, especially in dealing with squaws, meat and +punishment had often been disastrously related. +</p> + +<p> +In the end, the god tossed the meat on the snow at White Fang’s feet. He +smelled the meat carefully; but he did not look at it. While he smelled it he +kept his eyes on the god. Nothing happened. He took the meat into his mouth and +swallowed it. Still nothing happened. The god was actually offering him another +piece of meat. Again he refused to take it from the hand, and again it was +tossed to him. This was repeated a number of times. But there came a time when +the god refused to toss it. He kept it in his hand and steadfastly proffered +it. +</p> + +<p> +The meat was good meat, and White Fang was hungry. Bit by bit, infinitely +cautious, he approached the hand. At last the time came that he decided to eat +the meat from the hand. He never took his eyes from the god, thrusting his head +forward with ears flattened back and hair involuntarily rising and cresting on +his neck. Also a low growl rumbled in his throat as warning that he was not to +be trifled with. He ate the meat, and nothing happened. Piece by piece, he ate +all the meat, and nothing happened. Still the punishment delayed. +</p> + +<p> +He licked his chops and waited. The god went on talking. In his voice was +kindness—something of which White Fang had no experience whatever. And +within him it aroused feelings which he had likewise never experienced before. +He was aware of a certain strange satisfaction, as though some need were being +gratified, as though some void in his being were being filled. Then again came +the prod of his instinct and the warning of past experience. The gods were ever +crafty, and they had unguessed ways of attaining their ends. +</p> + +<p> +Ah, he had thought so! There it came now, the god’s hand, cunning to +hurt, thrusting out at him, descending upon his head. But the god went on +talking. His voice was soft and soothing. In spite of the menacing hand, the +voice inspired confidence. And in spite of the assuring voice, the hand +inspired distrust. White Fang was torn by conflicting feelings, impulses. It +seemed he would fly to pieces, so terrible was the control he was exerting, +holding together by an unwonted indecision the counter-forces that struggled +within him for mastery. +</p> + +<p> +He compromised. He snarled and bristled and flattened his ears. But he neither +snapped nor sprang away. The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It +touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed +down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering, +he still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that +touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the +evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men. But it was the will of the +god, and he strove to submit. +</p> + +<p> +The hand lifted and descended again in a patting, caressing movement. This +continued, but every time the hand lifted, the hair lifted under it. And every +time the hand descended, the ears flattened down and a cavernous growl surged +in his throat. White Fang growled and growled with insistent warning. By this +means he announced that he was prepared to retaliate for any hurt he might +receive. There was no telling when the god’s ulterior motive might be +disclosed. At any moment that soft, confidence-inspiring voice might break +forth in a roar of wrath, that gentle and caressing hand transform itself into +a vice-like grip to hold him helpless and administer punishment. +</p> + +<p> +But the god talked on softly, and ever the hand rose and fell with non-hostile +pats. White Fang experienced dual feelings. It was distasteful to his instinct. +It restrained him, opposed the will of him toward personal liberty. And yet it +was not physically painful. On the contrary, it was even pleasant, in a +physical way. The patting movement slowly and carefully changed to a rubbing of +the ears about their bases, and the physical pleasure even increased a little. +Yet he continued to fear, and he stood on guard, expectant of unguessed evil, +alternately suffering and enjoying as one feeling or the other came uppermost +and swayed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be gosh-swoggled!” +</p> + +<p> +So spoke Matt, coming out of the cabin, his sleeves rolled up, a pan of dirty +dish-water in his hands, arrested in the act of emptying the pan by the sight +of Weedon Scott patting White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +At the instant his voice broke the silence, White Fang leaped back, snarling +savagely at him. +</p> + +<p> +Matt regarded his employer with grieved disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t mind my expressin’ my feelin’s, Mr. +Scott, I’ll make free to say you’re seventeen kinds of a damn fool +an’ all of ’em different, an’ then some.” +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott smiled with a superior air, gained his feet, and walked over to +White Fang. He talked soothingly to him, but not for long, then slowly put out +his hand, rested it on White Fang’s head, and resumed the interrupted +patting. White Fang endured it, keeping his eyes fixed suspiciously, not upon +the man that patted him, but upon the man that stood in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“You may be a number one, tip-top minin’ expert, all right all +right,” the dog-musher delivered himself oracularly, “but you +missed the chance of your life when you was a boy an’ didn’t run +off an’ join a circus.” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang snarled at the sound of his voice, but this time did not leap away +from under the hand that was caressing his head and the back of his neck with +long, soothing strokes. +</p> + +<p> +It was the beginning of the end for White Fang—the ending of the old life +and the reign of hate. A new and incomprehensibly fairer life was dawning. It +required much thinking and endless patience on the part of Weedon Scott to +accomplish this. And on the part of White Fang it required nothing less than a +revolution. He had to ignore the urges and promptings of instinct and reason, +defy experience, give the lie to life itself. +</p> + +<p> +Life, as he had known it, not only had had no place in it for much that he now +did; but all the currents had gone counter to those to which he now abandoned +himself. In short, when all things were considered, he had to achieve an +orientation far vaster than the one he had achieved at the time he came +voluntarily in from the Wild and accepted Grey Beaver as his lord. At that time +he was a mere puppy, soft from the making, without form, ready for the thumb of +circumstance to begin its work upon him. But now it was different. The thumb of +circumstance had done its work only too well. By it he had been formed and +hardened into the Fighting Wolf, fierce and implacable, unloving and unlovable. +To accomplish the change was like a reflux of being, and this when the +plasticity of youth was no longer his; when the fibre of him had become tough +and knotty; when the warp and the woof of him had made of him an adamantine +texture, harsh and unyielding; when the face of his spirit had become iron and +all his instincts and axioms had crystallised into set rules, cautions, +dislikes, and desires. +</p> + +<p> +Yet again, in this new orientation, it was the thumb of circumstance that +pressed and prodded him, softening that which had become hard and remoulding it +into fairer form. Weedon Scott was in truth this thumb. He had gone to the +roots of White Fang’s nature, and with kindness touched to life potencies +that had languished and well-nigh perished. One such potency was <i>love</i>. +It took the place of <i>like</i>, which latter had been the highest feeling +that thrilled him in his intercourse with the gods. +</p> + +<p> +But this love did not come in a day. It began with <i>like</i> and out of it +slowly developed. White Fang did not run away, though he was allowed to remain +loose, because he liked this new god. This was certainly better than the life +he had lived in the cage of Beauty Smith, and it was necessary that he should +have some god. The lordship of man was a need of his nature. The seal of his +dependence on man had been set upon him in that early day when he turned his +back on the Wild and crawled to Grey Beaver’s feet to receive the +expected beating. This seal had been stamped upon him again, and ineradicably, +on his second return from the Wild, when the long famine was over and there was +fish once more in the village of Grey Beaver. +</p> + +<p> +And so, because he needed a god and because he preferred Weedon Scott to Beauty +Smith, White Fang remained. In acknowledgment of fealty, he proceeded to take +upon himself the guardianship of his master’s property. He prowled about +the cabin while the sled-dogs slept, and the first night-visitor to the cabin +fought him off with a club until Weedon Scott came to the rescue. But White +Fang soon learned to differentiate between thieves and honest men, to appraise +the true value of step and carriage. The man who travelled, loud-stepping, the +direct line to the cabin door, he let alone—though he watched him +vigilantly until the door opened and he received the endorsement of the master. +But the man who went softly, by circuitous ways, peering with caution, seeking +after secrecy—that was the man who received no suspension of judgment +from White Fang, and who went away abruptly, hurriedly, and without dignity. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott had set himself the task of redeeming White Fang—or rather, +of redeeming mankind from the wrong it had done White Fang. It was a matter of +principle and conscience. He felt that the ill done White Fang was a debt +incurred by man and that it must be paid. So he went out of his way to be +especially kind to the Fighting Wolf. Each day he made it a point to caress and +pet White Fang, and to do it at length. +</p> + +<p> +At first suspicious and hostile, White Fang grew to like this petting. But +there was one thing that he never outgrew—his growling. Growl he would, +from the moment the petting began till it ended. But it was a growl with a new +note in it. A stranger could not hear this note, and to such a stranger the +growling of White Fang was an exhibition of primordial savagery, nerve-racking +and blood-curdling. But White Fang’s throat had become harsh-fibred from +the making of ferocious sounds through the many years since his first little +rasp of anger in the lair of his cubhood, and he could not soften the sounds of +that throat now to express the gentleness he felt. Nevertheless, Weedon +Scott’s ear and sympathy were fine enough to catch the new note all but +drowned in the fierceness—the note that was the faintest hint of a croon +of content and that none but he could hear. +</p> + +<p> +As the days went by, the evolution of <i>like</i> into <i>love</i> was +accelerated. White Fang himself began to grow aware of it, though in his +consciousness he knew not what love was. It manifested itself to him as a void +in his being—a hungry, aching, yearning void that clamoured to be filled. +It was a pain and an unrest; and it received easement only by the touch of the +new god’s presence. At such times love was joy to him, a wild, +keen-thrilling satisfaction. But when away from his god, the pain and the +unrest returned; the void in him sprang up and pressed against him with its +emptiness, and the hunger gnawed and gnawed unceasingly. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was in the process of finding himself. In spite of the maturity of +his years and of the savage rigidity of the mould that had formed him, his +nature was undergoing an expansion. There was a burgeoning within him of +strange feelings and unwonted impulses. His old code of conduct was changing. +In the past he had liked comfort and surcease from pain, disliked discomfort +and pain, and he had adjusted his actions accordingly. But now it was +different. Because of this new feeling within him, he ofttimes elected +discomfort and pain for the sake of his god. Thus, in the early morning, +instead of roaming and foraging, or lying in a sheltered nook, he would wait +for hours on the cheerless cabin-stoop for a sight of the god’s face. At +night, when the god returned home, White Fang would leave the warm +sleeping-place he had burrowed in the snow in order to receive the friendly +snap of fingers and the word of greeting. Meat, even meat itself, he would +forego to be with his god, to receive a caress from him or to accompany him +down into the town. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Like</i> had been replaced by <i>love</i>. And love was the plummet dropped +down into the deeps of him where like had never gone. And responsive out of his +deeps had come the new thing—love. That which was given unto him did he +return. This was a god indeed, a love-god, a warm and radiant god, in whose +light White Fang’s nature expanded as a flower expands under the sun. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang was not demonstrative. He was too old, too firmly moulded, to +become adept at expressing himself in new ways. He was too self-possessed, too +strongly poised in his own isolation. Too long had he cultivated reticence, +aloofness, and moroseness. He had never barked in his life, and he could not +now learn to bark a welcome when his god approached. He was never in the way, +never extravagant nor foolish in the expression of his love. He never ran to +meet his god. He waited at a distance; but he always waited, was always there. +His love partook of the nature of worship, dumb, inarticulate, a silent +adoration. Only by the steady regard of his eyes did he express his love, and +by the unceasing following with his eyes of his god’s every movement. +Also, at times, when his god looked at him and spoke to him, he betrayed an +awkward self-consciousness, caused by the struggle of his love to express +itself and his physical inability to express it. +</p> + +<p> +He learned to adjust himself in many ways to his new mode of life. It was borne +in upon him that he must let his master’s dogs alone. Yet his dominant +nature asserted itself, and he had first to thrash them into an acknowledgment +of his superiority and leadership. This accomplished, he had little trouble +with them. They gave trail to him when he came and went or walked among them, +and when he asserted his will they obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +In the same way, he came to tolerate Matt—as a possession of his master. +His master rarely fed him. Matt did that, it was his business; yet White Fang +divined that it was his master’s food he ate and that it was his master +who thus fed him vicariously. Matt it was who tried to put him into the harness +and make him haul sled with the other dogs. But Matt failed. It was not until +Weedon Scott put the harness on White Fang and worked him, that he understood. +He took it as his master’s will that Matt should drive him and work him +just as he drove and worked his master’s other dogs. +</p> + +<p> +Different from the Mackenzie toboggans were the Klondike sleds with runners +under them. And different was the method of driving the dogs. There was no +fan-formation of the team. The dogs worked in single file, one behind another, +hauling on double traces. And here, in the Klondike, the leader was indeed the +leader. The wisest as well as strongest dog was the leader, and the team obeyed +him and feared him. That White Fang should quickly gain this post was +inevitable. He could not be satisfied with less, as Matt learned after much +inconvenience and trouble. White Fang picked out the post for himself, and Matt +backed his judgment with strong language after the experiment had been tried. +But, though he worked in the sled in the day, White Fang did not forego the +guarding of his master’s property in the night. Thus he was on duty all +the time, ever vigilant and faithful, the most valuable of all the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“Makin’ free to spit out what’s in me,” Matt said one +day, “I beg to state that you was a wise guy all right when you paid the +price you did for that dog. You clean swindled Beauty Smith on top of +pushin’ his face in with your fist.” +</p> + +<p> +A recrudescence of anger glinted in Weedon Scott’s grey eyes, and he +muttered savagely, “The beast!” +</p> + +<p> +In the late spring a great trouble came to White Fang. Without warning, the +love-master disappeared. There had been warning, but White Fang was unversed in +such things and did not understand the packing of a grip. He remembered +afterwards that his packing had preceded the master’s disappearance; but +at the time he suspected nothing. That night he waited for the master to +return. At midnight the chill wind that blew drove him to shelter at the rear +of the cabin. There he drowsed, only half asleep, his ears keyed for the first +sound of the familiar step. But, at two in the morning, his anxiety drove him +out to the cold front stoop, where he crouched, and waited. +</p> + +<p> +But no master came. In the morning the door opened and Matt stepped outside. +White Fang gazed at him wistfully. There was no common speech by which he might +learn what he wanted to know. The days came and went, but never the master. +White Fang, who had never known sickness in his life, became sick. He became +very sick, so sick that Matt was finally compelled to bring him inside the +cabin. Also, in writing to his employer, Matt devoted a postscript to White +Fang. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott reading the letter down in Circle City, came upon the following: +</p> + +<p> +“That dam wolf won’t work. Won’t eat. Aint got no spunk left. +All the dogs is licking him. Wants to know what has become of you, and I +don’t know how to tell him. Mebbe he is going to die.” +</p> + +<p> +It was as Matt had said. White Fang had ceased eating, lost heart, and allowed +every dog of the team to thrash him. In the cabin he lay on the floor near the +stove, without interest in food, in Matt, nor in life. Matt might talk gently +to him or swear at him, it was all the same; he never did more than turn his +dull eyes upon the man, then drop his head back to its customary position on +his fore-paws. +</p> + +<p> +And then, one night, Matt, reading to himself with moving lips and mumbled +sounds, was startled by a low whine from White Fang. He had got upon his feet, +his ears cocked towards the door, and he was listening intently. A moment +later, Matt heard a footstep. The door opened, and Weedon Scott stepped in. The +two men shook hands. Then Scott looked around the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the wolf?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Then he discovered him, standing where he had been lying, near to the stove. He +had not rushed forward after the manner of other dogs. He stood, watching and +waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Holy smoke!” Matt exclaimed. “Look at ’m wag his +tail!” +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott strode half across the room toward him, at the same time calling +him. White Fang came to him, not with a great bound, yet quickly. He was +awakened from self-consciousness, but as he drew near, his eyes took on a +strange expression. Something, an incommunicable vastness of feeling, rose up +into his eyes as a light and shone forth. +</p> + +<p> +“He never looked at me that way all the time you was gone!” Matt +commented. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott did not hear. He was squatting down on his heels, face to face +with White Fang and petting him—rubbing at the roots of the ears, making +long caressing strokes down the neck to the shoulders, tapping the spine gently +with the balls of his fingers. And White Fang was growling responsively, the +crooning note of the growl more pronounced than ever. +</p> + +<p> +But that was not all. What of his joy, the great love in him, ever surging and +struggling to express itself, succeeded in finding a new mode of expression. He +suddenly thrust his head forward and nudged his way in between the +master’s arm and body. And here, confined, hidden from view all except +his ears, no longer growling, he continued to nudge and snuggle. +</p> + +<p> +The two men looked at each other. Scott’s eyes were shining. +</p> + +<p> +“Gosh!” said Matt in an awe-stricken voice. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later, when he had recovered himself, he said, “I always +insisted that wolf was a dog. Look at ’m!” +</p> + +<p> +With the return of the love-master, White Fang’s recovery was rapid. Two +nights and a day he spent in the cabin. Then he sallied forth. The sled-dogs +had forgotten his prowess. They remembered only the latest, which was his +weakness and sickness. At the sight of him as he came out of the cabin, they +sprang upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk about your rough-houses,” Matt murmured gleefully, standing +in the doorway and looking on. +</p> + +<p> +“Give ’m hell, you wolf! Give ’m hell!—an’ then +some!” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang did not need the encouragement. The return of the love-master was +enough. Life was flowing through him again, splendid and indomitable. He fought +from sheer joy, finding in it an expression of much that he felt and that +otherwise was without speech. There could be but one ending. The team dispersed +in ignominious defeat, and it was not until after dark that the dogs came +sneaking back, one by one, by meekness and humility signifying their fealty to +White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +Having learned to snuggle, White Fang was guilty of it often. It was the final +word. He could not go beyond it. The one thing of which he had always been +particularly jealous was his head. He had always disliked to have it touched. +It was the Wild in him, the fear of hurt and of the trap, that had given rise +to the panicky impulses to avoid contacts. It was the mandate of his instinct +that that head must be free. And now, with the love-master, his snuggling was +the deliberate act of putting himself into a position of hopeless helplessness. +It was an expression of perfect confidence, of absolute self-surrender, as +though he said: “I put myself into thy hands. Work thou thy will with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +One night, not long after the return, Scott and Matt sat at a game of cribbage +preliminary to going to bed. “Fifteen-two, fifteen-four an’ a pair +makes six,” Mat was pegging up, when there was an outcry and sound of +snarling without. They looked at each other as they started to rise to their +feet. +</p> + +<p> +“The wolf’s nailed somebody,” Matt said. +</p> + +<p> +A wild scream of fear and anguish hastened them. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring a light!” Scott shouted, as he sprang outside. +</p> + +<p> +Matt followed with the lamp, and by its light they saw a man lying on his back +in the snow. His arms were folded, one above the other, across his face and +throat. Thus he was trying to shield himself from White Fang’s teeth. And +there was need for it. White Fang was in a rage, wickedly making his attack on +the most vulnerable spot. From shoulder to wrist of the crossed arms, the +coat-sleeve, blue flannel shirt and undershirt were ripped in rags, while the +arms themselves were terribly slashed and streaming blood. +</p> + +<p> +All this the two men saw in the first instant. The next instant Weedon Scott +had White Fang by the throat and was dragging him clear. White Fang struggled +and snarled, but made no attempt to bite, while he quickly quieted down at a +sharp word from the master. +</p> + +<p> +Matt helped the man to his feet. As he arose he lowered his crossed arms, +exposing the bestial face of Beauty Smith. The dog-musher let go of him +precipitately, with action similar to that of a man who has picked up live +fire. Beauty Smith blinked in the lamplight and looked about him. He caught +sight of White Fang and terror rushed into his face. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment Matt noticed two objects lying in the snow. He held the lamp +close to them, indicating them with his toe for his employer’s +benefit—a steel dog-chain and a stout club. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott saw and nodded. Not a word was spoken. The dog-musher laid his +hand on Beauty Smith’s shoulder and faced him to the right about. No word +needed to be spoken. Beauty Smith started. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime the love-master was patting White Fang and talking to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tried to steal you, eh? And you wouldn’t have it! Well, well, he +made a mistake, didn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Must ‘a’ thought he had hold of seventeen devils,” the +dog-musher sniggered. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang, still wrought up and bristling, growled and growled, the hair +slowly lying down, the crooning note remote and dim, but growing in his throat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="part05"></a>PART V</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap21"></a>CHAPTER I<br> +THE LONG TRAIL</h3> + +<p> +It was in the air. White Fang sensed the coming calamity, even before there was +tangible evidence of it. In vague ways it was borne in upon him that a change +was impending. He knew not how nor why, yet he got his feel of the oncoming +event from the gods themselves. In ways subtler than they knew, they betrayed +their intentions to the wolf-dog that haunted the cabin-stoop, and that, though +he never came inside the cabin, knew what went on inside their brains. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to that, will you!” the dog-musher exclaimed at supper one +night. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott listened. Through the door came a low, anxious whine, like a +sobbing under the breath that had just grown audible. Then came the long sniff, +as White Fang reassured himself that his god was still inside and had not yet +taken himself off in mysterious and solitary flight. +</p> + +<p> +“I do believe that wolf’s on to you,” the dog-musher said. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott looked across at his companion with eyes that almost pleaded, +though this was given the lie by his words. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil can I do with a wolf in California?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I say,” Matt answered. “What the devil can +you do with a wolf in California?” +</p> + +<p> +But this did not satisfy Weedon Scott. The other seemed to be judging him in a +non-committal sort of way. +</p> + +<p> +“White man’s dogs would have no show against him,” Scott went +on. “He’d kill them on sight. If he didn’t bankrupt me with +damaged suits, the authorities would take him away from me and electrocute +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a downright murderer, I know,” was the +dog-musher’s comment. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott looked at him suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“It would never do,” he said decisively. +</p> + +<p> +“It would never do!” Matt concurred. “Why you’d have to +hire a man ’specially to take care of ’m.” +</p> + +<p> +The other’s suspicion was allayed. He nodded cheerfully. In the silence that +followed, the low, half-sobbing whine was heard at the door and then the long, +questing sniff. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no denyin’ he thinks a hell of a lot of you,” +Matt said. +</p> + +<p> +The other glared at him in sudden wrath. “Damn it all, man! I know my own +mind and what’s best!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m agreein’ with you, only . . . ” +</p> + +<p> +“Only what?” Scott snapped out. +</p> + +<p> +“Only . . . ” the dog-musher began softly, then changed his mind +and betrayed a rising anger of his own. “Well, you needn’t get so +all-fired het up about it. Judgin’ by your actions one’d think you +didn’t know your own mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott debated with himself for a while, and then said more gently: +“You are right, Matt. I don’t know my own mind, and that’s +what’s the trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it would be rank ridiculousness for me to take that dog +along,” he broke out after another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m agreein’ with you,” was Matt’s answer, and +again his employer was not quite satisfied with him. +</p> + +<p> +“But how in the name of the great Sardanapolis he knows you’re +goin’ is what gets me,” the dog-musher continued innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s beyond me, Matt,” Scott answered, with a mournful shake +of the head. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the day when, through the open cabin door, White Fang saw the fatal +grip on the floor and the love-master packing things into it. Also, there were +comings and goings, and the erstwhile placid atmosphere of the cabin was vexed +with strange perturbations and unrest. Here was indubitable evidence. White +Fang had already scented it. He now reasoned it. His god was preparing for +another flight. And since he had not taken him with him before, so, now, he +could look to be left behind. +</p> + +<p> +That night he lifted the long wolf-howl. As he had howled, in his puppy days, +when he fled back from the Wild to the village to find it vanished and naught +but a rubbish-heap to mark the site of Grey Beaver’s tepee, so now he +pointed his muzzle to the cold stars and told to them his woe. +</p> + +<p> +Inside the cabin the two men had just gone to bed. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone off his food again,” Matt remarked from his bunk. +</p> + +<p> +There was a grunt from Weedon Scott’s bunk, and a stir of blankets. +</p> + +<p> +“From the way he cut up the other time you went away, I wouldn’t +wonder this time but what he died.” +</p> + +<p> +The blankets in the other bunk stirred irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up!” Scott cried out through the darkness. “You nag +worse than a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m agreein’ with you,” the dog-musher answered, and +Weedon Scott was not quite sure whether or not the other had snickered. +</p> + +<p> +The next day White Fang’s anxiety and restlessness were even more +pronounced. He dogged his master’s heels whenever he left the cabin, and +haunted the front stoop when he remained inside. Through the open door he could +catch glimpses of the luggage on the floor. The grip had been joined by two +large canvas bags and a box. Matt was rolling the master’s blankets and +fur robe inside a small tarpaulin. White Fang whined as he watched the +operation. +</p> + +<p> +Later on two Indians arrived. He watched them closely as they shouldered the +luggage and were led off down the hill by Matt, who carried the bedding and the +grip. But White Fang did not follow them. The master was still in the cabin. +After a time, Matt returned. The master came to the door and called White Fang +inside. +</p> + +<p> +“You poor devil,” he said gently, rubbing White Fang’s ears +and tapping his spine. “I’m hitting the long trail, old man, where +you cannot follow. Now give me a growl—the last, good, good-bye +growl.” +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang refused to growl. Instead, and after a wistful, searching look, +he snuggled in, burrowing his head out of sight between the master’s arm +and body. +</p> + +<p> +“There she blows!” Matt cried. From the Yukon arose the hoarse +bellowing of a river steamboat. “You’ve got to cut it short. Be +sure and lock the front door. I’ll go out the back. Get a move on!” +</p> + +<p> +The two doors slammed at the same moment, and Weedon Scott waited for Matt to +come around to the front. From inside the door came a low whining and sobbing. +Then there were long, deep-drawn sniffs. +</p> + +<p> +“You must take good care of him, Matt,” Scott said, as they started +down the hill. “Write and let me know how he gets along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure,” the dog-musher answered. “But listen to that, will +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Both men stopped. White Fang was howling as dogs howl when their masters lie +dead. He was voicing an utter woe, his cry bursting upward in great +heart-breaking rushes, dying down into quavering misery, and bursting upward +again with a rush upon rush of grief. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Aurora</i> was the first steamboat of the year for the Outside, and her +decks were jammed with prosperous adventurers and broken gold seekers, all +equally as mad to get to the Outside as they had been originally to get to the +Inside. Near the gang-plank, Scott was shaking hands with Matt, who was +preparing to go ashore. But Matt’s hand went limp in the other’s +grasp as his gaze shot past and remained fixed on something behind him. Scott +turned to see. Sitting on the deck several feet away and watching wistfully was +White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +The dog-musher swore softly, in awe-stricken accents. Scott could only look in +wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you lock the front door?” Matt demanded. The other nodded, and +asked, “How about the back?” +</p> + +<p> +“You just bet I did,” was the fervent reply. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang flattened his ears ingratiatingly, but remained where he was, making +no attempt to approach. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to take ’m ashore with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Matt made a couple of steps toward White Fang, but the latter slid away from +him. The dog-musher made a rush of it, and White Fang dodged between the legs +of a group of men. Ducking, turning, doubling, he slid about the deck, eluding +the other’s efforts to capture him. +</p> + +<p> +But when the love-master spoke, White Fang came to him with prompt obedience. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t come to the hand that’s fed ’m all these +months,” the dog-musher muttered resentfully. “And you—you +ain’t never fed ’m after them first days of gettin’ +acquainted. I’m blamed if I can see how he works it out that you’re +the boss.” +</p> + +<p> +Scott, who had been patting White Fang, suddenly bent closer and pointed out +fresh-made cuts on his muzzle, and a gash between the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Matt bent over and passed his hand along White Fang’s belly. +</p> + +<p> +“We plump forgot the window. He’s all cut an’ gouged +underneath. Must ‘a’ butted clean through it, b’gosh!” +</p> + +<p> +But Weedon Scott was not listening. He was thinking rapidly. The +<i>Aurora’s</i> whistle hooted a final announcement of departure. Men +were scurrying down the gang-plank to the shore. Matt loosened the bandana from +his own neck and started to put it around White Fang’s. Scott grasped the +dog-musher’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Matt, old man. About the wolf—you needn’t write. +You see, I’ve . . . !” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” the dog-musher exploded. “You don’t mean to say +. . .?” +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing I mean. Here’s your bandana. I’ll write to +you about him.” +</p> + +<p> +Matt paused halfway down the gang-plank. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll never stand the climate!” he shouted back. +“Unless you clip ’m in warm weather!” +</p> + +<p> +The gang-plank was hauled in, and the <i>Aurora</i> swung out from the bank. +Weedon Scott waved a last good-bye. Then he turned and bent over White Fang, +standing by his side. +</p> + +<p> +“Now growl, damn you, growl,” he said, as he patted the responsive +head and rubbed the flattening ears. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap22"></a>CHAPTER II<br> +THE SOUTHLAND</h3> + +<p> +White Fang landed from the steamer in San Francisco. He was appalled. Deep in +him, below any reasoning process or act of consciousness, he had associated +power with godhead. And never had the white men seemed such marvellous gods as +now, when he trod the slimy pavement of San Francisco. The log cabins he had +known were replaced by towering buildings. The streets were crowded with +perils—waggons, carts, automobiles; great, straining horses pulling huge +trucks; and monstrous cable and electric cars hooting and clanging through the +midst, screeching their insistent menace after the manner of the lynxes he had +known in the northern woods. +</p> + +<p> +All this was the manifestation of power. Through it all, behind it all, was +man, governing and controlling, expressing himself, as of old, by his mastery +over matter. It was colossal, stunning. White Fang was awed. Fear sat upon him. +As in his cubhood he had been made to feel his smallness and puniness on the +day he first came in from the Wild to the village of Grey Beaver, so now, in +his full-grown stature and pride of strength, he was made to feel small and +puny. And there were so many gods! He was made dizzy by the swarming of them. +The thunder of the streets smote upon his ears. He was bewildered by the +tremendous and endless rush and movement of things. As never before, he felt +his dependence on the love-master, close at whose heels he followed, no matter +what happened never losing sight of him. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang was to have no more than a nightmare vision of the city—an +experience that was like a bad dream, unreal and terrible, that haunted him for +long after in his dreams. He was put into a baggage-car by the master, chained +in a corner in the midst of heaped trunks and valises. Here a squat and brawny +god held sway, with much noise, hurling trunks and boxes about, dragging them +in through the door and tossing them into the piles, or flinging them out of +the door, smashing and crashing, to other gods who awaited them. +</p> + +<p> +And here, in this inferno of luggage, was White Fang deserted by the master. Or +at least White Fang thought he was deserted, until he smelled out the +master’s canvas clothes-bags alongside of him, and proceeded to mount +guard over them. +</p> + +<p> +“’Bout time you come,” growled the god of the car, an hour +later, when Weedon Scott appeared at the door. “That dog of yourn +won’t let me lay a finger on your stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang emerged from the car. He was astonished. The nightmare city was +gone. The car had been to him no more than a room in a house, and when he had +entered it the city had been all around him. In the interval the city had +disappeared. The roar of it no longer dinned upon his ears. Before him was +smiling country, streaming with sunshine, lazy with quietude. But he had little +time to marvel at the transformation. He accepted it as he accepted all the +unaccountable doings and manifestations of the gods. It was their way. +</p> + +<p> +There was a carriage waiting. A man and a woman approached the master. The +woman’s arms went out and clutched the master around the neck—a +hostile act! The next moment Weedon Scott had torn loose from the embrace and +closed with White Fang, who had become a snarling, raging demon. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, mother,” Scott was saying as he kept tight +hold of White Fang and placated him. “He thought you were going to injure +me, and he wouldn’t stand for it. It’s all right. It’s all +right. He’ll learn soon enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“And in the meantime I may be permitted to love my son when his dog is +not around,” she laughed, though she was pale and weak from the fright. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at White Fang, who snarled and bristled and glared malevolently. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll have to learn, and he shall, without postponement,” +Scott said. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke softly to White Fang until he had quieted him, then his voice became +firm. +</p> + +<p> +“Down, sir! Down with you!” +</p> + +<p> +This had been one of the things taught him by the master, and White Fang +obeyed, though he lay down reluctantly and sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Scott opened his arms to her, but kept his eyes on White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“Down!” he warned. “Down!” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang, bristling silently, half-crouching as he rose, sank back and +watched the hostile act repeated. But no harm came of it, nor of the embrace +from the strange man-god that followed. Then the clothes-bags were taken into +the carriage, the strange gods and the love-master followed, and White Fang +pursued, now running vigilantly behind, now bristling up to the running horses +and warning them that he was there to see that no harm befell the god they +dragged so swiftly across the earth. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of fifteen minutes, the carriage swung in through a stone gateway +and on between a double row of arched and interlacing walnut trees. On either +side stretched lawns, their broad sweep broken here and there by great +sturdy-limbed oaks. In the near distance, in contrast with the young-green of +the tended grass, sunburnt hay-fields showed tan and gold; while beyond were +the tawny hills and upland pastures. From the head of the lawn, on the first +soft swell from the valley-level, looked down the deep-porched, many-windowed +house. +</p> + +<p> +Little opportunity was given White Fang to see all this. Hardly had the +carriage entered the grounds, when he was set upon by a sheep-dog, bright-eyed, +sharp-muzzled, righteously indignant and angry. It was between him and the +master, cutting him off. White Fang snarled no warning, but his hair bristled +as he made his silent and deadly rush. This rush was never completed. He halted +with awkward abruptness, with stiff fore-legs bracing himself against his +momentum, almost sitting down on his haunches, so desirous was he of avoiding +contact with the dog he was in the act of attacking. It was a female, and the +law of his kind thrust a barrier between. For him to attack her would require +nothing less than a violation of his instinct. +</p> + +<p> +But with the sheep-dog it was otherwise. Being a female, she possessed no such +instinct. On the other hand, being a sheep-dog, her instinctive fear of the +Wild, and especially of the wolf, was unusually keen. White Fang was to her a +wolf, the hereditary marauder who had preyed upon her flocks from the time +sheep were first herded and guarded by some dim ancestor of hers. And so, as he +abandoned his rush at her and braced himself to avoid the contact, she sprang +upon him. He snarled involuntarily as he felt her teeth in his shoulder, but +beyond this made no offer to hurt her. He backed away, stiff-legged with +self-consciousness, and tried to go around her. He dodged this way and that, +and curved and turned, but to no purpose. She remained always between him and +the way he wanted to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Collie!” called the strange man in the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, father. It is good discipline. White Fang will have to learn +many things, and it’s just as well that he begins now. He’ll adjust +himself all right.” +</p> + +<p> +The carriage drove on, and still Collie blocked White Fang’s way. He +tried to outrun her by leaving the drive and circling across the lawn but she +ran on the inner and smaller circle, and was always there, facing him with her +two rows of gleaming teeth. Back he circled, across the drive to the other +lawn, and again she headed him off. +</p> + +<p> +The carriage was bearing the master away. White Fang caught glimpses of it +disappearing amongst the trees. The situation was desperate. He essayed another +circle. She followed, running swiftly. And then, suddenly, he turned upon her. +It was his old fighting trick. Shoulder to shoulder, he struck her squarely. +Not only was she overthrown. So fast had she been running that she rolled +along, now on her back, now on her side, as she struggled to stop, clawing +gravel with her feet and crying shrilly her hurt pride and indignation. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang did not wait. The way was clear, and that was all he had wanted. She +took after him, never ceasing her outcry. It was the straightaway now, and when +it came to real running, White Fang could teach her things. She ran +frantically, hysterically, straining to the utmost, advertising the effort she +was making with every leap: and all the time White Fang slid smoothly away from +her silently, without effort, gliding like a ghost over the ground. +</p> + +<p> +As he rounded the house to the <i>porte-cochère</i>, he came upon the carriage. +It had stopped, and the master was alighting. At this moment, still running at +top speed, White Fang became suddenly aware of an attack from the side. It was +a deer-hound rushing upon him. White Fang tried to face it. But he was going +too fast, and the hound was too close. It struck him on the side; and such was +his forward momentum and the unexpectedness of it, White Fang was hurled to the +ground and rolled clear over. He came out of the tangle a spectacle of +malignancy, ears flattened back, lips writhing, nose wrinkling, his teeth +clipping together as the fangs barely missed the hound’s soft throat. +</p> + +<p> +The master was running up, but was too far away; and it was Collie that saved +the hound’s life. Before White Fang could spring in and deliver the fatal +stroke, and just as he was in the act of springing in, Collie arrived. She had +been out-manoeuvred and out-run, to say nothing of her having been +unceremoniously tumbled in the gravel, and her arrival was like that of a +tornado—made up of offended dignity, justifiable wrath, and instinctive +hatred for this marauder from the Wild. She struck White Fang at right angles +in the midst of his spring, and again he was knocked off his feet and rolled +over. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment the master arrived, and with one hand held White Fang, while +the father called off the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, this is a pretty warm reception for a poor lone wolf from the +Arctic,” the master said, while White Fang calmed down under his +caressing hand. “In all his life he’s only been known once to go +off his feet, and here he’s been rolled twice in thirty seconds.” +</p> + +<p> +The carriage had driven away, and other strange gods had appeared from out the +house. Some of these stood respectfully at a distance; but two of them, women, +perpetrated the hostile act of clutching the master around the neck. White +Fang, however, was beginning to tolerate this act. No harm seemed to come of +it, while the noises the gods made were certainly not threatening. These gods +also made overtures to White Fang, but he warned them off with a snarl, and the +master did likewise with word of mouth. At such times White Fang leaned in +close against the master’s legs and received reassuring pats on the head. +</p> + +<p> +The hound, under the command, “Dick! Lie down, sir!” had gone up +the steps and lain down to one side of the porch, still growling and keeping a +sullen watch on the intruder. Collie had been taken in charge by one of the +woman-gods, who held arms around her neck and petted and caressed her; but +Collie was very much perplexed and worried, whining and restless, outraged by +the permitted presence of this wolf and confident that the gods were making a +mistake. +</p> + +<p> +All the gods started up the steps to enter the house. White Fang followed +closely at the master’s heels. Dick, on the porch, growled, and White +Fang, on the steps, bristled and growled back. +</p> + +<p> +“Take Collie inside and leave the two of them to fight it out,” +suggested Scott’s father. “After that they’ll be +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then White Fang, to show his friendship, will have to be chief mourner +at the funeral,” laughed the master. +</p> + +<p> +The elder Scott looked incredulously, first at White Fang, then at Dick, and +finally at his son. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean . . .?” +</p> + +<p> +Weedon nodded his head. “I mean just that. You’d have a dead Dick +inside one minute—two minutes at the farthest.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to White Fang. “Come on, you wolf. It’s you that’ll +have to come inside.” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang walked stiff-legged up the steps and across the porch, with tail +rigidly erect, keeping his eyes on Dick to guard against a flank attack, and at +the same time prepared for whatever fierce manifestation of the unknown that +might pounce out upon him from the interior of the house. But no thing of fear +pounced out, and when he had gained the inside he scouted carefully around, +looking at it and finding it not. Then he lay down with a contented grunt at +the master’s feet, observing all that went on, ever ready to spring to +his feet and fight for life with the terrors he felt must lurk under the +trap-roof of the dwelling. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap23"></a>CHAPTER III<br> +THE GOD’S DOMAIN</h3> + +<p> +Not only was White Fang adaptable by nature, but he had travelled much, and +knew the meaning and necessity of adjustment. Here, in Sierra Vista, which was +the name of Judge Scott’s place, White Fang quickly began to make himself +at home. He had no further serious trouble with the dogs. They knew more about +the ways of the Southland gods than did he, and in their eyes he had qualified +when he accompanied the gods inside the house. Wolf that he was, and +unprecedented as it was, the gods had sanctioned his presence, and they, the +dogs of the gods, could only recognise this sanction. +</p> + +<p> +Dick, perforce, had to go through a few stiff formalities at first, after which +he calmly accepted White Fang as an addition to the premises. Had Dick had his +way, they would have been good friends; but White Fang was averse to +friendship. All he asked of other dogs was to be let alone. His whole life he +had kept aloof from his kind, and he still desired to keep aloof. Dick’s +overtures bothered him, so he snarled Dick away. In the north he had learned +the lesson that he must let the master’s dogs alone, and he did not +forget that lesson now. But he insisted on his own privacy and self-seclusion, +and so thoroughly ignored Dick that that good-natured creature finally gave him +up and scarcely took as much interest in him as in the hitching-post near the +stable. +</p> + +<p> +Not so with Collie. While she accepted him because it was the mandate of the +gods, that was no reason that she should leave him in peace. Woven into her +being was the memory of countless crimes he and his had perpetrated against her +ancestry. Not in a day nor a generation were the ravaged sheepfolds to be +forgotten. All this was a spur to her, pricking her to retaliation. She could +not fly in the face of the gods who permitted him, but that did not prevent her +from making life miserable for him in petty ways. A feud, ages old, was between +them, and she, for one, would see to it that he was reminded. +</p> + +<p> +So Collie took advantage of her sex to pick upon White Fang and maltreat him. +His instinct would not permit him to attack her, while her persistence would +not permit him to ignore her. When she rushed at him he turned his +fur-protected shoulder to her sharp teeth and walked away stiff-legged and +stately. When she forced him too hard, he was compelled to go about in a +circle, his shoulder presented to her, his head turned from her, and on his +face and in his eyes a patient and bored expression. Sometimes, however, a nip +on his hind-quarters hastened his retreat and made it anything but stately. But +as a rule he managed to maintain a dignity that was almost solemnity. He +ignored her existence whenever it was possible, and made it a point to keep out +of her way. When he saw or heard her coming, he got up and walked off. +</p> + +<p> +There was much in other matters for White Fang to learn. Life in the Northland +was simplicity itself when compared with the complicated affairs of Sierra +Vista. First of all, he had to learn the family of the master. In a way he was +prepared to do this. As Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch had belonged to Grey Beaver, +sharing his food, his fire, and his blankets, so now, at Sierra Vista, belonged +to the love-master all the denizens of the house. +</p> + +<p> +But in this matter there was a difference, and many differences. Sierra Vista +was a far vaster affair than the tepee of Grey Beaver. There were many persons +to be considered. There was Judge Scott, and there was his wife. There were the +master’s two sisters, Beth and Mary. There was his wife, Alice, and then +there were his children, Weedon and Maud, toddlers of four and six. There was +no way for anybody to tell him about all these people, and of blood-ties and +relationship he knew nothing whatever and never would be capable of knowing. +Yet he quickly worked it out that all of them belonged to the master. Then, by +observation, whenever opportunity offered, by study of action, speech, and the +very intonations of the voice, he slowly learned the intimacy and the degree of +favour they enjoyed with the master. And by this ascertained standard, White +Fang treated them accordingly. What was of value to the master he valued; what +was dear to the master was to be cherished by White Fang and guarded carefully. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was with the two children. All his life he had disliked children. He +hated and feared their hands. The lessons were not tender that he had learned +of their tyranny and cruelty in the days of the Indian villages. When Weedon +and Maud had first approached him, he growled warningly and looked malignant. A +cuff from the master and a sharp word had then compelled him to permit their +caresses, though he growled and growled under their tiny hands, and in the +growl there was no crooning note. Later, he observed that the boy and girl were +of great value in the master’s eyes. Then it was that no cuff nor sharp +word was necessary before they could pat him. +</p> + +<p> +Yet White Fang was never effusively affectionate. He yielded to the +master’s children with an ill but honest grace, and endured their fooling +as one would endure a painful operation. When he could no longer endure, he +would get up and stalk determinedly away from them. But after a time, he grew +even to like the children. Still he was not demonstrative. He would not go up +to them. On the other hand, instead of walking away at sight of them, he waited +for them to come to him. And still later, it was noticed that a pleased light +came into his eyes when he saw them approaching, and that he looked after them +with an appearance of curious regret when they left him for other amusements. +</p> + +<p> +All this was a matter of development, and took time. Next in his regard, after +the children, was Judge Scott. There were two reasons, possibly, for this. +First, he was evidently a valuable possession of the master’s, and next, +he was undemonstrative. White Fang liked to lie at his feet on the wide porch +when he read the newspaper, from time to time favouring White Fang with a look +or a word—untroublesome tokens that he recognised White Fang’s +presence and existence. But this was only when the master was not around. When +the master appeared, all other beings ceased to exist so far as White Fang was +concerned. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang allowed all the members of the family to pet him and make much of +him; but he never gave to them what he gave to the master. No caress of theirs +could put the love-croon into his throat, and, try as they would, they could +never persuade him into snuggling against them. This expression of abandon and +surrender, of absolute trust, he reserved for the master alone. In fact, he +never regarded the members of the family in any other light than possessions of +the love-master. +</p> + +<p> +Also White Fang had early come to differentiate between the family and the +servants of the household. The latter were afraid of him, while he merely +refrained from attacking them. This because he considered that they were +likewise possessions of the master. Between White Fang and them existed a +neutrality and no more. They cooked for the master and washed the dishes and +did other things just as Matt had done up in the Klondike. They were, in short, +appurtenances of the household. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the household there was even more for White Fang to learn. The +master’s domain was wide and complex, yet it had its metes and bounds. +The land itself ceased at the county road. Outside was the common domain of all +gods—the roads and streets. Then inside other fences were the particular +domains of other gods. A myriad laws governed all these things and determined +conduct; yet he did not know the speech of the gods, nor was there any way for +him to learn save by experience. He obeyed his natural impulses until they ran +him counter to some law. When this had been done a few times, he learned the +law and after that observed it. +</p> + +<p> +But most potent in his education was the cuff of the master’s hand, the +censure of the master’s voice. Because of White Fang’s very great +love, a cuff from the master hurt him far more than any beating Grey Beaver or +Beauty Smith had ever given him. They had hurt only the flesh of him; beneath +the flesh the spirit had still raged, splendid and invincible. But with the +master the cuff was always too light to hurt the flesh. Yet it went deeper. It +was an expression of the master’s disapproval, and White Fang’s +spirit wilted under it. +</p> + +<p> +In point of fact, the cuff was rarely administered. The master’s voice +was sufficient. By it White Fang knew whether he did right or not. By it he +trimmed his conduct and adjusted his actions. It was the compass by which he +steered and learned to chart the manners of a new land and life. +</p> + +<p> +In the Northland, the only domesticated animal was the dog. All other animals +lived in the Wild, and were, when not too formidable, lawful spoil for any dog. +All his days White Fang had foraged among the live things for food. It did not +enter his head that in the Southland it was otherwise. But this he was to learn +early in his residence in Santa Clara Valley. Sauntering around the corner of +the house in the early morning, he came upon a chicken that had escaped from +the chicken-yard. White Fang’s natural impulse was to eat it. A couple of +bounds, a flash of teeth and a frightened squawk, and he had scooped in the +adventurous fowl. It was farm-bred and fat and tender; and White Fang licked +his chops and decided that such fare was good. +</p> + +<p> +Later in the day, he chanced upon another stray chicken near the stables. One +of the grooms ran to the rescue. He did not know White Fang’s breed, so +for weapon he took a light buggy-whip. At the first cut of the whip, White Fang +left the chicken for the man. A club might have stopped White Fang, but not a +whip. Silently, without flinching, he took a second cut in his forward rush, +and as he leaped for the throat the groom cried out, “My God!” and +staggered backward. He dropped the whip and shielded his throat with his arms. +In consequence, his forearm was ripped open to the bone. +</p> + +<p> +The man was badly frightened. It was not so much White Fang’s ferocity as +it was his silence that unnerved the groom. Still protecting his throat and +face with his torn and bleeding arm, he tried to retreat to the barn. And it +would have gone hard with him had not Collie appeared on the scene. As she had +saved Dick’s life, she now saved the groom’s. She rushed upon White +Fang in frenzied wrath. She had been right. She had known better than the +blundering gods. All her suspicions were justified. Here was the ancient +marauder up to his old tricks again. +</p> + +<p> +The groom escaped into the stables, and White Fang backed away before +Collie’s wicked teeth, or presented his shoulder to them and circled +round and round. But Collie did not give over, as was her wont, after a decent +interval of chastisement. On the contrary, she grew more excited and angry +every moment, until, in the end, White Fang flung dignity to the winds and +frankly fled away from her across the fields. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll learn to leave chickens alone,” the master said. +“But I can’t give him the lesson until I catch him in the +act.” +</p> + +<p> +Two nights later came the act, but on a more generous scale than the master had +anticipated. White Fang had observed closely the chicken-yards and the habits +of the chickens. In the night-time, after they had gone to roost, he climbed to +the top of a pile of newly hauled lumber. From there he gained the roof of a +chicken-house, passed over the ridgepole and dropped to the ground inside. A +moment later he was inside the house, and the slaughter began. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning, when the master came out on to the porch, fifty white Leghorn +hens, laid out in a row by the groom, greeted his eyes. He whistled to himself, +softly, first with surprise, and then, at the end, with admiration. His eyes +were likewise greeted by White Fang, but about the latter there were no signs +of shame nor guilt. He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had +achieved a deed praiseworthy and meritorious. There was about him no +consciousness of sin. The master’s lips tightened as he faced the +disagreeable task. Then he talked harshly to the unwitting culprit, and in his +voice there was nothing but godlike wrath. Also, he held White Fang’s +nose down to the slain hens, and at the same time cuffed him soundly. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang never raided a chicken-roost again. It was against the law, and he +had learned it. Then the master took him into the chicken-yards. White +Fang’s natural impulse, when he saw the live food fluttering about him +and under his very nose, was to spring upon it. He obeyed the impulse, but was +checked by the master’s voice. They continued in the yards for half an +hour. Time and again the impulse surged over White Fang, and each time, as he +yielded to it, he was checked by the master’s voice. Thus it was he +learned the law, and ere he left the domain of the chickens, he had learned to +ignore their existence. +</p> + +<p> +“You can never cure a chicken-killer.” Judge Scott shook his head +sadly at luncheon table, when his son narrated the lesson he had given White +Fang. “Once they’ve got the habit and the taste of blood . . +.” Again he shook his head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +But Weedon Scott did not agree with his father. “I’ll tell you what +I’ll do,” he challenged finally. “I’ll lock White Fang +in with the chickens all afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“But think of the chickens,” objected the judge. +</p> + +<p> +“And furthermore,” the son went on, “for every chicken he +kills, I’ll pay you one dollar gold coin of the realm.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you should penalise father, too,” interposed Beth. +</p> + +<p> +Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around the table. +Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement. +</p> + +<p> +“All right.” Weedon Scott pondered for a moment. “And if, at +the end of the afternoon White Fang hasn’t harmed a chicken, for every +ten minutes of the time he has spent in the yard, you will have to say to him, +gravely and with deliberation, just as if you were sitting on the bench and +solemnly passing judgment, ‘White Fang, you are smarter than I +thought.’” +</p> + +<p> +From hidden points of vantage the family watched the performance. But it was a +fizzle. Locked in the yard and there deserted by the master, White Fang lay +down and went to sleep. Once he got up and walked over to the trough for a +drink of water. The chickens he calmly ignored. So far as he was concerned they +did not exist. At four o’clock he executed a running jump, gained the +roof of the chicken-house and leaped to the ground outside, whence he sauntered +gravely to the house. He had learned the law. And on the porch, before the +delighted family, Judge Scott, face to face with White Fang, said slowly and +solemnly, sixteen times, “White Fang, you are smarter than I +thought.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was the multiplicity of laws that befuddled White Fang and often brought +him into disgrace. He had to learn that he must not touch the chickens that +belonged to other gods. Then there were cats, and rabbits, and turkeys; all +these he must let alone. In fact, when he had but partly learned the law, his +impression was that he must leave all live things alone. Out in the +back-pasture, a quail could flutter up under his nose unharmed. All tense and +trembling with eagerness and desire, he mastered his instinct and stood still. +He was obeying the will of the gods. +</p> + +<p> +And then, one day, again out in the back-pasture, he saw Dick start a +jackrabbit and run it. The master himself was looking on and did not interfere. +Nay, he encouraged White Fang to join in the chase. And thus he learned that +there was no taboo on jackrabbits. In the end he worked out the complete law. +Between him and all domestic animals there must be no hostilities. If not +amity, at least neutrality must obtain. But the other animals—the +squirrels, and quail, and cottontails, were creatures of the Wild who had never +yielded allegiance to man. They were the lawful prey of any dog. It was only +the tame that the gods protected, and between the tame deadly strife was not +permitted. The gods held the power of life and death over their subjects, and +the gods were jealous of their power. +</p> + +<p> +Life was complex in the Santa Clara Valley after the simplicities of the +Northland. And the chief thing demanded by these intricacies of civilisation +was control, restraint—a poise of self that was as delicate as the +fluttering of gossamer wings and at the same time as rigid as steel. Life had a +thousand faces, and White Fang found he must meet them all—thus, when he +went to town, in to San Jose, running behind the carriage or loafing about the +streets when the carriage stopped. Life flowed past him, deep and wide and +varied, continually impinging upon his senses, demanding of him instant and +endless adjustments and correspondences, and compelling him, almost always, to +suppress his natural impulses. +</p> + +<p> +There were butcher-shops where meat hung within reach. This meat he must not +touch. There were cats at the houses the master visited that must be let alone. +And there were dogs everywhere that snarled at him and that he must not attack. +And then, on the crowded sidewalks there were persons innumerable whose +attention he attracted. They would stop and look at him, point him out to one +another, examine him, talk of him, and, worst of all, pat him. And these +perilous contacts from all these strange hands he must endure. Yet this +endurance he achieved. Furthermore, he got over being awkward and +self-conscious. In a lofty way he received the attentions of the multitudes of +strange gods. With condescension he accepted their condescension. On the other +hand, there was something about him that prevented great familiarity. They +patted him on the head and passed on, contented and pleased with their own +daring. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not all easy for White Fang. Running behind the carriage in the +outskirts of San Jose, he encountered certain small boys who made a practice of +flinging stones at him. Yet he knew that it was not permitted him to pursue and +drag them down. Here he was compelled to violate his instinct of +self-preservation, and violate it he did, for he was becoming tame and +qualifying himself for civilisation. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, White Fang was not quite satisfied with the arrangement. He had +no abstract ideas about justice and fair play. But there is a certain sense of +equity that resides in life, and it was this sense in him that resented the +unfairness of his being permitted no defence against the stone-throwers. He +forgot that in the covenant entered into between him and the gods they were +pledged to care for him and defend him. But one day the master sprang from the +carriage, whip in hand, and gave the stone-throwers a thrashing. After that +they threw stones no more, and White Fang understood and was satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +One other experience of similar nature was his. On the way to town, hanging +around the saloon at the cross-roads, were three dogs that made a practice of +rushing out upon him when he went by. Knowing his deadly method of fighting, +the master had never ceased impressing upon White Fang the law that he must not +fight. As a result, having learned the lesson well, White Fang was hard put +whenever he passed the cross-roads saloon. After the first rush, each time, his +snarl kept the three dogs at a distance but they trailed along behind, yelping +and bickering and insulting him. This endured for some time. The men at the +saloon even urged the dogs on to attack White Fang. One day they openly sicked +the dogs on him. The master stopped the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to it,” he said to White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +But White Fang could not believe. He looked at the master, and he looked at the +dogs. Then he looked back eagerly and questioningly at the master. +</p> + +<p> +The master nodded his head. “Go to them, old fellow. Eat them up.” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang no longer hesitated. He turned and leaped silently among his +enemies. All three faced him. There was a great snarling and growling, a +clashing of teeth and a flurry of bodies. The dust of the road arose in a cloud +and screened the battle. But at the end of several minutes two dogs were +struggling in the dirt and the third was in full flight. He leaped a ditch, +went through a rail fence, and fled across a field. White Fang followed, +sliding over the ground in wolf fashion and with wolf speed, swiftly and +without noise, and in the centre of the field he dragged down and slew the dog. +</p> + +<p> +With this triple killing his main troubles with dogs ceased. The word went up +and down the valley, and men saw to it that their dogs did not molest the +Fighting Wolf. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap24"></a>CHAPTER IV<br> +THE CALL OF KIND</h3> + +<p> +The months came and went. There was plenty of food and no work in the +Southland, and White Fang lived fat and prosperous and happy. Not alone was he +in the geographical Southland, for he was in the Southland of life. Human +kindness was like a sun shining upon him, and he flourished like a flower +planted in good soil. +</p> + +<p> +And yet he remained somehow different from other dogs. He knew the law even +better than did the dogs that had known no other life, and he observed the law +more punctiliously; but still there was about him a suggestion of lurking +ferocity, as though the Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely +slept. +</p> + +<p> +He never chummed with other dogs. Lonely he had lived, so far as his kind was +concerned, and lonely he would continue to live. In his puppyhood, under the +persecution of Lip-lip and the puppy-pack, and in his fighting days with Beauty +Smith, he had acquired a fixed aversion for dogs. The natural course of his +life had been diverted, and, recoiling from his kind, he had clung to the +human. +</p> + +<p> +Besides, all Southland dogs looked upon him with suspicion. He aroused in them +their instinctive fear of the Wild, and they greeted him always with snarl and +growl and belligerent hatred. He, on the other hand, learned that it was not +necessary to use his teeth upon them. His naked fangs and writhing lips were +uniformly efficacious, rarely failing to send a bellowing on-rushing dog back +on its haunches. +</p> + +<p> +But there was one trial in White Fang’s life—Collie. She never gave +him a moment’s peace. She was not so amenable to the law as he. She +defied all efforts of the master to make her become friends with White Fang. +Ever in his ears was sounding her sharp and nervous snarl. She had never +forgiven him the chicken-killing episode, and persistently held to the belief +that his intentions were bad. She found him guilty before the act, and treated +him accordingly. She became a pest to him, like a policeman following him +around the stable and the hounds, and, if he even so much as glanced curiously +at a pigeon or chicken, bursting into an outcry of indignation and wrath. His +favourite way of ignoring her was to lie down, with his head on his fore-paws, +and pretend sleep. This always dumfounded and silenced her. +</p> + +<p> +With the exception of Collie, all things went well with White Fang. He had +learned control and poise, and he knew the law. He achieved a staidness, and +calmness, and philosophic tolerance. He no longer lived in a hostile +environment. Danger and hurt and death did not lurk everywhere about him. In +time, the unknown, as a thing of terror and menace ever impending, faded away. +Life was soft and easy. It flowed along smoothly, and neither fear nor foe +lurked by the way. +</p> + +<p> +He missed the snow without being aware of it. “An unduly long +summer,” would have been his thought had he thought about it; as it was, +he merely missed the snow in a vague, subconscious way. In the same fashion, +especially in the heat of summer when he suffered from the sun, he experienced +faint longings for the Northland. Their only effect upon him, however, was to +make him uneasy and restless without his knowing what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang had never been very demonstrative. Beyond his snuggling and the +throwing of a crooning note into his love-growl, he had no way of expressing +his love. Yet it was given him to discover a third way. He had always been +susceptible to the laughter of the gods. Laughter had affected him with +madness, made him frantic with rage. But he did not have it in him to be angry +with the love-master, and when that god elected to laugh at him in a +good-natured, bantering way, he was nonplussed. He could feel the pricking and +stinging of the old anger as it strove to rise up in him, but it strove against +love. He could not be angry; yet he had to do something. At first he was +dignified, and the master laughed the harder. Then he tried to be more +dignified, and the master laughed harder than before. In the end, the master +laughed him out of his dignity. His jaws slightly parted, his lips lifted a +little, and a quizzical expression that was more love than humour came into his +eyes. He had learned to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Likewise he learned to romp with the master, to be tumbled down and rolled +over, and be the victim of innumerable rough tricks. In return he feigned +anger, bristling and growling ferociously, and clipping his teeth together in +snaps that had all the seeming of deadly intention. But he never forgot +himself. Those snaps were always delivered on the empty air. At the end of such +a romp, when blow and cuff and snap and snarl were fast and furious, they would +break off suddenly and stand several feet apart, glaring at each other. And +then, just as suddenly, like the sun rising on a stormy sea, they would begin +to laugh. This would always culminate with the master’s arms going around +White Fang’s neck and shoulders while the latter crooned and growled his +love-song. +</p> + +<p> +But nobody else ever romped with White Fang. He did not permit it. He stood on +his dignity, and when they attempted it, his warning snarl and bristling mane +were anything but playful. That he allowed the master these liberties was no +reason that he should be a common dog, loving here and loving there, +everybody’s property for a romp and good time. He loved with single heart +and refused to cheapen himself or his love. +</p> + +<p> +The master went out on horseback a great deal, and to accompany him was one of +White Fang’s chief duties in life. In the Northland he had evidenced his +fealty by toiling in the harness; but there were no sleds in the Southland, nor +did dogs pack burdens on their backs. So he rendered fealty in the new way, by +running with the master’s horse. The longest day never played White Fang +out. His was the gait of the wolf, smooth, tireless and effortless, and at the +end of fifty miles he would come in jauntily ahead of the horse. +</p> + +<p> +It was in connection with the riding, that White Fang achieved one other mode +of expression—remarkable in that he did it but twice in all his life. The +first time occurred when the master was trying to teach a spirited thoroughbred +the method of opening and closing gates without the rider’s dismounting. +Time and again and many times he ranged the horse up to the gate in the effort +to close it and each time the horse became frightened and backed and plunged +away. It grew more nervous and excited every moment. When it reared, the master +put the spurs to it and made it drop its fore-legs back to earth, whereupon it +would begin kicking with its hind-legs. White Fang watched the performance with +increasing anxiety until he could contain himself no longer, when he sprang in +front of the horse and barked savagely and warningly. +</p> + +<p> +Though he often tried to bark thereafter, and the master encouraged him, he +succeeded only once, and then it was not in the master’s presence. A +scamper across the pasture, a jackrabbit rising suddenly under the +horse’s feet, a violent sheer, a stumble, a fall to earth, and a broken +leg for the master, was the cause of it. White Fang sprang in a rage at the +throat of the offending horse, but was checked by the master’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Home! Go home!” the master commanded when he had ascertained his +injury. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang was disinclined to desert him. The master thought of writing a note, +but searched his pockets vainly for pencil and paper. Again he commanded White +Fang to go home. +</p> + +<p> +The latter regarded him wistfully, started away, then returned and whined +softly. The master talked to him gently but seriously, and he cocked his ears, +and listened with painful intentness. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, old fellow, you just run along home,” ran +the talk. “Go on home and tell them what’s happened to me. Home +with you, you wolf. Get along home!” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang knew the meaning of “home,” and though he did not +understand the remainder of the master’s language, he knew it was his +will that he should go home. He turned and trotted reluctantly away. Then he +stopped, undecided, and looked back over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Go home!” came the sharp command, and this time he obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +The family was on the porch, taking the cool of the afternoon, when White Fang +arrived. He came in among them, panting, covered with dust. +</p> + +<p> +“Weedon’s back,” Weedon’s mother announced. +</p> + +<p> +The children welcomed White Fang with glad cries and ran to meet him. He +avoided them and passed down the porch, but they cornered him against a +rocking-chair and the railing. He growled and tried to push by them. Their +mother looked apprehensively in their direction. +</p> + +<p> +“I confess, he makes me nervous around the children,” she said. +“I have a dread that he will turn upon them unexpectedly some day.” +</p> + +<p> +Growling savagely, White Fang sprang out of the corner, overturning the boy and +the girl. The mother called them to her and comforted them, telling them not to +bother White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“A wolf is a wolf!” commented Judge Scott. “There is no +trusting one.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he is not all wolf,” interposed Beth, standing for her brother +in his absence. +</p> + +<p> +“You have only Weedon’s opinion for that,” rejoined the +judge. “He merely surmises that there is some strain of dog in White +Fang; but as he will tell you himself, he knows nothing about it. As for his +appearance—” +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish his sentence. White Fang stood before him, growling fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away! Lie down, sir!” Judge Scott commanded. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang turned to the love-master’s wife. She screamed with fright as +he seized her dress in his teeth and dragged on it till the frail fabric tore +away. By this time he had become the centre of interest. +</p> + +<p> +He had ceased from his growling and stood, head up, looking into their faces. +His throat worked spasmodically, but made no sound, while he struggled with all +his body, convulsed with the effort to rid himself of the incommunicable +something that strained for utterance. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope he is not going mad,” said Weedon’s mother. “I +told Weedon that I was afraid the warm climate would not agree with an Arctic +animal.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s trying to speak, I do believe,” Beth announced. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment speech came to White Fang, rushing up in a great burst of +barking. +</p> + +<p> +“Something has happened to Weedon,” his wife said decisively. +</p> + +<p> +They were all on their feet now, and White Fang ran down the steps, looking +back for them to follow. For the second and last time in his life he had barked +and made himself understood. +</p> + +<p> +After this event he found a warmer place in the hearts of the Sierra Vista +people, and even the groom whose arm he had slashed admitted that he was a wise +dog even if he was a wolf. Judge Scott still held to the same opinion, and +proved it to everybody’s dissatisfaction by measurements and descriptions +taken from the encyclopaedia and various works on natural history. +</p> + +<p> +The days came and went, streaming their unbroken sunshine over the Santa Clara +Valley. But as they grew shorter and White Fang’s second winter in the +Southland came on, he made a strange discovery. Collie’s teeth were no +longer sharp. There was a playfulness about her nips and a gentleness that +prevented them from really hurting him. He forgot that she had made life a +burden to him, and when she disported herself around him he responded solemnly, +striving to be playful and becoming no more than ridiculous. +</p> + +<p> +One day she led him off on a long chase through the back-pasture land into the +woods. It was the afternoon that the master was to ride, and White Fang knew +it. The horse stood saddled and waiting at the door. White Fang hesitated. But +there was that in him deeper than all the law he had learned, than the customs +that had moulded him, than his love for the master, than the very will to live +of himself; and when, in the moment of his indecision, Collie nipped him and +scampered off, he turned and followed after. The master rode alone that day; +and in the woods, side by side, White Fang ran with Collie, as his mother, +Kiche, and old One Eye had run long years before in the silent Northland +forest. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a id="chap25"></a>CHAPTER V<br> +THE SLEEPING WOLF</h3> + +<p> +It was about this time that the newspapers were full of the daring escape of a +convict from San Quentin prison. He was a ferocious man. He had been ill-made +in the making. He had not been born right, and he had not been helped any by +the moulding he had received at the hands of society. The hands of society are +harsh, and this man was a striking sample of its handiwork. He was a +beast—a human beast, it is true, but nevertheless so terrible a beast +that he can best be characterised as carnivorous. +</p> + +<p> +In San Quentin prison he had proved incorrigible. Punishment failed to break +his spirit. He could die dumb-mad and fighting to the last, but he could not +live and be beaten. The more fiercely he fought, the more harshly society +handled him, and the only effect of harshness was to make him fiercer. +Strait-jackets, starvation, and beatings and clubbings were the wrong treatment +for Jim Hall; but it was the treatment he received. It was the treatment he had +received from the time he was a little pulpy boy in a San Francisco +slum—soft clay in the hands of society and ready to be formed into +something. +</p> + +<p> +It was during Jim Hall’s third term in prison that he encountered a guard +that was almost as great a beast as he. The guard treated him unfairly, lied +about him to the warden, lost his credits, persecuted him. The difference +between them was that the guard carried a bunch of keys and a revolver. Jim +Hall had only his naked hands and his teeth. But he sprang upon the guard one +day and used his teeth on the other’s throat just like any jungle animal. +</p> + +<p> +After this, Jim Hall went to live in the incorrigible cell. He lived there +three years. The cell was of iron, the floor, the walls, the roof. He never +left this cell. He never saw the sky nor the sunshine. Day was a twilight and +night was a black silence. He was in an iron tomb, buried alive. He saw no +human face, spoke to no human thing. When his food was shoved in to him, he +growled like a wild animal. He hated all things. For days and nights he +bellowed his rage at the universe. For weeks and months he never made a sound, +in the black silence eating his very soul. He was a man and a monstrosity, as +fearful a thing of fear as ever gibbered in the visions of a maddened brain. +</p> + +<p> +And then, one night, he escaped. The warders said it was impossible, but +nevertheless the cell was empty, and half in half out of it lay the body of a +dead guard. Two other dead guards marked his trail through the prison to the +outer walls, and he had killed with his hands to avoid noise. +</p> + +<p> +He was armed with the weapons of the slain guards—a live arsenal that +fled through the hills pursued by the organised might of society. A heavy price +of gold was upon his head. Avaricious farmers hunted him with shot-guns. His +blood might pay off a mortgage or send a son to college. Public-spirited +citizens took down their rifles and went out after him. A pack of bloodhounds +followed the way of his bleeding feet. And the sleuth-hounds of the law, the +paid fighting animals of society, with telephone, and telegraph, and special +train, clung to his trail night and day. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes they came upon him, and men faced him like heroes, or stampeded +through barbed-wire fences to the delight of the commonwealth reading the +account at the breakfast table. It was after such encounters that the dead and +wounded were carted back to the towns, and their places filled by men eager for +the man-hunt. +</p> + +<p> +And then Jim Hall disappeared. The bloodhounds vainly quested on the lost +trail. Inoffensive ranchers in remote valleys were held up by armed men and +compelled to identify themselves; while the remains of Jim Hall were discovered +on a dozen mountain-sides by greedy claimants for blood-money. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime the newspapers were read at Sierra Vista, not so much with +interest as with anxiety. The women were afraid. Judge Scott pooh-poohed and +laughed, but not with reason, for it was in his last days on the bench that Jim +Hall had stood before him and received sentence. And in open court-room, before +all men, Jim Hall had proclaimed that the day would come when he would wreak +vengeance on the Judge that sentenced him. +</p> + +<p> +For once, Jim Hall was right. He was innocent of the crime for which he was +sentenced. It was a case, in the parlance of thieves and police, of +“rail-roading.” Jim Hall was being “rail-roaded” to +prison for a crime he had not committed. Because of the two prior convictions +against him, Judge Scott imposed upon him a sentence of fifty years. +</p> + +<p> +Judge Scott did not know all things, and he did not know that he was party to a +police conspiracy, that the evidence was hatched and perjured, that Jim Hall +was guiltless of the crime charged. And Jim Hall, on the other hand, did not +know that Judge Scott was merely ignorant. Jim Hall believed that the judge +knew all about it and was hand in glove with the police in the perpetration of +the monstrous injustice. So it was, when the doom of fifty years of living +death was uttered by Judge Scott, that Jim Hall, hating all things in the +society that misused him, rose up and raged in the court-room until dragged +down by half a dozen of his blue-coated enemies. To him, Judge Scott was the +keystone in the arch of injustice, and upon Judge Scott he emptied the vials of +his wrath and hurled the threats of his revenge yet to come. Then Jim Hall went +to his living death . . . and escaped. +</p> + +<p> +Of all this White Fang knew nothing. But between him and Alice, the +master’s wife, there existed a secret. Each night, after Sierra Vista had +gone to bed, she rose and let in White Fang to sleep in the big hall. Now White +Fang was not a house-dog, nor was he permitted to sleep in the house; so each +morning, early, she slipped down and let him out before the family was awake. +</p> + +<p> +On one such night, while all the house slept, White Fang awoke and lay very +quietly. And very quietly he smelled the air and read the message it bore of a +strange god’s presence. And to his ears came sounds of the strange +god’s movements. White Fang burst into no furious outcry. It was not his +way. The strange god walked softly, but more softly walked White Fang, for he +had no clothes to rub against the flesh of his body. He followed silently. In +the Wild he had hunted live meat that was infinitely timid, and he knew the +advantage of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +The strange god paused at the foot of the great staircase and listened, and +White Fang was as dead, so without movement was he as he watched and waited. Up +that staircase the way led to the love-master and to the love-master’s +dearest possessions. White Fang bristled, but waited. The strange god’s +foot lifted. He was beginning the ascent. +</p> + +<p> +Then it was that White Fang struck. He gave no warning, with no snarl +anticipated his own action. Into the air he lifted his body in the spring that +landed him on the strange god’s back. White Fang clung with his fore-paws +to the man’s shoulders, at the same time burying his fangs into the back +of the man’s neck. He clung on for a moment, long enough to drag the god +over backward. Together they crashed to the floor. White Fang leaped clear, +and, as the man struggled to rise, was in again with the slashing fangs. +</p> + +<p> +Sierra Vista awoke in alarm. The noise from downstairs was as that of a score +of battling fiends. There were revolver shots. A man’s voice screamed +once in horror and anguish. There was a great snarling and growling, and over +all arose a smashing and crashing of furniture and glass. +</p> + +<p> +But almost as quickly as it had arisen, the commotion died away. The struggle +had not lasted more than three minutes. The frightened household clustered at +the top of the stairway. From below, as from out an abyss of blackness, came up +a gurgling sound, as of air bubbling through water. Sometimes this gurgle +became sibilant, almost a whistle. But this, too, quickly died down and ceased. +Then naught came up out of the blackness save a heavy panting of some creature +struggling sorely for air. +</p> + +<p> +Weedon Scott pressed a button, and the staircase and downstairs hall were +flooded with light. Then he and Judge Scott, revolvers in hand, cautiously +descended. There was no need for this caution. White Fang had done his work. In +the midst of the wreckage of overthrown and smashed furniture, partly on his +side, his face hidden by an arm, lay a man. Weedon Scott bent over, removed the +arm and turned the man’s face upward. A gaping throat explained the +manner of his death. +</p> + +<p> +“Jim Hall,” said Judge Scott, and father and son looked +significantly at each other. +</p> + +<p> +Then they turned to White Fang. He, too, was lying on his side. His eyes were +closed, but the lids slightly lifted in an effort to look at them as they bent +over him, and the tail was perceptibly agitated in a vain effort to wag. Weedon +Scott patted him, and his throat rumbled an acknowledging growl. But it was a +weak growl at best, and it quickly ceased. His eyelids drooped and went shut, +and his whole body seemed to relax and flatten out upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s all in, poor devil,” muttered the master. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see about that,” asserted the Judge, as he started for +the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“Frankly, he has one chance in a thousand,” announced the surgeon, +after he had worked an hour and a half on White Fang. +</p> + +<p> +Dawn was breaking through the windows and dimming the electric lights. With the +exception of the children, the whole family was gathered about the surgeon to +hear his verdict. +</p> + +<p> +“One broken hind-leg,” he went on. “Three broken ribs, one at +least of which has pierced the lungs. He has lost nearly all the blood in his +body. There is a large likelihood of internal injuries. He must have been +jumped upon. To say nothing of three bullet holes clear through him. One chance +in a thousand is really optimistic. He hasn’t a chance in ten +thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he mustn’t lose any chance that might be of help to +him,” Judge Scott exclaimed. “Never mind expense. Put him under the +X-ray—anything. Weedon, telegraph at once to San Francisco for Doctor +Nichols. No reflection on you, doctor, you understand; but he must have the +advantage of every chance.” +</p> + +<p> +The surgeon smiled indulgently. “Of course I understand. He deserves all +that can be done for him. He must be nursed as you would nurse a human being, a +sick child. And don’t forget what I told you about temperature. +I’ll be back at ten o’clock again.” +</p> + +<p> +White Fang received the nursing. Judge Scott’s suggestion of a trained +nurse was indignantly clamoured down by the girls, who themselves undertook the +task. And White Fang won out on the one chance in ten thousand denied him by +the surgeon. +</p> + +<p> +The latter was not to be censured for his misjudgment. All his life he had +tended and operated on the soft humans of civilisation, who lived sheltered +lives and had descended out of many sheltered generations. Compared with White +Fang, they were frail and flabby, and clutched life without any strength in +their grip. White Fang had come straight from the Wild, where the weak perish +early and shelter is vouchsafed to none. In neither his father nor his mother +was there any weakness, nor in the generations before them. A constitution of +iron and the vitality of the Wild were White Fang’s inheritance, and he +clung to life, the whole of him and every part of him, in spirit and in flesh, +with the tenacity that of old belonged to all creatures. +</p> + +<p> +Bound down a prisoner, denied even movement by the plaster casts and bandages, +White Fang lingered out the weeks. He slept long hours and dreamed much, and +through his mind passed an unending pageant of Northland visions. All the +ghosts of the past arose and were with him. Once again he lived in the lair +with Kiche, crept trembling to the knees of Grey Beaver to tender his +allegiance, ran for his life before Lip-lip and all the howling bedlam of the +puppy-pack. +</p> + +<p> +He ran again through the silence, hunting his living food through the months of +famine; and again he ran at the head of the team, the gut-whips of Mit-sah and +Grey Beaver snapping behind, their voices crying “Ra! Raa!” when +they came to a narrow passage and the team closed together like a fan to go +through. He lived again all his days with Beauty Smith and the fights he had +fought. At such times he whimpered and snarled in his sleep, and they that +looked on said that his dreams were bad. +</p> + +<p> +But there was one particular nightmare from which he suffered—the +clanking, clanging monsters of electric cars that were to him colossal +screaming lynxes. He would lie in a screen of bushes, watching for a squirrel +to venture far enough out on the ground from its tree-refuge. Then, when he +sprang out upon it, it would transform itself into an electric car, menacing +and terrible, towering over him like a mountain, screaming and clanging and +spitting fire at him. It was the same when he challenged the hawk down out of +the sky. Down out of the blue it would rush, as it dropped upon him changing +itself into the ubiquitous electric car. Or again, he would be in the pen of +Beauty Smith. Outside the pen, men would be gathering, and he knew that a fight +was on. He watched the door for his antagonist to enter. The door would open, +and thrust in upon him would come the awful electric car. A thousand times this +occurred, and each time the terror it inspired was as vivid and great as ever. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the day when the last bandage and the last plaster cast were taken +off. It was a gala day. All Sierra Vista was gathered around. The master rubbed +his ears, and he crooned his love-growl. The master’s wife called him the +“Blessed Wolf,” which name was taken up with acclaim and all the +women called him the Blessed Wolf. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to rise to his feet, and after several attempts fell down from +weakness. He had lain so long that his muscles had lost their cunning, and all +the strength had gone out of them. He felt a little shame because of his +weakness, as though, forsooth, he were failing the gods in the service he owed +them. Because of this he made heroic efforts to arise and at last he stood on +his four legs, tottering and swaying back and forth. +</p> + +<p> +“The Blessed Wolf!” chorused the women. +</p> + +<p> +Judge Scott surveyed them triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Out of your own mouths be it,” he said. “Just as I contended +right along. No mere dog could have done what he did. He’s a wolf.” +</p> + +<p> +“A Blessed Wolf,” amended the Judge’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Blessed Wolf,” agreed the Judge. “And henceforth that +shall be my name for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll have to learn to walk again,” said the surgeon; +“so he might as well start in right now. It won’t hurt him. Take +him outside.” +</p> + +<p> +And outside he went, like a king, with all Sierra Vista about him and tending +on him. He was very weak, and when he reached the lawn he lay down and rested +for a while. +</p> + +<p> +Then the procession started on, little spurts of strength coming into White +Fang’s muscles as he used them and the blood began to surge through them. +The stables were reached, and there in the doorway, lay Collie, a half-dozen +pudgy puppies playing about her in the sun. +</p> + +<p> +White Fang looked on with a wondering eye. Collie snarled warningly at him, and +he was careful to keep his distance. The master with his toe helped one +sprawling puppy toward him. He bristled suspiciously, but the master warned him +that all was well. Collie, clasped in the arms of one of the women, watched him +jealously and with a snarl warned him that all was not well. +</p> + +<p> +The puppy sprawled in front of him. He cocked his ears and watched it +curiously. Then their noses touched, and he felt the warm little tongue of the +puppy on his jowl. White Fang’s tongue went out, he knew not why, and he +licked the puppy’s face. +</p> + +<p> +Hand-clapping and pleased cries from the gods greeted the performance. He was +surprised, and looked at them in a puzzled way. Then his weakness asserted +itself, and he lay down, his ears cocked, his head on one side, as he watched +the puppy. The other puppies came sprawling toward him, to Collie’s great +disgust; and he gravely permitted them to clamber and tumble over him. At +first, amid the applause of the gods, he betrayed a trifle of his old +self-consciousness and awkwardness. This passed away as the puppies’ +antics and mauling continued, and he lay with half-shut patient eyes, drowsing +in the sun. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 910 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + diff --git a/910-h/images/cover.jpg b/910-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f19ca07 --- /dev/null +++ b/910-h/images/cover.jpg |
