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diff --git a/old/910.txt b/old/910.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fcf4e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/910.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7666 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, White Fang, by Jack London + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: White Fang + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: March 16, 2005 [eBook #910] +[Last updated: March 2, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHITE FANG*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1915 Methuen and Co edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. + + + + + +WHITE FANG + + +PART I + + +CHAPTER I--THE TRAIL OF THE MEAT + + +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. + +But there _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"They're after us, Bill," said the man at the front. + +His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent +effort. + +"Meat is scarce," answered his comrade. "I ain't seen a rabbit sign for +days." + +Thereafter they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the +hunting-cries that continued to rise behind them. + +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. + +"Seems to me, Henry, they're stayin' remarkable close to camp," Bill +commented. + +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. + +"They know where their hides is safe," he said. "They'd sooner eat grub +than be grub. They're pretty wise, them dogs." + +Bill shook his head. "Oh, I don't know." + +His comrade looked at him curiously. "First time I ever heard you say +anything about their not bein' wise." + +"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?" + +"They did cut up more'n usual," Henry acknowledged. + +"How many dogs 've we got, Henry?" + +"Six." + +"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." + +"You counted wrong." + +"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." + +"We've only got six dogs," Henry said. + +"Henry," Bill went on. "I won't say they was all dogs, but there was +seven of 'm that got fish." + +Henry stopped eating to glance across the fire and count the dogs. + +"There's only six now," he said. + +"I saw the other one run off across the snow," Bill announced with cool +positiveness. "I saw seven." + +Henry looked at him commiseratingly, and said, "I'll be almighty glad +when this trip's over." + +"What d'ye mean by that?" Bill demanded. + +"I mean that this load of ourn is gettin' on your nerves, an' that you're +beginnin' to see things." + +"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." + +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: + +"Then you're thinkin' as it was--" + +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?" + +Bill nodded. "I'd a blame sight sooner think that than anything else. +You noticed yourself the row the dogs made." + +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. + +"I'm thinking you're down in the mouth some," Henry said. + +"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." + +He indicated the third person by a downward thrust of the thumb to the +box on which they sat. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"He might have lived to a ripe old age if he'd stayed at home," Henry +agreed. + +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. + +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. + +"Henry, it's a blame misfortune to be out of ammunition." + +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. + +"How many cartridges did you say you had left?" he asked. + +"Three," came the answer. "An' I wisht 'twas three hundred. Then I'd +show 'em what for, damn 'em!" + +He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely to +prop his moccasins before the fire. + +"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." + +Henry grunted and crawled into bed. As he dozed off he was aroused by +his comrade's voice. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Henry," he said. "Oh, Henry." + +Henry groaned as he passed from sleep to waking, and demanded, "What's +wrong now?" + +"Nothin'," came the answer; "only there's seven of 'em again. I just +counted." + +Henry acknowledged receipt of the information with a grunt that slid into +a snore as he drifted back into sleep. + +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. + +"Say, Henry," he asked suddenly, "how many dogs did you say we had?" + +"Six." + +"Wrong," Bill proclaimed triumphantly. + +"Seven again?" Henry queried. + +"No, five; one's gone." + +"The hell!" Henry cried in wrath, leaving the cooking to come and count +the dogs. + +"You're right, Bill," he concluded. "Fatty's gone." + +"An' he went like greased lightnin' once he got started. Couldn't 've +seen 'm for smoke." + +"No chance at all," Henry concluded. "They jes' swallowed 'm alive. I +bet he was yelpin' as he went down their throats, damn 'em!" + +"He always was a fool dog," said Bill. + +"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." + +"Couldn't drive 'em away from the fire with a club," Bill agreed. "I +always did think there was somethin' wrong with Fatty anyway." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE SHE-WOLF + + +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. + +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. + +At the conclusion of one such panic, when he and Henry had got the dogs +back in the traces, Bill said: + +"I wisht they'd strike game somewheres, an' go away an' leave us alone." + +"They do get on the nerves horrible," Henry sympathised. + +They spoke no more until camp was made. + +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. + +"It got half of it," he announced; "but I got a whack at it jes' the +same. D'ye hear it squeal?" + +"What'd it look like?" Henry asked. + +"Couldn't see. But it had four legs an' a mouth an' hair an' looked like +any dog." + +"Must be a tame wolf, I reckon." + +"It's damned tame, whatever it is, comin' in here at feedin' time an' +gettin' its whack of fish." + +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. + +"I wisht they'd spring up a bunch of moose or something, an' go away an' +leave us alone," Bill said. + +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. + +"I wisht we was pullin' into McGurry right now," he began again. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hello!" Henry called. "What's up now?" + +"Frog's gone," came the answer. + +"No." + +"I tell you yes." + +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. + +"Frog was the strongest dog of the bunch," Bill pronounced finally. + +"An' he was no fool dog neither," Henry added. + +And so was recorded the second epitaph in two days. + +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. + +"There, that'll fix you fool critters," Bill said with satisfaction that +night, standing erect at completion of his task. + +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. + +Henry nodded his head approvingly. + +"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." + +"You jes' bet they will," Bill affirmed. "If one of em' turns up +missin', I'll go without my coffee." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"Look at that, Bill," Henry whispered. + +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. + +"That fool One Ear don't seem scairt much," Bill said in a low tone. + +"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." + +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. + +"Henry, I'm a-thinkin'," Bill announced. + +"Thinkin' what?" + +"I'm a-thinkin' that was the one I lambasted with the club." + +"Ain't the slightest doubt in the world," was Henry's response. + +"An' right here I want to remark," Bill went on, "that that animal's +familyarity with campfires is suspicious an' immoral." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But you've only got three cartridges," Henry objected. + +"I'll wait for a dead sure shot," was the reply. + +In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to the +accompaniment of his partner's snoring. + +"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." + +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. + +"Say, Henry," he chided gently, "ain't you forgot somethin'?" + +Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. Bill held +up the empty cup. + +"You don't get no coffee," Henry announced. + +"Ain't run out?" Bill asked anxiously. + +"Nope." + +"Ain't thinkin' it'll hurt my digestion?" + +"Nope." + +A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill's face. + +"Then it's jes' warm an' anxious I am to be hearin' you explain +yourself," he said. + +"Spanker's gone," Henry answered. + +Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune Bill turned his +head, and from where he sat counted the dogs. + +"How'd it happen?" he asked apathetically. + +Henry shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. Unless One Ear gnawed 'm +loose. He couldn't a-done it himself, that's sure." + +"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." + +"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." + +But Bill shook his head. + +"Go on," Henry pleaded, elevating the pot. + +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." + +"It's darn good coffee," Henry said enticingly. + +But Bill was stubborn, and he ate a dry breakfast washed down with +mumbled curses at One Ear for the trick he had played. + +"I'll tie 'em up out of reach of each other to-night," Bill said, as they +took the trail. + +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. + +"Mebbe you'll need that in your business," Henry said. + +Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker--the +stick with which he had been tied. + +"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." + +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." + +"I don't know, I don't know," Bill muttered ominously. + +"Well, you'll know all right when we pull into McGurry." + +"I ain't feelin' special enthusiastic," Bill persisted. + +"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." + +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. + +It was just after the sun's futile effort to appear, that Bill slipped +the rifle from under the sled-lashings and said: + +"You keep right on, Henry, I'm goin' to see what I can see." + +"You'd better stick by the sled," his partner protested. "You've only +got three cartridges, an' there's no tellin' what might happen." + +"Who's croaking now?" Bill demanded triumphantly. + +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. + +"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." + +"You mean they _think_ they're sure of us," Henry objected pointedly. + +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." + +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. + +"It's the she-wolf," Bill answered. + +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. + +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. + +It was large for a wolf, its gaunt frame advertising the lines of an +animal that was among the largest of its kind. + +"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." + +"Kind of strange colour for a wolf," was Bill's criticism. "I never seen +a red wolf before. Looks almost cinnamon to me." + +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. + +"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." + +"Hello, you husky!" he called. "Come here, you whatever-your-name-is." + +"Ain't a bit scairt of you," Henry laughed. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +The two men looked at each other. Henry whistled long and +comprehendingly. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"They've got away with better men than you an' me," Bill answered. + +"Oh, shet up your croakin'. You make me all-fired tired." + +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." + + + +CHAPTER III--THE HUNGER CRY + + +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. + +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. + +"Here, you, One Ear!" he cried, straightening up and turning around on +the dog. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where are you goin'?" Henry suddenly demanded, laying his hand on his +partner's arm. + +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." + +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. + +"Say, Bill!" Henry called after him. "Be careful! Don't take no +chances!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I guess you can come an' get me any time," he mumbled. "Anyway, I'm +goin' to sleep." + +Once he awakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in front of +him, he saw the she-wolf gazing at him. + +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. + +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. + +"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. . . . " + +"Where's Lord Alfred?" one of the men bellowed in his ear, shaking him +roughly. + +He shook his head slowly. "No, she didn't eat him. . . . He's roostin' +in a tree at the last camp." + +"Dead?" the man shouted. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +PART II + + +CHAPTER I--THE BATTLE OF THE FANGS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE LAIR + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE GREY CUB + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _knew_ that it was +hurt. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV--THE WALL OF THE WORLD + + +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. + +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 were limitations and restraints. These limitations and +restraints were laws. To be obedient to them was to escape hurt and make +for happiness. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 + +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. Maybe there were other ptarmigan hens. He +would go and see. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE LAW OF MEAT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +PART III + + +CHAPTER I--THE MAKERS OF FIRE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, "_Wabam wabisca ip pit tah_." +("Look! The white fangs!") + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Kiche!" the man cried again, this time with sharpness and authority. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It is a year, Grey Beaver, since she ran away," spoke a second Indian. + +"It is not strange, Salmon Tongue," Grey Beaver answered. "It was the +time of the famine, and there was no meat for the dogs." + +"She has lived with the wolves," said a third Indian. + +"So it would seem, Three Eagles," Grey Beaver answered, laying his hand +on the cub; "and this be the sign of it." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 stranger's 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE BONDAGE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. While +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ a beating. His hand was heavy. Every blow was +shrewd to hurt; and he delivered a multitude of blows. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE OUTCAST + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV--THE TRAIL OF THE GODS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +forever. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE COVENANT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: _to +oppress the weak and obey the strong_. 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. + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI--THE FAMINE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_remembered_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 of 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +PART IV + + +CHAPTER I--THE ENEMY OF HIS KIND + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Arctic 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 wreaked 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE MAD GOD + + +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 _chechaquos_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You ketch um dog you take um all right," was his last word. + +The bottles were delivered, but after two days. "You ketch um dog," were +Beauty Smith's words to Grey Beaver. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE REIGN OF HATE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV--THE CLINGING DEATH + + +Beauty Smith slipped the chain from his neck and stepped back. + +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. + +There were cries from the crowd of, "Go to him, Cherokee! Sick 'm, +Cherokee! Eat 'm up!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You cowards!" he cried. "You beasts!" + +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. + +"Come on, Matt, lend a hand," the newcomer called the dog-musher, who had +followed him into the ring. + +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!" + +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. + +"You damn beasts!" he finally exploded, and went back to his task. + +"It's no use, Mr. Scott, you can't break 'm apart that way," Matt said at +last. + +The pair paused and surveyed the locked dogs. + +"Ain't bleedin' much," Matt announced. "Ain't got all the way in yet." + +"But he's liable to any moment," Scott answered. "There, did you see +that! He shifted his grip in a bit." + +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. + +"Won't some of you help?" Scott cried desperately at the crowd. + +But no help was offered. Instead, the crowd began sarcastically to cheer +him on and showered him with facetious advice. + +"You'll have to get a pry," Matt counselled. + +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: + +"Don't break them teeth, stranger." + +"Then I'll break his neck," Scott retorted, continuing his shoving and +wedging with the revolver muzzle. + +"I said don't break them teeth," the faro-dealer repeated more ominously +than before. + +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: + +"Your dog?" + +The faro-dealer grunted. + +"Then get in here and break this grip." + +"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." + +"Then get out of the way," was the reply, "and don't bother me. I'm +busy." + +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. + +"Stand by to receive your dog," was Scott's peremptory order to +Cherokee's owner. + +The faro-dealer stooped down obediently and got a firm hold on Cherokee. + +"Now!" Scott warned, giving the final pry. + +The dogs were drawn apart, the bull-dog struggling vigorously. + +"Take him away," Scott commanded, and Tim Keenan dragged Cherokee back +into the crowd. + +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. + +"Just about all in," he announced; "but he's breathin' all right." + +Beauty Smith had regained his feet and come over to look at White Fang. + +"Matt, how much is a good sled-dog worth?" Scott asked. + +The dog-musher, still on his knees and stooped over White Fang, +calculated for a moment. + +"Three hundred dollars," he answered. + +"And how much for one that's all chewed up like this one?" Scott asked, +nudging White Fang with his foot. + +"Half of that," was the dog-musher's judgment. Scott turned upon Beauty +Smith. + +"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." + +He opened his pocket-book and counted out the bills. + +Beauty Smith put his hands behind his back, refusing to touch the +proffered money. + +"I ain't a-sellin'," he said. + +"Oh, yes you are," the other assured him. "Because I'm buying. Here's +your money. The dog's mine." + +Beauty Smith, his hands still behind him, began to back away. + +Scott sprang toward him, drawing his fist back to strike. Beauty Smith +cowered down in anticipation of the blow. + +"I've got my rights," he whimpered. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Wait till I get back to Dawson," Beauty Smith threatened. "I'll have +the law on you." + +"If you open your mouth when you get back to Dawson, I'll have you run +out of town. Understand?" + +Beauty Smith replied with a grunt. + +"Understand?" the other thundered with abrupt fierceness. + +"Yes," Beauty Smith grunted, shrinking away. + +"Yes what?" + +"Yes, sir," Beauty Smith snarled. + +"Look out! He'll bite!" some one shouted, and a guffaw of laughter went +up. + +Scott turned his back on him, and returned to help the dog-musher, who +was working over White Fang. + +Some of the men were already departing; others stood in groups, looking +on and talking. Tim Keenan joined one of the groups. + +"Who's that mug?" he asked. + +"Weedon Scott," some one answered. + +"And who in hell is Weedon Scott?" the faro-dealer demanded. + +"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." + +"I thought he must be somebody," was the faro-dealer's comment. "That's +why I kept my hands offen him at the start." + + + +CHAPTER V--THE INDOMITABLE + + +"It's hopeless," Weedon Scott confessed. + +He sat on the step of his cabin and stared at the dog-musher, who +responded with a shrug that was equally hopeless. + +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. + +"It's a wolf and there's no taming it," Weedon Scott announced. + +"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." + +The dog-musher paused and nodded his head confidentially at Moosehide +Mountain. + +"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?" + +The dog-musher indicated White Fang with a backward thrust of his thumb. + +"Wolf or dog, it's all the same--he's ben tamed 'ready." + +"No!" + +"I tell you yes, an' broke to harness. Look close there. D'ye see them +marks across the chest?" + +"You're right, Matt. He was a sled-dog before Beauty Smith got hold of +him." + +"And there's not much reason against his bein' a sled-dog again." + +"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." + +"Give 'm a chance," Matt counselled. "Turn 'm loose for a spell." + +The other looked at him incredulously. + +"Yes," Matt went on, "I know you've tried to, but you didn't take a +club." + +"You try it then." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Won't he run away?" his new owner asked. + +Matt shrugged his shoulders. "Got to take a gamble. Only way to find +out is to find out." + +"Poor devil," Scott murmured pityingly. "What he needs is some show of +human kindness," he added, turning and going into the cabin. + +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. + +"Hi-yu, Major!" Matt shouted warningly, but too late. + +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. + +"It's too bad, but it served him right," Scott said hastily. + +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. + +"He got me all right," he announced, pointing to the torn trousers and +undercloths, and the growing stain of red. + +"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." + +As he talked, with reluctant movements he drew his revolver, threw open +the cylinder, and assured himself of its contents. + +"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." + +"Look at Major," the other rejoined. + +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. + +"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." + +"But look at yourself, Matt. It's all right about the dogs, but we must +draw the line somewhere." + +"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." + +"It would be a mercy to kill him," Scott insisted. "He's untamable." + +"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!" + +"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." + +He walked over to White Fang and began talking to him gently and +soothingly. + +"Better have a club handy," Matt warned. + +Scott shook his head and went on trying to win White Fang's confidence. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here! What are you doing?" Scott cried suddenly. + +Matt had dashed into the cabin and come out with a rifle. + +"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." + +"No you don't!" + +"Yes I do. Watch me." + +As Matt had pleaded for White Fang when he had been bitten, it was now +Weedon Scott's turn to plead. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Well, I'll be everlastingly gosh-swoggled!" was the dog-musher's +expression of astonishment. + +"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." + +"All right, I'm willin'," Matt agreed, leaning the rifle against the +woodpile. + +"But will you look at that!" he exclaimed the next moment. + +White Fang had quieted down and ceased snarling. "This is worth +investigatin'. Watch." + +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. + +"Now, just for fun." + +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. + +The dog-musher put the rifle down solemnly, then turned and looked at his +employer. + +"I agree with you, Mr. Scott. That dog's too intelligent to kill." + + + +CHAPTER VI--THE LOVE-MASTER + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well, I'll be gosh-swoggled!" + +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. + +At the instant his voice broke the silence, White Fang leaped back, +snarling savagely at him. + +Matt regarded his employer with grieved disapproval. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _love_. It took the place of _like_, which latter had been +the highest feeling that thrilled him in his intercourse with the gods. + +But this love did not come in a day. It began with _like_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As the days went by, the evolution of _like_ into _love_ 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. + +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. + +_Like_ had been replaced by _love_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +A recrudescence of anger glinted in Weedon Scott's grey eyes, and he +muttered savagely, "The beast!" + +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. + +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. + +Weedon Scott reading the letter down in Circle City, came upon the +following: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Where's the wolf?" he asked. + +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. + +"Holy smoke!" Matt exclaimed. "Look at 'm wag his tail!" + +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. + +"He never looked at me that way all the time you was gone!" Matt +commented. + +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. + +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. + +The two men looked at each other. Scott's eyes were shining. + +"Gosh!" said Matt in an awe-stricken voice. + +A moment later, when he had recovered himself, he said, "I always +insisted that wolf was a dog. Look at 'm!" + +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. + +"Talk about your rough-houses," Matt murmured gleefully, standing in the +doorway and looking on. + +"Give 'm hell, you wolf! Give 'm hell!--an' then some!" + +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. + +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." + +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," Matt 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. + +"The wolf's nailed somebody," Matt said. + +A wild scream of fear and anguish hastened them. + +"Bring a light!" Scott shouted, as he sprang outside. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the meantime the love-master was patting White Fang and talking to +him. + +"Tried to steal you, eh? And you wouldn't have it! Well, well, he made +a mistake, didn't he?" + +"Must 'a' thought he had hold of seventeen devils," the dog-musher +sniggered. + +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. + + + + +PART V + + +CHAPTER I--THE LONG TRAIL + + +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. + +"Listen to that, will you!" the dog-musher exclaimed at supper one night. + +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. + +"I do believe that wolf's on to you," the dog-musher said. + +Weedon Scott looked across at his companion with eyes that almost +pleaded, though this was given the lie by his words. + +"What the devil can I do with a wolf in California?" he demanded. + +"That's what I say," Matt answered. "What the devil can you do with a +wolf in California?" + +But this did not satisfy Weedon Scott. The other seemed to be judging +him in a non-committal sort of way. + +"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 damage suits, the +authorities would take him away from me and electrocute him." + +"He's a downright murderer, I know," was the dog-musher's comment. + +Weedon Scott looked at him suspiciously. + +"It would never do," he said decisively. + +"It would never do!" Matt concurred. "Why you'd have to hire a man +'specially to take care of 'm." + +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. + +"There's no denyin' he thinks a hell of a lot of you," Matt said. + +The other glared at him in sudden wrath. "Damn it all, man! I know my +own mind and what's best!" + +"I'm agreein' with you, only . . . " + +"Only what?" Scott snapped out. + +"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." + +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." + +"Why, it would be rank ridiculousness for me to take that dog along," he +broke out after another pause. + +"I'm agreein' with you," was Matt's answer, and again his employer was +not quite satisfied with him. + +"But how in the name of the great Sardanapolis he knows you're goin' is +what gets me," the dog-musher continued innocently. + +"It's beyond me, Matt," Scott answered, with a mournful shake of the +head. + +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. + +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. + +Inside the cabin the two men had just gone to bed. + +"He's gone off his food again," Matt remarked from his bunk. + +There was a grunt from Weedon Scott's bunk, and a stir of blankets. + +"From the way he cut up the other time you went away, I wouldn't wonder +this time but what he died." + +The blankets in the other bunk stirred irritably. + +"Oh, shut up!" Scott cried out through the darkness. "You nag worse than +a woman." + +"I'm agreein' with you," the dog-musher answered, and Weedon Scott was +not quite sure whether or not the other had snickered. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Sure," the dog-musher answered. "But listen to that, will you!" + +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. + +The _Aurora_ 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. + +The dog-musher swore softly, in awe-stricken accents. Scott could only +look in wonder. + +"Did you lock the front door?" Matt demanded. The other nodded, and +asked, "How about the back?" + +"You just bet I did," was the fervent reply. + +White Fang flattened his ears ingratiatingly, but remained where he was, +making no attempt to approach. + +"I'll have to take 'm ashore with me." + +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. + +But when the love-master spoke, White Fang came to him with prompt +obedience. + +"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." + +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. + +Matt bent over and passed his hand along White Fang's belly. + +"We plumb forgot the window. He's all cut an' gouged underneath. Must +'a' butted clean through it, b'gosh!" + +But Weedon Scott was not listening. He was thinking rapidly. The +_Aurora's_ 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. + +"Good-bye, Matt, old man. About the wolf--you needn't write. You see, +I've . . . !" + +"What!" the dog-musher exploded. "You don't mean to say . . .?" + +"The very thing I mean. Here's your bandana. I'll write to you about +him." + +Matt paused halfway down the gang-plank. + +"He'll never stand the climate!" he shouted back. "Unless you clip 'm in +warm weather!" + +The gang-plank was hauled in, and the _Aurora_ swung out from the bank. +Weedon Scott waved a last good-bye. Then he turned and bent over White +Fang, standing by his side. + +"Now growl, damn you, growl," he said, as he patted the responsive head +and rubbed the flattening ears. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE SOUTHLAND + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"'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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +She looked at White Fang, who snarled and bristled and glared +malevolently. + +"He'll have to learn, and he shall, without postponement," Scott said. + +He spoke softly to White Fang until he had quieted him, then his voice +became firm. + +"Down, sir! Down with you!" + +This had been one of the things taught him by the master, and White Fang +obeyed, though he lay down reluctantly and sullenly. + +"Now, mother." + +Scott opened his arms to her, but kept his eyes on White Fang. + +"Down!" he warned. "Down!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here, Collie!" called the strange man in the carriage. + +Weedon Scott laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As he rounded the house to the _porte-cochere_, 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. + +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. + +The next moment the master arrived, and with one hand held White Fang, +while the father called off the dogs. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Take Collie inside and leave the two of them to fight it out," suggested +Scott's father. "After that they'll be friends." + +"Then White Fang, to show his friendship, will have to be chief mourner +at the funeral," laughed the master. + +The elder Scott looked incredulously, first at White Fang, then at Dick, +and finally at his son. + +"You mean . . .?" + +Weedon nodded his head. "I mean just that. You'd have a dead Dick +inside one minute--two minutes at the farthest." + +He turned to White Fang. "Come on, you wolf. It's you that'll have to +come inside." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE GOD'S DOMAIN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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." + +"But think of the chickens," objected the judge. + +"And furthermore," the son went on, "for every chicken he kills, I'll pay +you one dollar gold coin of the realm." + +"But you should penalise father, too," interpose Beth. + +Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around the +table. Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement. + +"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.'" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Go to it," he said to White Fang. + +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. + +The master nodded his head. "Go to them, old fellow. Eat them up." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV--THE CALL OF KIND + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Home! Go home!" the master commanded when he had ascertained his +injury. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Go home!" came the sharp command, and this time he obeyed. + +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. + +"Weedon's back," Weedon's mother announced. + +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. + +"I confess, he makes me nervous around the children," she said. "I have +a dread that he will turn upon them unexpectedly some day." + +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. + +"A wolf is a wolf!" commented Judge Scott. "There is no trusting one." + +"But he is not all wolf," interposed Beth, standing for her brother in +his absence. + +"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--" + +He did not finish his sentence. White Fang stood before him, growling +fiercely. + +"Go away! Lie down, sir!" Judge Scott commanded. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"He's trying to speak, I do believe," Beth announced. + +At this moment speech came to White Fang, rushing up in a great burst of +barking. + +"Something has happened to Weedon," his wife said decisively. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE SLEEPING WOLF + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Jim Hall," said Judge Scott, and father and son looked significantly at +each other. + +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. + +"He's all in, poor devil," muttered the master. + +"We'll see about that," asserted the Judge, as he started for the +telephone. + +"Frankly, he has one chance in a thousand," announced the surgeon, after +he had worked an hour and a half on White Fang. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"The Blessed Wolf!" chorused the women. + +Judge Scott surveyed them triumphantly. + +"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." + +"A Blessed Wolf," amended the Judge's wife. + +"Yes, Blessed Wolf," agreed the Judge. "And henceforth that shall be my +name for him." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHITE FANG*** + + +******* This file should be named 910.txt or 910.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/1/910 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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