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diff --git a/old/wtfng10h.htm b/old/wtfng10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b2d8bd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/wtfng10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6966 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>White Fang</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">White Fang, by Jack London</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of White Fang, by Jack London +(#7 in our series by Jack London) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: White Fang + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: May, 1997 [EBook #910] +[This file was first posted on May 13, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 12, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1915 edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>White Fang</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART I</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE TRAIL OF THE MEAT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. +The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering +of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, +in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land. +The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone +and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There +was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any +sadness—a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, +a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. +It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing +at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, +the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.</p> +<p>But there <i>was</i> life, abroad in the land and defiant. +Down the frozen waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs. Their +bristly fur was rimed with frost. Their breath froze in the air +as it left their mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapour that settled +upon the hair of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost. +Leather harness was on the dogs, and leather traces attached them to +a sled which dragged along behind. The sled was without runners. +It was made of stout birch-bark, and its full surface rested on the +snow. The front end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, +in order to force down and under the bore of soft snow that surged like +a wave before it. On the sled, securely lashed, was a long and +narrow oblong box. There were other things on the sled—blankets, +an axe, and a coffee-pot and frying-pan; but prominent, occupying most +of the space, was the long and narrow oblong box.</p> +<p>In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man. At +the rear of the sled toiled a second man. On the sled, in the +box, lay a third man whose toil was over,—a man whom the Wild +had conquered and beaten down until he would never move nor struggle +again. It is not the way of the Wild to like movement. Life +is an offence to it, for life is movement; and the Wild aims always +to destroy movement. It freezes the water to prevent it running +to the sea; it drives the sap out of the trees till they are frozen +to their mighty hearts; and most ferociously and terribly of all does +the Wild harry and crush into submission man—man who is the most +restless of life, ever in revolt against the dictum that all movement +must in the end come to the cessation of movement.</p> +<p>But at front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men +who were not yet dead. Their bodies were covered with fur and +soft-tanned leather. Eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated +with the crystals from their frozen breath that their faces were not +discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly masques, undertakers +in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But under it +all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and +silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves +against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the +abysses of space.</p> +<p>They travelled on without speech, saving their breath for the work +of their bodies. On every side was the silence, pressing upon +them with a tangible presence. It affected their minds as the +many atmospheres of deep water affect the body of the diver. It +crushed them with the weight of unending vastness and unalterable decree. +It crushed them into the remotest recesses of their own minds, pressing +out of them, like juices from the grape, all the false ardours and exaltations +and undue self-values of the human soul, until they perceived themselves +finite and small, specks and motes, moving with weak cunning and little +wisdom amidst the play and inter-play of the great blind elements and +forces.</p> +<p>An hour went by, and a second hour. The pale light of the short +sunless day was beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the +still air. It soared upward with a swift rush, till it reached +its topmost note, where it persisted, palpitant and tense, and then +slowly died away. It might have been a lost soul wailing, had +it not been invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness. +The front man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man +behind. And then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to +the other.</p> +<p>A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needle-like shrillness. +Both men located the sound. It was to the rear, somewhere in the +snow expanse they had just traversed. A third and answering cry +arose, also to the rear and to the left of the second cry.</p> +<p>“They’re after us, Bill,” said the man at the front.</p> +<p>His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent +effort.</p> +<p>“Meat is scarce,” answered his comrade. “I +ain’t seen a rabbit sign for days.”</p> +<p>Thereafter they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the +hunting-cries that continued to rise behind them.</p> +<p>At the fall of darkness they swung the dogs into a cluster of spruce +trees on the edge of the waterway and made a camp. The coffin, +at the side of the fire, served for seat and table. The wolf-dogs, +clustered on the far side of the fire, snarled and bickered among themselves, +but evinced no inclination to stray off into the darkness.</p> +<p>“Seems to me, Henry, they’re stayin’ remarkable +close to camp,” Bill commented.</p> +<p>Henry, squatting over the fire and settling the pot of coffee with +a piece of ice, nodded. Nor did he speak till he had taken his +seat on the coffin and begun to eat.</p> +<p>“They know where their hides is safe,” he said. +“They’d sooner eat grub than be grub. They’re +pretty wise, them dogs.”</p> +<p>Bill shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know.”</p> +<p>His comrade looked at him curiously. “First time I ever +heard you say anything about their not bein’ wise.”</p> +<p>“Henry,” said the other, munching with deliberation the +beans he was eating, “did you happen to notice the way them dogs +kicked up when I was a-feedin’ ’em?”</p> +<p>“They did cut up more’n usual,” Henry acknowledged.</p> +<p>“How many dogs ’ve we got, Henry?”</p> +<p>“Six.”</p> +<p>“Well, Henry . . . ” Bill stopped for a moment, in order +that his words might gain greater significance. “As I was +sayin’, Henry, we’ve got six dogs. I took six fish +out of the bag. I gave one fish to each dog, an’, Henry, +I was one fish short.”</p> +<p>“You counted wrong.”</p> +<p>“We’ve got six dogs,” the other reiterated dispassionately. +“I took out six fish. One Ear didn’t get no fish. +I came back to the bag afterward an’ got ’m his fish.”</p> +<p>“We’ve only got six dogs,” Henry said.</p> +<p>“Henry,” Bill went on. “I won’t say +they was all dogs, but there was seven of ’m that got fish.”</p> +<p>Henry stopped eating to glance across the fire and count the dogs.</p> +<p>“There’s only six now,” he said.</p> +<p>“I saw the other one run off across the snow,” Bill announced +with cool positiveness. “I saw seven.”</p> +<p>Henry looked at him commiseratingly, and said, “I’ll +be almighty glad when this trip’s over.”</p> +<p>“What d’ye mean by that?” Bill demanded.</p> +<p>“I mean that this load of ourn is gettin’ on your nerves, +an’ that you’re beginnin’ to see things.”</p> +<p>“I thought of that,” Bill answered gravely. “An’ +so, when I saw it run off across the snow, I looked in the snow an’ +saw its tracks. Then I counted the dogs an’ there was still +six of ’em. The tracks is there in the snow now. D’ye +want to look at ’em? I’ll show ’em to you.”</p> +<p>Henry did not reply, but munched on in silence, until, the meal finished, +he topped it with a final cup a of coffee. He wiped his mouth +with the back of his hand and said:</p> +<p>“Then you’re thinkin’ as it was—”</p> +<p>A long wailing cry, fiercely sad, from somewhere in the darkness, +had interrupted him. He stopped to listen to it, then he finished +his sentence with a wave of his hand toward the sound of the cry, “—one +of them?”</p> +<p>Bill nodded. “I’d a blame sight sooner think that +than anything else. You noticed yourself the row the dogs made.”</p> +<p>Cry after cry, and answering cries, were turning the silence into +a bedlam. From every side the cries arose, and the dogs betrayed +their fear by huddling together and so close to the fire that their +hair was scorched by the heat. Bill threw on more wood, before +lighting his pipe.</p> +<p>“I’m thinking you’re down in the mouth some,” +Henry said.</p> +<p>“Henry . . . ” He sucked meditatively at his pipe +for some time before he went on. “Henry, I was a-thinkin’ +what a blame sight luckier he is than you an’ me’ll ever +be.”</p> +<p>He indicated the third person by a downward thrust of the thumb to +the box on which they sat.</p> +<p>“You an’ me, Henry, when we die, we’ll be lucky +if we get enough stones over our carcases to keep the dogs off of us.”</p> +<p>“But we ain’t got people an’ money an’ all +the rest, like him,” Henry rejoined. “Long-distance +funerals is somethin’ you an’ me can’t exactly afford.”</p> +<p>“What gets me, Henry, is what a chap like this, that’s +a lord or something in his own country, and that’s never had to +bother about grub nor blankets; why he comes a-buttin’ round the +Godforsaken ends of the earth—that’s what I can’t +exactly see.”</p> +<p>“He might have lived to a ripe old age if he’d stayed +at home,” Henry agreed.</p> +<p>Bill opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. Instead, +he pointed towards the wall of darkness that pressed about them from +every side. There was no suggestion of form in the utter blackness; +only could be seen a pair of eyes gleaming like live coals. Henry +indicated with his head a second pair, and a third. A circle of +the gleaming eyes had drawn about their camp. Now and again a +pair of eyes moved, or disappeared to appear again a moment later.</p> +<p>The unrest of the dogs had been increasing, and they stampeded, in +a surge of sudden fear, to the near side of the fire, cringing and crawling +about the legs of the men. In the scramble one of the dogs had +been overturned on the edge of the fire, and it had yelped with pain +and fright as the smell of its singed coat possessed the air. +The commotion caused the circle of eyes to shift restlessly for a moment +and even to withdraw a bit, but it settled down again as the dogs became +quiet.</p> +<p>“Henry, it’s a blame misfortune to be out of ammunition.”</p> +<p>Bill had finished his pipe and was helping his companion to spread +the bed of fur and blanket upon the spruce boughs which he had laid +over the snow before supper. Henry grunted, and began unlacing +his mocassins.</p> +<p>“How many cartridges did you say you had left?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Three,” came the answer. “An’ I wisht +’twas three hundred. Then I’d show ’em what +for, damn ’em!”</p> +<p>He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely +to prop his moccasins before the fire.</p> +<p>“An’ I wisht this cold snap’d break,” he +went on. “It’s ben fifty below for two weeks now. +An’ I wisht I’d never started on this trip, Henry. +I don’t like the looks of it. I don’t feel right, +somehow. An’ while I’m wishin’, I wisht the +trip was over an’ done with, an’ you an’ me a-sittin’ +by the fire in Fort McGurry just about now an’ playing cribbage—that’s +what I wisht.”</p> +<p>Henry grunted and crawled into bed. As he dozed off he was +aroused by his comrade’s voice.</p> +<p>“Say, Henry, that other one that come in an’ got a fish—why +didn’t the dogs pitch into it? That’s what’s +botherin’ me.”</p> +<p>“You’re botherin’ too much, Bill,” came the +sleepy response. “You was never like this before. +You jes’ shut up now, an’ go to sleep, an’ you’ll +be all hunkydory in the mornin’. Your stomach’s sour, +that’s what’s botherin’ you.”</p> +<p>The men slept, breathing heavily, side by side, under the one covering. +The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer the circle they +had flung about the camp. The dogs clustered together in fear, +now and again snarling menacingly as a pair of eyes drew close. +Once their uproar became so loud that Bill woke up. He got out +of bed carefully, so as not to disturb the sleep of his comrade, and +threw more wood on the fire. As it began to flame up, the circle +of eyes drew farther back. He glanced casually at the huddling +dogs. He rubbed his eyes and looked at them more sharply. +Then he crawled back into the blankets.</p> +<p>“Henry,” he said. “Oh, Henry.”</p> +<p>Henry groaned as he passed from sleep to waking, and demanded, “What’s +wrong now?”</p> +<p>“Nothin’,” came the answer; “only there’s +seven of ’em again. I just counted.”</p> +<p>Henry acknowledged receipt of the information with a grunt that slid +into a snore as he drifted back into sleep.</p> +<p>In the morning it was Henry who awoke first and routed his companion +out of bed. Daylight was yet three hours away, though it was already +six o’clock; and in the darkness Henry went about preparing breakfast, +while Bill rolled the blankets and made the sled ready for lashing.</p> +<p>“Say, Henry,” he asked suddenly, “how many dogs +did you say we had?”</p> +<p>“Six.”</p> +<p>“Wrong,” Bill proclaimed triumphantly.</p> +<p>“Seven again?” Henry queried.</p> +<p>“No, five; one’s gone.”</p> +<p>“The hell!” Henry cried in wrath, leaving the cooking +to come and count the dogs.</p> +<p>“You’re right, Bill,” he concluded. “Fatty’s +gone.”</p> +<p>“An’ he went like greased lightnin’ once he got +started. Couldn’t ’ve seen ’m for smoke.”</p> +<p>“No chance at all,” Henry concluded. “They +jes’ swallowed ’m alive. I bet he was yelpin’ +as he went down their throats, damn ’em!”</p> +<p>“He always was a fool dog,” said Bill.</p> +<p>“But no fool dog ought to be fool enough to go off an’ +commit suicide that way.” He looked over the remainder of +the team with a speculative eye that summed up instantly the salient +traits of each animal. “I bet none of the others would do +it.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t drive ’em away from the fire with a club,” +Bill agreed. “I always did think there was somethin’ +wrong with Fatty anyway.”</p> +<p>And this was the epitaph of a dead dog on the Northland trail—less +scant than the epitaph of many another dog, of many a man.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE SHE-WOLF</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Breakfast eaten and the slim camp-outfit lashed to the sled, the +men turned their backs on the cheery fire and launched out into the +darkness. At once began to rise the cries that were fiercely sad—cries +that called through the darkness and cold to one another and answered +back. Conversation ceased. Daylight came at nine o’clock. +At midday the sky to the south warmed to rose-colour, and marked where +the bulge of the earth intervened between the meridian sun and the northern +world. But the rose-colour swiftly faded. The grey light +of day that remained lasted until three o’clock, when it, too, +faded, and the pall of the Arctic night descended upon the lone and +silent land.</p> +<p>As darkness came on, the hunting-cries to right and left and rear +drew closer—so close that more than once they sent surges of fear +through the toiling dogs, throwing them into short-lived panics.</p> +<p>At the conclusion of one such panic, when he and Henry had got the +dogs back in the traces, Bill said:</p> +<p>“I wisht they’d strike game somewheres, an’ go +away an’ leave us alone.”</p> +<p>“They do get on the nerves horrible,” Henry sympathised.</p> +<p>They spoke no more until camp was made.</p> +<p>Henry was bending over and adding ice to the babbling pot of beans +when he was startled by the sound of a blow, an exclamation from Bill, +and a sharp snarling cry of pain from among the dogs. He straightened +up in time to see a dim form disappearing across the snow into the shelter +of the dark. Then he saw Bill, standing amid the dogs, half triumphant, +half crestfallen, in one hand a stout club, in the other the tail and +part of the body of a sun-cured salmon.</p> +<p>“It got half of it,” he announced; “but I got a +whack at it jes’ the same. D’ye hear it squeal?”</p> +<p>“What’d it look like?” Henry asked.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t see. But it had four legs an’ a +mouth an’ hair an’ looked like any dog.”</p> +<p>“Must be a tame wolf, I reckon.”</p> +<p>“It’s damned tame, whatever it is, comin’ in here +at feedin’ time an’ gettin’ its whack of fish.”</p> +<p>That night, when supper was finished and they sat on the oblong box +and pulled at their pipes, the circle of gleaming eyes drew in even +closer than before.</p> +<p>“I wisht they’d spring up a bunch of moose or something, +an’ go away an’ leave us alone,” Bill said.</p> +<p>Henry grunted with an intonation that was not all sympathy, and for +a quarter of an hour they sat on in silence, Henry staring at the fire, +and Bill at the circle of eyes that burned in the darkness just beyond +the firelight.</p> +<p>“I wisht we was pullin’ into McGurry right now,” +he began again.</p> +<p>“Shut up your wishin’ and your croakin’,” +Henry burst out angrily. “Your stomach’s sour. +That’s what’s ailin’ you. Swallow a spoonful +of sody, an’ you’ll sweeten up wonderful an’ be more +pleasant company.”</p> +<p>In the morning Henry was aroused by fervid blasphemy that proceeded +from the mouth of Bill. Henry propped himself up on an elbow and +looked to see his comrade standing among the dogs beside the replenished +fire, his arms raised in objurgation, his face distorted with passion.</p> +<p>“Hello!” Henry called. “What’s up now?”</p> +<p>“Frog’s gone,” came the answer.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“I tell you yes.”</p> +<p>Henry leaped out of the blankets and to the dogs. He counted +them with care, and then joined his partner in cursing the power of +the Wild that had robbed them of another dog.</p> +<p>“Frog was the strongest dog of the bunch,” Bill pronounced +finally.</p> +<p>“An’ he was no fool dog neither,” Henry added.</p> +<p>And so was recorded the second epitaph in two days.</p> +<p>A gloomy breakfast was eaten, and the four remaining dogs were harnessed +to the sled. The day was a repetition of the days that had gone +before. The men toiled without speech across the face of the frozen +world. The silence was unbroken save by the cries of their pursuers, +that, unseen, hung upon their rear. With the coming of night in +the mid-afternoon, the cries sounded closer as the pursuers drew in +according to their custom; and the dogs grew excited and frightened, +and were guilty of panics that tangled the traces and further depressed +the two men.</p> +<p>“There, that’ll fix you fool critters,” Bill said +with satisfaction that night, standing erect at completion of his task.</p> +<p>Henry left the cooking to come and see. Not only had his partner +tied the dogs up, but he had tied them, after the Indian fashion, with +sticks. About the neck of each dog he had fastened a leather thong. +To this, and so close to the neck that the dog could not get his teeth +to it, he had tied a stout stick four or five feet in length. +The other end of the stick, in turn, was made fast to a stake in the +ground by means of a leather thong. The dog was unable to gnaw +through the leather at his own end of the stick. The stick prevented +him from getting at the leather that fastened the other end.</p> +<p>Henry nodded his head approvingly.</p> +<p>“It’s the only contraption that’ll ever hold One +Ear,” he said. “He can gnaw through leather as clean +as a knife an’ jes’ about half as quick. They all’ll +be here in the mornin’ hunkydory.”</p> +<p>“You jes’ bet they will,” Bill affirmed. +“If one of em’ turns up missin’, I’ll go without +my coffee.”</p> +<p>“They jes’ know we ain’t loaded to kill,” +Henry remarked at bed-time, indicating the gleaming circle that hemmed +them in. “If we could put a couple of shots into ’em, +they’d be more respectful. They come closer every night. +Get the firelight out of your eyes an’ look hard—there! +Did you see that one?”</p> +<p>For some time the two men amused themselves with watching the movement +of vague forms on the edge of the firelight. By looking closely +and steadily at where a pair of eyes burned in the darkness, the form +of the animal would slowly take shape. They could even see these +forms move at times.</p> +<p>A sound among the dogs attracted the men’s attention. +One Ear was uttering quick, eager whines, lunging at the length of his +stick toward the darkness, and desisting now and again in order to make +frantic attacks on the stick with his teeth.</p> +<p>“Look at that, Bill,” Henry whispered.</p> +<p>Full into the firelight, with a stealthy, sidelong movement, glided +a doglike animal. It moved with commingled mistrust and daring, +cautiously observing the men, its attention fixed on the dogs. +One Ear strained the full length of the stick toward the intruder and +whined with eagerness.</p> +<p>“That fool One Ear don’t seem scairt much,” Bill +said in a low tone.</p> +<p>“It’s a she-wolf,” Henry whispered back, “an’ +that accounts for Fatty an’ Frog. She’s the decoy +for the pack. She draws out the dog an’ then all the rest +pitches in an’ eats ’m up.”</p> +<p>The fire crackled. A log fell apart with a loud spluttering +noise. At the sound of it the strange animal leaped back into +the darkness.</p> +<p>“Henry, I’m a-thinkin’,” Bill announced.</p> +<p>“Thinkin’ what?”</p> +<p>“I’m a-thinkin’ that was the one I lambasted with +the club.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t the slightest doubt in the world,” was Henry’s +response.</p> +<p>“An’ right here I want to remark,” Bill went on, +“that that animal’s familyarity with campfires is suspicious +an’ immoral.”</p> +<p>“It knows for certain more’n a self-respectin’ +wolf ought to know,” Henry agreed. “A wolf that knows +enough to come in with the dogs at feedin’ time has had experiences.”</p> +<p>“Ol’ Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves,” +Bill cogitates aloud. “I ought to know. I shot it +out of the pack in a moose pasture over ‘on Little Stick. +An’ Ol’ Villan cried like a baby. Hadn’t seen +it for three years, he said. Ben with the wolves all that time.”</p> +<p>“I reckon you’ve called the turn, Bill. That wolf’s +a dog, an’ it’s eaten fish many’s the time from the +hand of man.”</p> +<p>“An if I get a chance at it, that wolf that’s a dog’ll +be jes’ meat,” Bill declared. “We can’t +afford to lose no more animals.”</p> +<p>“But you’ve only got three cartridges,” Henry objected.</p> +<p>“I’ll wait for a dead sure shot,” was the reply.</p> +<p>In the morning Henry renewed the fire and cooked breakfast to the +accompaniment of his partner’s snoring.</p> +<p>“You was sleepin’ jes’ too comfortable for anything,” +Henry told him, as he routed him out for breakfast. “I hadn’t +the heart to rouse you.”</p> +<p>Bill began to eat sleepily. He noticed that his cup was empty +and started to reach for the pot. But the pot was beyond arm’s +length and beside Henry.</p> +<p>“Say, Henry,” he chided gently, “ain’t you +forgot somethin’?”</p> +<p>Henry looked about with great carefulness and shook his head. +Bill held up the empty cup.</p> +<p>“You don’t get no coffee,” Henry announced.</p> +<p>“Ain’t run out?” Bill asked anxiously.</p> +<p>“Nope.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t thinkin’ it’ll hurt my digestion?”</p> +<p>“Nope.”</p> +<p>A flush of angry blood pervaded Bill’s face.</p> +<p>“Then it’s jes’ warm an’ anxious I am to +be hearin’ you explain yourself,” he said.</p> +<p>“Spanker’s gone,” Henry answered.</p> +<p>Without haste, with the air of one resigned to misfortune Bill turned +his head, and from where he sat counted the dogs.</p> +<p>“How’d it happen?” he asked apathetically.</p> +<p>Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. +Unless One Ear gnawed ’m loose. He couldn’t a-done +it himself, that’s sure.”</p> +<p>“The darned cuss.” Bill spoke gravely and slowly, +with no hint of the anger that was raging within. “Jes’ +because he couldn’t chew himself loose, he chews Spanker loose.”</p> +<p>“Well, Spanker’s troubles is over anyway; I guess he’s +digested by this time an’ cavortin’ over the landscape in +the bellies of twenty different wolves,” was Henry’s epitaph +on this, the latest lost dog. “Have some coffee, Bill.”</p> +<p>But Bill shook his head.</p> +<p>“Go on,” Henry pleaded, elevating the pot.</p> +<p>Bill shoved his cup aside. “I’ll be ding-dong-danged +if I do. I said I wouldn’t if ary dog turned up missin’, +an’ I won’t.”</p> +<p>“It’s darn good coffee,” Henry said enticingly.</p> +<p>But Bill was stubborn, and he ate a dry breakfast washed down with +mumbled curses at One Ear for the trick he had played.</p> +<p>“I’ll tie ’em up out of reach of each other to-night,” +Bill said, as they took the trail.</p> +<p>They had travelled little more than a hundred yards, when Henry, +who was in front, bent down and picked up something with which his snowshoe +had collided. It was dark, and he could not see it, but he recognised +it by the touch. He flung it back, so that it struck the sled +and bounced along until it fetched up on Bill’s snowshoes.</p> +<p>“Mebbe you’ll need that in your business,” Henry +said.</p> +<p>Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker—the +stick with which he had been tied.</p> +<p>“They ate ’m hide an’ all,” Bill announced. +“The stick’s as clean as a whistle. They’ve +ate the leather offen both ends. They’re damn hungry, Henry, +an’ they’ll have you an’ me guessin’ before +this trip’s over.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed defiantly. “I ain’t been trailed +this way by wolves before, but I’ve gone through a whole lot worse +an’ kept my health. Takes more’n a handful of them +pesky critters to do for yours truly, Bill, my son.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Bill muttered +ominously.</p> +<p>“Well, you’ll know all right when we pull into McGurry.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t feelin’ special enthusiastic,” Bill +persisted.</p> +<p>“You’re off colour, that’s what’s the matter +with you,” Henry dogmatised. “What you need is quinine, +an’ I’m goin’ to dose you up stiff as soon as we make +McGurry.”</p> +<p>Bill grunted his disagreement with the diagnosis, and lapsed into +silence. The day was like all the days. Light came at nine +o’clock. At twelve o’clock the southern horizon was +warmed by the unseen sun; and then began the cold grey of afternoon +that would merge, three hours later, into night.</p> +<p>It was just after the sun’s futile effort to appear, that Bill +slipped the rifle from under the sled-lashings and said:</p> +<p>“You keep right on, Henry, I’m goin’ to see what +I can see.”</p> +<p>“You’d better stick by the sled,” his partner protested. +“You’ve only got three cartridges, an’ there’s +no tellin’ what might happen.”</p> +<p>“Who’s croaking now?” Bill demanded triumphantly.</p> +<p>Henry made no reply, and plodded on alone, though often he cast anxious +glances back into the grey solitude where his partner had disappeared. +An hour later, taking advantage of the cut-offs around which the sled +had to go, Bill arrived.</p> +<p>“They’re scattered an’ rangin’ along wide,” +he said: “keeping up with us an’ lookin’ for game +at the same time. You see, they’re sure of us, only they +know they’ve got to wait to get us. In the meantime they’re +willin’ to pick up anything eatable that comes handy.”</p> +<p>“You mean they <i>think</i> they’re sure of us,” +Henry objected pointedly.</p> +<p>But Bill ignored him. “I seen some of them. They’re +pretty thin. They ain’t had a bite in weeks I reckon, outside +of Fatty an’ Frog an’ Spanker; an’ there’s so +many of ’em that that didn’t go far. They’re +remarkable thin. Their ribs is like wash-boards, an’ their +stomachs is right up against their backbones. They’re pretty +desperate, I can tell you. They’ll be goin’ mad, yet, +an’ then watch out.”</p> +<p>A few minutes later, Henry, who was now travelling behind the sled, +emitted a low, warning whistle. Bill turned and looked, then quietly +stopped the dogs. To the rear, from around the last bend and plainly +into view, on the very trail they had just covered, trotted a furry, +slinking form. Its nose was to the trail, and it trotted with +a peculiar, sliding, effortless gait. When they halted, it halted, +throwing up its head and regarding them steadily with nostrils that +twitched as it caught and studied the scent of them.</p> +<p>“It’s the she-wolf,” Bill answered.</p> +<p>The dogs had laid down in the snow, and he walked past them to join +his partner in the sled. Together they watched the strange animal +that had pursued them for days and that had already accomplished the +destruction of half their dog-team.</p> +<p>After a searching scrutiny, the animal trotted forward a few steps. +This it repeated several times, till it was a short hundred yards away. +It paused, head up, close by a clump of spruce trees, and with sight +and scent studied the outfit of the watching men. It looked at +them in a strangely wistful way, after the manner of a dog; but in its +wistfulness there was none of the dog affection. It was a wistfulness +bred of hunger, as cruel as its own fangs, as merciless as the frost +itself.</p> +<p>It was large for a wolf, its gaunt frame advertising the lines of +an animal that was among the largest of its kind.</p> +<p>“Stands pretty close to two feet an’ a half at the shoulders,” +Henry commented. “An’ I’ll bet it ain’t +far from five feet long.”</p> +<p>“Kind of strange colour for a wolf,” was Bill’s +criticism. “I never seen a red wolf before. Looks +almost cinnamon to me.”</p> +<p>The animal was certainly not cinnamon-coloured. Its coat was +the true wolf-coat. The dominant colour was grey, and yet there +was to it a faint reddish hue—a hue that was baffling, that appeared +and disappeared, that was more like an illusion of the vision, now grey, +distinctly grey, and again giving hints and glints of a vague redness +of colour not classifiable in terms of ordinary experience.</p> +<p>“Looks for all the world like a big husky sled-dog,” +Bill said. “I wouldn’t be s’prised to see it +wag its tail.”</p> +<p>“Hello, you husky!” he called. “Come here, +you whatever-your-name-is.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t a bit scairt of you,” Henry laughed.</p> +<p>Bill waved his hand at it threateningly and shouted loudly; but the +animal betrayed no fear. The only change in it that they could +notice was an accession of alertness. It still regarded them with +the merciless wistfulness of hunger. They were meat, and it was +hungry; and it would like to go in and eat them if it dared.</p> +<p>“Look here, Henry,” Bill said, unconsciously lowering +his voice to a whisper because of what he imitated. “We’ve +got three cartridges. But it’s a dead shot. Couldn’t +miss it. It’s got away with three of our dogs, an’ +we oughter put a stop to it. What d’ye say?”</p> +<p>Henry nodded his consent. Bill cautiously slipped the gun from +under the sled-lashing. The gun was on the way to his shoulder, +but it never got there. For in that instant the she-wolf leaped +sidewise from the trail into the clump of spruce trees and disappeared.</p> +<p>The two men looked at each other. Henry whistled long and comprehendingly.</p> +<p>“I might have knowed it,” Bill chided himself aloud as +he replaced the gun. “Of course a wolf that knows enough +to come in with the dogs at feedin’ time, ’d know all about +shooting-irons. I tell you right now, Henry, that critter’s +the cause of all our trouble. We’d have six dogs at the +present time, ’stead of three, if it wasn’t for her. +An’ I tell you right now, Henry, I’m goin’ to get +her. She’s too smart to be shot in the open. But I’m +goin’ to lay for her. I’ll bushwhack her as sure as +my name is Bill.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t stray off too far in doin’ it,” +his partner admonished. “If that pack ever starts to jump +you, them three cartridges’d be wuth no more’n three whoops +in hell. Them animals is damn hungry, an’ once they start +in, they’ll sure get you, Bill.”</p> +<p>They camped early that night. Three dogs could not drag the +sled so fast nor for so long hours as could six, and they were showing +unmistakable signs of playing out. And the men went early to bed, +Bill first seeing to it that the dogs were tied out of gnawing-reach +of one another.</p> +<p>But the wolves were growing bolder, and the men were aroused more +than once from their sleep. So near did the wolves approach, that +the dogs became frantic with terror, and it was necessary to replenish +the fire from time to time in order to keep the adventurous marauders +at safer distance.</p> +<p>“I’ve hearn sailors talk of sharks followin’ a +ship,” Bill remarked, as he crawled back into the blankets after +one such replenishing of the fire. “Well, them wolves is +land sharks. They know their business better’n we do, an’ +they ain’t a-holdin’ our trail this way for their health. +They’re goin’ to get us. They’re sure goin’ +to get us, Henry.”</p> +<p>“They’ve half got you a’ready, a-talkin’ +like that,” Henry retorted sharply. “A man’s +half licked when he says he is. An’ you’re half eaten +from the way you’re goin’ on about it.”</p> +<p>“They’ve got away with better men than you an’ +me,” Bill answered.</p> +<p>“Oh, shet up your croakin’. You make me all-fired +tired.”</p> +<p>Henry rolled over angrily on his side, but was surprised that Bill +made no similar display of temper. This was not Bill’s way, +for he was easily angered by sharp words. Henry thought long over +it before he went to sleep, and as his eyelids fluttered down and he +dozed off, the thought in his mind was: “There’s no mistakin’ +it, Bill’s almighty blue. I’ll have to cheer him up +to-morrow.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE HUNGER CRY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The day began auspiciously. They had lost no dogs during the +night, and they swung out upon the trail and into the silence, the darkness, +and the cold with spirits that were fairly light. Bill seemed +to have forgotten his forebodings of the previous night, and even waxed +facetious with the dogs when, at midday, they overturned the sled on +a bad piece of trail.</p> +<p>It was an awkward mix-up. The sled was upside down and jammed +between a tree-trunk and a huge rock, and they were forced to unharness +the dogs in order to straighten out the tangle. The two men were +bent over the sled and trying to right it, when Henry observed One Ear +sidling away.</p> +<p>“Here, you, One Ear!” he cried, straightening up and +turning around on the dog.</p> +<p>But One Ear broke into a run across the snow, his traces trailing +behind him. And there, out in the snow of their back track, was +the she-wolf waiting for him. As he neared her, he became suddenly +cautious. He slowed down to an alert and mincing walk and then +stopped. He regarded her carefully and dubiously, yet desirefully. +She seemed to smile at him, showing her teeth in an ingratiating rather +than a menacing way. She moved toward him a few steps, playfully, +and then halted. One Ear drew near to her, still alert and cautious, +his tail and ears in the air, his head held high.</p> +<p>He tried to sniff noses with her, but she retreated playfully and +coyly. Every advance on his part was accompanied by a corresponding +retreat on her part. Step by step she was luring him away from +the security of his human companionship. Once, as though a warning +had in vague ways flitted through his intelligence, he turned his head +and looked back at the overturned sled, at his team-mates, and at the +two men who were calling to him.</p> +<p>But whatever idea was forming in his mind, was dissipated by the +she-wolf, who advanced upon him, sniffed noses with him for a fleeting +instant, and then resumed her coy retreat before his renewed advances.</p> +<p>In the meantime, Bill had bethought himself of the rifle. But +it was jammed beneath the overturned sled, and by the time Henry had +helped him to right the load, One Ear and the she-wolf were too close +together and the distance too great to risk a shot.</p> +<p>Too late One Ear learned his mistake. Before they saw the cause, +the two men saw him turn and start to run back toward them. Then, +approaching at right angles to the trail and cutting off his retreat +they saw a dozen wolves, lean and grey, bounding across the snow. +On the instant, the she-wolf’s coyness and playfulness disappeared. +With a snarl she sprang upon One Ear. He thrust her off with his +shoulder, and, his retreat cut off and still intent on regaining the +sled, he altered his course in an attempt to circle around to it. +More wolves were appearing every moment and joining in the chase. +The she-wolf was one leap behind One Ear and holding her own.</p> +<p>“Where are you goin’?” Henry suddenly demanded, +laying his hand on his partner’s arm.</p> +<p>Bill shook it off. “I won’t stand it,” he +said. “They ain’t a-goin’ to get any more of +our dogs if I can help it.”</p> +<p>Gun in hand, he plunged into the underbrush that lined the side of +the trail. His intention was apparent enough. Taking the +sled as the centre of the circle that One Ear was making, Bill planned +to tap that circle at a point in advance of the pursuit. With +his rifle, in the broad daylight, it might be possible for him to awe +the wolves and save the dog.</p> +<p>“Say, Bill!” Henry called after him. “Be +careful! Don’t take no chances!”</p> +<p>Henry sat down on the sled and watched. There was nothing else +for him to do. Bill had already gone from sight; but now and again, +appearing and disappearing amongst the underbrush and the scattered +clumps of spruce, could be seen One Ear. Henry judged his case +to be hopeless. The dog was thoroughly alive to its danger, but +it was running on the outer circle while the wolf-pack was running on +the inner and shorter circle. It was vain to think of One Ear +so outdistancing his pursuers as to be able to cut across their circle +in advance of them and to regain the sled.</p> +<p>The different lines were rapidly approaching a point. Somewhere +out there in the snow, screened from his sight by trees and thickets, +Henry knew that the wolf-pack, One Ear, and Bill were coming together. +All too quickly, far more quickly than he had expected, it happened. +He heard a shot, then two shots, in rapid succession, and he knew that +Bill’s ammunition was gone. Then he heard a great outcry +of snarls and yelps. He recognised One Ear’s yell of pain +and terror, and he heard a wolf-cry that bespoke a stricken animal. +And that was all. The snarls ceased. The yelping died away. +Silence settled down again over the lonely land.</p> +<p>He sat for a long while upon the sled. There was no need for +him to go and see what had happened. He knew it as though it had +taken place before his eyes. Once, he roused with a start and +hastily got the axe out from underneath the lashings. But for +some time longer he sat and brooded, the two remaining dogs crouching +and trembling at his feet.</p> +<p>At last he arose in a weary manner, as though all the resilience +had gone out of his body, and proceeded to fasten the dogs to the sled. +He passed a rope over his shoulder, a man-trace, and pulled with the +dogs. He did not go far. At the first hint of darkness he +hastened to make a camp, and he saw to it that he had a generous supply +of firewood. He fed the dogs, cooked and ate his supper, and made +his bed close to the fire.</p> +<p>But he was not destined to enjoy that bed. Before his eyes +closed the wolves had drawn too near for safety. It no longer +required an effort of the vision to see them. They were all about +him and the fire, in a narrow circle, and he could see them plainly +in the firelight lying down, sitting up, crawling forward on their bellies, +or slinking back and forth. They even slept. Here and there +he could see one curled up in the snow like a dog, taking the sleep +that was now denied himself.</p> +<p>He kept the fire brightly blazing, for he knew that it alone intervened +between the flesh of his body and their hungry fangs. His two +dogs stayed close by him, one on either side, leaning against him for +protection, crying and whimpering, and at times snarling desperately +when a wolf approached a little closer than usual. At such moments, +when his dogs snarled, the whole circle would be agitated, the wolves +coming to their feet and pressing tentatively forward, a chorus of snarls +and eager yelps rising about him. Then the circle would lie down +again, and here and there a wolf would resume its broken nap.</p> +<p>But this circle had a continuous tendency to draw in upon him. +Bit by bit, an inch at a time, with here a wolf bellying forward, and +there a wolf bellying forward, the circle would narrow until the brutes +were almost within springing distance. Then he would seize brands +from the fire and hurl them into the pack. A hasty drawing back +always resulted, accompanied by an yelps and frightened snarls when +a well-aimed brand struck and scorched a too daring animal.</p> +<p>Morning found the man haggard and worn, wide-eyed from want of sleep. +He cooked breakfast in the darkness, and at nine o’clock, when, +with the coming of daylight, the wolf-pack drew back, he set about the +task he had planned through the long hours of the night. Chopping +down young saplings, he made them cross-bars of a scaffold by lashing +them high up to the trunks of standing trees. Using the sled-lashing +for a heaving rope, and with the aid of the dogs, he hoisted the coffin +to the top of the scaffold.</p> +<p>“They got Bill, an’ they may get me, but they’ll +sure never get you, young man,” he said, addressing the dead body +in its tree-sepulchre.</p> +<p>Then he took the trail, the lightened sled bounding along behind +the willing dogs; for they, too, knew that safety lay open in the gaining +of Fort McGurry. The wolves were now more open in their pursuit, +trotting sedately behind and ranging along on either side, their red +tongues lolling out, their-lean sides showing the udulating ribs with +every movement. They were very lean, mere skin-bags stretched +over bony frames, with strings for muscles—so lean that Henry +found it in his mind to marvel that they still kept their feet and did +not collapse forthright in the snow.</p> +<p>He did not dare travel until dark. At midday, not only did +the sun warm the southern horizon, but it even thrust its upper rim, +pale and golden, above the sky-line. He received it as a sign. +The days were growing longer. The sun was returning. But +scarcely had the cheer of its light departed, than he went into camp. +There were still several hours of grey daylight and sombre twilight, +and he utilised them in chopping an enormous supply of fire-wood.</p> +<p>With night came horror. Not only were the starving wolves growing +bolder, but lack of sleep was telling upon Henry. He dozed despite +himself, crouching by the fire, the blankets about his shoulders, the +axe between his knees, and on either side a dog pressing close against +him. He awoke once and saw in front of him, not a dozen feet away, +a big grey wolf, one of the largest of the pack. And even as he +looked, the brute deliberately stretched himself after the manner of +a lazy dog, yawning full in his face and looking upon him with a possessive +eye, as if, in truth, he were merely a delayed meal that was soon to +be eaten.</p> +<p>This certitude was shown by the whole pack. Fully a score he +could count, staring hungrily at him or calmly sleeping in the snow. +They reminded him of children gathered about a spread table and awaiting +permission to begin to eat. And he was the food they were to eat! +He wondered how and when the meal would begin.</p> +<p>As he piled wood on the fire he discovered an appreciation of his +own body which he had never felt before. He watched his moving +muscles and was interested in the cunning mechanism of his fingers. +By the light of the fire he crooked his fingers slowly and repeatedly +now one at a time, now all together, spreading them wide or making quick +gripping movements. He studied the nail-formation, and prodded +the finger-tips, now sharply, and again softly, gauging the while the +nerve-sensations produced. It fascinated him, and he grew suddenly +fond of this subtle flesh of his that worked so beautifully and smoothly +and delicately. Then he would cast a glance of fear at the wolf-circle +drawn expectantly about him, and like a blow the realisation would strike +him that this wonderful body of his, this living flesh, was no more +than so much meat, a quest of ravenous animals, to be torn and slashed +by their hungry fangs, to be sustenance to them as the moose and the +rabbit had often been sustenance to him.</p> +<p>He came out of a doze that was half nightmare, to see the red-hued +she-wolf before him. She was not more than half a dozen feet away +sitting in the snow and wistfully regarding him. The two dogs +were whimpering and snarling at his feet, but she took no notice of +them. She was looking at the man, and for some time he returned +her look. There was nothing threatening about her. She looked +at him merely with a great wistfulness, but he knew it to be the wistfulness +of an equally great hunger. He was the food, and the sight of +him excited in her the gustatory sensations. Her mouth opened, +the saliva drooled forth, and she licked her chops with the pleasure +of anticipation.</p> +<p>A spasm of fear went through him. He reached hastily for a +brand to throw at her. But even as he reached, and before his +fingers had closed on the missile, she sprang back into safety; and +he knew that she was used to having things thrown at her. She +had snarled as she sprang away, baring her white fangs to their roots, +all her wistfulness vanishing, being replaced by a carnivorous malignity +that made him shudder. He glanced at the hand that held the brand, +noticing the cunning delicacy of the fingers that gripped it, how they +adjusted themselves to all the inequalities of the surface, curling +over and under and about the rough wood, and one little finger, too +close to the burning portion of the brand, sensitively and automatically +writhing back from the hurtful heat to a cooler gripping-place; and +in the same instant he seemed to see a vision of those same sensitive +and delicate fingers being crushed and torn by the white teeth of the +she-wolf. Never had he been so fond of this body of his as now +when his tenure of it was so precarious.</p> +<p>All night, with burning brands, he fought off the hungry pack. +When he dozed despite himself, the whimpering and snarling of the dogs +aroused him. Morning came, but for the first time the light of +day failed to scatter the wolves. The man waited in vain for them +to go. They remained in a circle about him and his fire, displaying +an arrogance of possession that shook his courage born of the morning +light.</p> +<p>He made one desperate attempt to pull out on the trail. But +the moment he left the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped +for him, but leaped short. He saved himself by springing back, +the jaws snapping together a scant six inches from his thigh. +The rest of the pack was now up and surging upon him, and a throwing +of firebrands right and left was necessary to drive them back to a respectful +distance.</p> +<p>Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh +wood. Twenty feet away towered a huge dead spruce. He spent +half the day extending his campfire to the tree, at any moment a half +dozen burning faggots ready at hand to fling at his enemies. Once +at the tree, he studied the surrounding forest in order to fell the +tree in the direction of the most firewood.</p> +<p>The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need +for sleep was becoming overpowering. The snarling of his dogs +was losing its efficacy. Besides, they were snarling all the time, +and his benumbed and drowsy senses no longer took note of changing pitch +and intensity. He awoke with a start. The she-wolf was less +than a yard from him. Mechanically, at short range, without letting +go of it, he thrust a brand full into her open and snarling mouth. +She sprang away, yelling with pain, and while he took delight in the +smell of burning flesh and hair, he watched her shaking her head and +growling wrathfully a score of feet away.</p> +<p>But this time, before he dozed again, he tied a burning pine-knot +to his right hand. His eyes were closed but few minutes when the +burn of the flame on his flesh awakened him. For several hours +he adhered to this programme. Every time he was thus awakened +he drove back the wolves with flying brands, replenished the fire, and +rearranged the pine-knot on his hand. All worked well, but there +came a time when he fastened the pine-knot insecurely. As his +eyes closed it fell away from his hand.</p> +<p>He dreamed. It seemed to him that he was in Fort McGurry. +It was warm and comfortable, and he was playing cribbage with the Factor. +Also, it seemed to him that the fort was besieged by wolves. They +were howling at the very gates, and sometimes he and the Factor paused +from the game to listen and laugh at the futile efforts of the wolves +to get in. And then, so strange was the dream, there was a crash. +The door was burst open. He could see the wolves flooding into +the big living-room of the fort. They were leaping straight for +him and the Factor. With the bursting open of the door, the noise +of their howling had increased tremendously. This howling now +bothered him. His dream was merging into something else—he +knew not what; but through it all, following him, persisted the howling.</p> +<p>And then he awoke to find the howling real. There was a great +snarling and yelping. The wolves were rushing him. They +were all about him and upon him. The teeth of one had closed upon +his arm. Instinctively he leaped into the fire, and as he leaped, +he felt the sharp slash of teeth that tore through the flesh of his +leg. Then began a fire fight. His stout mittens temporarily +protected his hands, and he scooped live coals into the air in all directions, +until the campfire took on the semblance of a volcano.</p> +<p>But it could not last long. His face was blistering in the +heat, his eyebrows and lashes were singed off, and the heat was becoming +unbearable to his feet. With a flaming brand in each hand, he +sprang to the edge of the fire. The wolves had been driven back. +On every side, wherever the live coals had fallen, the snow was sizzling, +and every little while a retiring wolf, with wild leap and snort and +snarl, announced that one such live coal had been stepped upon.</p> +<p>Flinging his brands at the nearest of his enemies, the man thrust +his smouldering mittens into the snow and stamped about to cool his +feet. His two dogs were missing, and he well knew that they had +served as a course in the protracted meal which had begun days before +with Fatty, the last course of which would likely be himself in the +days to follow.</p> +<p>“You ain’t got me yet!” he cried, savagely shaking +his fist at the hungry beasts; and at the sound of his voice the whole +circle was agitated, there was a general snarl, and the she-wolf slid +up close to him across the snow and watched him with hungry wistfulness.</p> +<p>He set to work to carry out a new idea that had come to him. +He extended the fire into a large circle. Inside this circle he +crouched, his sleeping outfit under him as a protection against the +melting snow. When he had thus disappeared within his shelter +of flame, the whole pack came curiously to the rim of the fire to see +what had become of him. Hitherto they had been denied access to +the fire, and they now settled down in a close-drawn circle, like so +many dogs, blinking and yawning and stretching their lean bodies in +the unaccustomed warmth. Then the she-wolf sat down, pointed her +nose at a star, and began to howl. One by one the wolves joined +her, till the whole pack, on haunches, with noses pointed skyward, was +howling its hunger cry.</p> +<p>Dawn came, and daylight. The fire was burning low. The +fuel had run out, and there was need to get more. The man attempted +to step out of his circle of flame, but the wolves surged to meet him. +Burning brands made them spring aside, but they no longer sprang back. +In vain he strove to drive them back. As he gave up and stumbled +inside his circle, a wolf leaped for him, missed, and landed with all +four feet in the coals. It cried out with terror, at the same +time snarling, and scrambled back to cool its paws in the snow.</p> +<p>The man sat down on his blankets in a crouching position. His +body leaned forward from the hips. His shoulders, relaxed and +drooping, and his head on his knees advertised that he had given up +the struggle. Now and again he raised his head to note the dying +down of the fire. The circle of flame and coals was breaking into +segments with openings in between. These openings grew in size, +the segments diminished.</p> +<p>“I guess you can come an’ get me any time,” he +mumbled. “Anyway, I’m goin’ to sleep.”</p> +<p>Once he awakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in front +of him, he saw the she-wolf gazing at him.</p> +<p>Again he awakened, a little later, though it seemed hours to him. +A mysterious change had taken place—so mysterious a change that +he was shocked wider awake. Something had happened. He could +not understand at first. Then he discovered it. The wolves +were gone. Remained only the trampled snow to show how closely +they had pressed him. Sleep was welling up and gripping him again, +his head was sinking down upon his knees, when he roused with a sudden +start.</p> +<p>There were cries of men, and churn of sleds, the creaking of harnesses, +and the eager whimpering of straining dogs. Four sleds pulled +in from the river bed to the camp among the trees. Half a dozen +men were about the man who crouched in the centre of the dying fire. +They were shaking and prodding him into consciousness. He looked +at them like a drunken man and maundered in strange, sleepy speech.</p> +<p>“Red she-wolf. . . . Come in with the dogs at feedin’ +time. . . . First she ate the dog-food. . . . Then she ate the dogs. +. . . An’ after that she ate Bill. . . . ”</p> +<p>“Where’s Lord Alfred?” one of the men bellowed +in his ear, shaking him roughly.</p> +<p>He shook his head slowly. “No, she didn’t eat him. +. . . He’s roostin’ in a tree at the last camp.”</p> +<p>“Dead?” the man shouted.</p> +<p>“An’ in a box,” Henry answered. He jerked +his shoulder petulantly away from the grip of his questioner. +“Say, you lemme alone. . . . I’m jes’ plump tuckered +out. . . . Goo’ night, everybody.”</p> +<p>His eyes fluttered and went shut. His chin fell forward on +his chest. And even as they eased him down upon the blankets his +snores were rising on the frosty air.</p> +<p>But there was another sound. Far and faint it was, in the remote +distance, the cry of the hungry wolf-pack as it took the trail of other +meat than the man it had just missed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART II</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE BATTLE OF THE FANGS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was the she-wolf who had first caught the sound of men’s +voices and the whining of the sled-dogs; and it was the she-wolf who +was first to spring away from the cornered man in his circle of dying +flame. The pack had been loath to forego the kill it had hunted +down, and it lingered for several minutes, making sure of the sounds, +and then it, too, sprang away on the trail made by the she-wolf.</p> +<p>Running at the forefront of the pack was a large grey wolf—one +of its several leaders. It was he who directed the pack’s +course on the heels of the she-wolf. It was he who snarled warningly +at the younger members of the pack or slashed at them with his fangs +when they ambitiously tried to pass him. And it was he who increased +the pace when he sighted the she-wolf, now trotting slowly across the +snow.</p> +<p>She dropped in alongside by him, as though it were her appointed +position, and took the pace of the pack. He did not snarl at her, +nor show his teeth, when any leap of hers chanced to put her in advance +of him. On the contrary, he seemed kindly disposed toward her—too +kindly to suit her, for he was prone to run near to her, and when he +ran too near it was she who snarled and showed her teeth. Nor +was she above slashing his shoulder sharply on occasion. At such +times he betrayed no anger. He merely sprang to the side and ran +stiffly ahead for several awkward leaps, in carriage and conduct resembling +an abashed country swain.</p> +<p>This was his one trouble in the running of the pack; but she had +other troubles. On her other side ran a gaunt old wolf, grizzled +and marked with the scars of many battles. He ran always on her +right side. The fact that he had but one eye, and that the left +eye, might account for this. He, also, was addicted to crowding +her, to veering toward her till his scarred muzzle touched her body, +or shoulder, or neck. As with the running mate on the left, she +repelled these attentions with her teeth; but when both bestowed their +attentions at the same time she was roughly jostled, being compelled, +with quick snaps to either side, to drive both lovers away and at the +same time to maintain her forward leap with the pack and see the way +of her feet before her. At such times her running mates flashed +their teeth and growled threateningly across at each other. They +might have fought, but even wooing and its rivalry waited upon the more +pressing hunger-need of the pack.</p> +<p>After each repulse, when the old wolf sheered abruptly away from +the sharp-toothed object of his desire, he shouldered against a young +three-year-old that ran on his blind right side. This young wolf +had attained his full size; and, considering the weak and famished condition +of the pack, he possessed more than the average vigour and spirit. +Nevertheless, he ran with his head even with the shoulder of his one-eyed +elder. When he ventured to run abreast of the older wolf (which +was seldom), a snarl and a snap sent him back even with the shoulder +again. Sometimes, however, he dropped cautiously and slowly behind +and edged in between the old leader and the she-wolf. This was +doubly resented, even triply resented. When she snarled her displeasure, +the old leader would whirl on the three-year-old. Sometimes she +whirled with him. And sometimes the young leader on the left whirled, +too.</p> +<p>At such times, confronted by three sets of savage teeth, the young +wolf stopped precipitately, throwing himself back on his haunches, with +fore-legs stiff, mouth menacing, and mane bristling. This confusion +in the front of the moving pack always caused confusion in the rear. +The wolves behind collided with the young wolf and expressed their displeasure +by administering sharp nips on his hind-legs and flanks. He was +laying up trouble for himself, for lack of food and short tempers went +together; but with the boundless faith of youth he persisted in repeating +the manoeuvre every little while, though it never succeeded in gaining +anything for him but discomfiture.</p> +<p>Had there been food, love-making and fighting would have gone on +apace, and the pack-formation would have been broken up. But the +situation of the pack was desperate. It was lean with long-standing +hunger. It ran below its ordinary speed. At the rear limped +the weak members, the very young and the very old. At the front +were the strongest. Yet all were more like skeletons than full-bodied +wolves. Nevertheless, with the exception of the ones that limped, +the movements of the animals were eftortless and tireless. Their +stringy muscles seemed founts of inexhaustible energy. Behind +every steel-like contraction of a muscle, lay another steel-like contraction, +and another, and another, apparently without end.</p> +<p>They ran many miles that day. They ran through the night. +And the next day found them still running. They were running over +the surface of a world frozen and dead. No life stirred. +They alone moved through the vast inertness. They alone were alive, +and they sought for other things that were alive in order that they +might devour them and continue to live.</p> +<p>They crossed low divides and ranged a dozen small streams in a lower-lying +country before their quest was rewarded. Then they came upon moose. +It was a big bull they first found. Here was meat and life, and +it was guarded by no mysterious fires nor flying missiles of flame. +Splay hoofs and palmated antlers they knew, and they flung their customary +patience and caution to the wind. It was a brief fight and fierce. +The big bull was beset on every side. He ripped them open or split +their skulls with shrewdly driven blows of his great hoofs. He +crushed them and broke them on his large horns. He stamped them +into the snow under him in the wallowing struggle. But he was +foredoomed, and he went down with the she-wolf tearing savagely at his +throat, and with other teeth fixed everywhere upon him, devouring him +alive, before ever his last struggles ceased or his last damage had +been wrought.</p> +<p>There was food in plenty. The bull weighed over eight hundred +pounds—fully twenty pounds of meat per mouth for the forty-odd +wolves of the pack. But if they could fast prodigiously, they +could feed prodigiously, and soon a few scattered bones were all that +remained of the splendid live brute that had faced the pack a few hours +before.</p> +<p>There was now much resting and sleeping. With full stomachs, +bickering and quarrelling began among the younger males, and this continued +through the few days that followed before the breaking-up of the pack. +The famine was over. The wolves were now in the country of game, +and though they still hunted in pack, they hunted more cautiously, cutting +out heavy cows or crippled old bulls from the small moose-herds they +ran across.</p> +<p>There came a day, in this land of plenty, when the wolf-pack split +in half and went in different directions. The she-wolf, the young +leader on her left, and the one-eyed elder on her right, led their half +of the pack down to the Mackenzie River and across into the lake country +to the east. Each day this remnant of the pack dwindled. +Two by two, male and female, the wolves were deserting. Occasionally +a solitary male was driven out by the sharp teeth of his rivals. +In the end there remained only four: the she-wolf, the young leader, +the one-eyed one, and the ambitious three-year-old.</p> +<p>The she-wolf had by now developed a ferocious temper. Her three +suitors all bore the marks of her teeth. Yet they never replied +in kind, never defended themselves against her. They turned their +shoulders to her most savage slashes, and with wagging tails and mincing +steps strove to placate her wrath. But if they were all mildness +toward her, they were all fierceness toward one another. The three-year-old +grew too ambitious in his fierceness. He caught the one-eyed elder +on his blind side and ripped his ear into ribbons. Though the +grizzled old fellow could see only on one side, against the youth and +vigour of the other he brought into play the wisdom of long years of +experience. His lost eye and his scarred muzzle bore evidence +to the nature of his experience. He had survived too many battles +to be in doubt for a moment about what to do.</p> +<p>The battle began fairly, but it did not end fairly. There was +no telling what the outcome would have been, for the third wolf joined +the elder, and together, old leader and young leader, they attacked +the ambitious three-year-old and proceeded to destroy him. He +was beset on either side by the merciless fangs of his erstwhile comrades. +Forgotten were the days they had hunted together, the game they had +pulled down, the famine they had suffered. That business was a +thing of the past. The business of love was at hand—ever +a sterner and crueller business than that of food-getting.</p> +<p>And in the meanwhile, the she-wolf, the cause of it all, sat down +contentedly on her haunches and watched. She was even pleased. +This was her day—and it came not often—when manes bristled, +and fang smote fang or ripped and tore the yielding flesh, all for the +possession of her.</p> +<p>And in the business of love the three-year-old, who had made this +his first adventure upon it, yielded up his life. On either side +of his body stood his two rivals. They were gazing at the she-wolf, +who sat smiling in the snow. But the elder leader was wise, very +wise, in love even as in battle. The younger leader turned his +head to lick a wound on his shoulder. The curve of his neck was +turned toward his rival. With his one eye the elder saw the opportunity. +He darted in low and closed with his fangs. It was a long, ripping +slash, and deep as well. His teeth, in passing, burst the wall +of the great vein of the throat. Then he leaped clear.</p> +<p>The young leader snarled terribly, but his snarl broke midmost into +a tickling cough. Bleeding and coughing, already stricken, he +sprang at the elder and fought while life faded from him, his legs going +weak beneath him, the light of day dulling on his eyes, his blows and +springs falling shorter and shorter.</p> +<p>And all the while the she-wolf sat on her haunches and smiled. +She was made glad in vague ways by the battle, for this was the love-making +of the Wild, the sex-tragedy of the natural world that was tragedy only +to those that died. To those that survived it was not tragedy, +but realisation and achievement.</p> +<p>When the young leader lay in the snow and moved no more, One Eye +stalked over to the she-wolf. His carriage was one of mingled +triumph and caution. He was plainly expectant of a rebuff, and +he was just as plainly surprised when her teeth did not flash out at +him in anger. For the first time she met him with a kindly manner. +She sniffed noses with him, and even condescended to leap about and +frisk and play with him in quite puppyish fashion. And he, for +all his grey years and sage experience, behaved quite as puppyishly +and even a little more foolishly.</p> +<p>Forgotten already were the vanquished rivals and the love-tale red-written +on the snow. Forgotten, save once, when old One Eye stopped for +a moment to lick his stiffening wounds. Then it was that his lips +half writhed into a snarl, and the hair of his neck and shoulders involuntarily +bristled, while he half crouched for a spring, his claws spasmodically +clutching into the snow-surface for firmer footing. But it was +all forgotten the next moment, as he sprang after the she-wolf, who +was coyly leading him a chase through the woods.</p> +<p>After that they ran side by side, like good friends who have come +to an understanding. The days passed by, and they kept together, +hunting their meat and killing and eating it in common. After +a time the she-wolf began to grow restless. She seemed to be searching +for something that she could not find. The hollows under fallen +trees seemed to attract her, and she spent much time nosing about among +the larger snow-piled crevices in the rocks and in the caves of overhanging +banks. Old One Eye was not interested at all, but he followed +her good-naturedly in her quest, and when her investigations in particular +places were unusually protracted, he would lie down and wait until she +was ready to go on.</p> +<p>They did not remain in one place, but travelled across country until +they regained the Mackenzie River, down which they slowly went, leaving +it often to hunt game along the small streams that entered it, but always +returning to it again. Sometimes they chanced upon other wolves, +usually in pairs; but there was no friendliness of intercourse displayed +on either side, no gladness at meeting, no desire to return to the pack-formation. +Several times they encountered solitary wolves. These were always +males, and they were pressingly insistent on joining with One Eye and +his mate. This he resented, and when she stood shoulder to shoulder +with him, bristling and showing her teeth, the aspiring solitary ones +would back off, turn-tail, and continue on their lonely way.</p> +<p>One moonlight night, running through the quiet forest, One Eye suddenly +halted. His muzzle went up, his tail stiffened, and his nostrils +dilated as he scented the air. One foot also he held up, after +the manner of a dog. He was not satisfied, and he continued to +smell the air, striving to understand the message borne upon it to him. +One careless sniff had satisfied his mate, and she trotted on to reassure +him. Though he followed her, he was still dubious, and he could +not forbear an occasional halt in order more carefully to study the +warning.</p> +<p>She crept out cautiously on the edge of a large open space in the +midst of the trees. For some time she stood alone. Then +One Eye, creeping and crawling, every sense on the alert, every hair +radiating infinite suspicion, joined her. They stood side by side, +watching and listening and smelling.</p> +<p>To their ears came the sounds of dogs wrangling and scuffling, the +guttural cries of men, the sharper voices of scolding women, and once +the shrill and plaintive cry of a child. With the exception of +the huge bulks of the skin-lodges, little could be seen save the flames +of the fire, broken by the movements of intervening bodies, and the +smoke rising slowly on the quiet air. But to their nostrils came +the myriad smells of an Indian camp, carrying a story that was largely +incomprehensible to One Eye, but every detail of which the she-wolf +knew.</p> +<p>She was strangely stirred, and sniffed and sniffed with an increasing +delight. But old One Eye was doubtful. He betrayed his apprehension, +and started tentatively to go. She turned. and touched his neck +with her muzzle in a reassuring way, then regarded the camp again. +A new wistfulness was in her face, but it was not the wistfulness of +hunger. She was thrilling to a desire that urged her to go forward, +to be in closer to that fire, to be squabbling with the dogs, and to +be avoiding and dodging the stumbling feet of men.</p> +<p>One Eye moved impatiently beside her; her unrest came back upon her, +and she knew again her pressing need to find the thing for which she +searched. She turned and trotted back into the forest, to the +great relief of One Eye, who trotted a little to the fore until they +were well within the shelter of the trees.</p> +<p>As they slid along, noiseless as shadows, in the moonlight, they +came upon a run-way. Both noses went down to the footprints in +the snow. These footprints were very fresh. One Eye ran +ahead cautiously, his mate at his heels. The broad pads of their +feet were spread wide and in contact with the snow were like velvet. +One Eye caught sight of a dim movement of white in the midst of the +white. His sliding gait had been deceptively swift, but it was +as nothing to the speed at which he now ran. Before him was bounding +the faint patch of white he had discovered.</p> +<p>They were running along a narrow alley flanked on either side by +a growth of young spruce. Through the trees the mouth of the alley +could be seen, opening out on a moonlit glade. Old One Eye was +rapidly overhauling the fleeing shape of white. Bound by bound +he gained. Now he was upon it. One leap more and his teeth +would be sinking into it. But that leap was never made. +High in the air, and straight up, soared the shape of white, now a struggling +snowshoe rabbit that leaped and bounded, executing a fantastic dance +there above him in the air and never once returning to earth.</p> +<p>One Eye sprang back with a snort of sudden fright, then shrank down +to the snow and crouched, snarling threats at this thing of fear he +did not understand. But the she-wolf coolly thrust past him. +She poised for a moment, then sprang for the dancing rabbit. She, +too, soared high, but not so high as the quarry, and her teeth clipped +emptily together with a metallic snap. She made another leap, +and another.</p> +<p>Her mate had slowly relaxed from his crouch and was watching her. +He now evinced displeasure at her repeated failures, and himself made +a mighty spring upward. His teeth closed upon the rabbit, and +he bore it back to earth with him. But at the same time there +was a suspicious crackling movement beside him, and his astonished eye +saw a young spruce sapling bending down above him to strike him. +His jaws let go their grip, and he leaped backward to escape this strange +danger, his lips drawn back from his fangs, his throat snarling, every +hair bristling with rage and fright. And in that moment the sapling +reared its slender length upright and the rabbit soared dancing in the +air again.</p> +<p>The she-wolf was angry. She sank her fangs into her mate’s +shoulder in reproof; and he, frightened, unaware of what constituted +this new onslaught, struck back ferociously and in still greater fright, +ripping down the side of the she-wolf’s muzzle. For him +to resent such reproof was equally unexpected to her, and she sprang +upon him in snarling indignation. Then he discovered his mistake +and tried to placate her. But she proceeded to punish him roundly, +until he gave over all attempts at placation, and whirled in a circle, +his head away from her, his shoulders receiving the punishment of her +teeth.</p> +<p>In the meantime the rabbit danced above them in the air. The +she-wolf sat down in the snow, and old One Eye, now more in fear of +his mate than of the mysterious sapling, again sprang for the rabbit. +As he sank back with it between his teeth, he kept his eye on the sapling. +As before, it followed him back to earth. He crouched down under +the impending blow, his hair bristling, but his teeth still keeping +tight hold of the rabbit. But the blow did not fall. The +sapling remained bent above him. When he moved it moved, and he +growled at it through his clenched jaws; when he remained still, it +remained still, and he concluded it was safer to continue remaining +still. Yet the warm blood of the rabbit tasted good in his mouth.</p> +<p>It was his mate who relieved him from the quandary in which he found +himself. She took the rabbit from him, and while the sapling swayed +and teetered threateningly above her she calmly gnawed off the rabbit’s +head. At once the sapling shot up, and after that gave no more +trouble, remaining in the decorous and perpendicular position in which +nature had intended it to grow. Then, between them, the she-wolf +and One Eye devoured the game which the mysterious sapling had caught +for them.</p> +<p>There were other run-ways and alleys where rabbits were hanging in +the air, and the wolf-pair prospected them all, the she-wolf leading +the way, old One Eye following and observant, learning the method of +robbing snares—a knowledge destined to stand him in good stead +in the days to come.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE LAIR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>For two days the she-wolf and One Eye hung about the Indian camp. +He was worried and apprehensive, yet the camp lured his mate and she +was loath to depart. But when, one morning, the air was rent with +the report of a rifle close at hand, and a bullet smashed against a +tree trunk several inches from One Eye’s head, they hesitated +no more, but went off on a long, swinging lope that put quick miles +between them and the danger.</p> +<p>They did not go far—a couple of days’ journey. +The she-wolf’s need to find the thing for which she searched had +now become imperative. She was getting very heavy, and could run +but slowly. Once, in the pursuit of a rabbit, which she ordinarily +would have caught with ease, she gave over and lay down and rested. +One Eye came to her; but when he touched her neck gently with his muzzle +she snapped at him with such quick fierceness that he tumbled over backward +and cut a ridiculous figure in his effort to escape her teeth. +Her temper was now shorter than ever; but he had become more patient +than ever and more solicitous.</p> +<p>And then she found the thing for which she sought. It was a +few miles up a small stream that in the summer time flowed into the +Mackenzie, but that then was frozen over and frozen down to its rocky +bottom—a dead stream of solid white from source to mouth. +The she-wolf was trotting wearily along, her mate well in advance, when +she came upon the overhanging, high clay-bank. She turned aside +and trotted over to it. The wear and tear of spring storms and +melting snows had underwashed the bank and in one place had made a small +cave out of a narrow fissure.</p> +<p>She paused at the mouth of the cave and looked the wall over carefully. +Then, on one side and the other, she ran along the base of the wall +to where its abrupt bulk merged from the softer-lined landscape. +Returning to the cave, she entered its narrow mouth. For a short +three feet she was compelled to crouch, then the walls widened and rose +higher in a little round chamber nearly six feet in diameter. +The roof barely cleared her head. It was dry and cosey. +She inspected it with painstaking care, while One Eye, who had returned, +stood in the entrance and patiently watched her. She dropped her +head, with her nose to the ground and directed toward a point near to +her closely bunched feet, and around this point she circled several +times; then, with a tired sigh that was almost a grunt, she curled her +body in, relaxed her legs, and dropped down, her head toward the entrance. +One Eye, with pointed, interested ears, laughed at her, and beyond, +outlined against the white light, she could see the brush of his tail +waving good-naturedly. Her own ears, with a snuggling movement, +laid their sharp points backward and down against the head for a moment, +while her mouth opened and her tongue lolled peaceably out, and in this +way she expressed that she was pleased and satisfied.</p> +<p>One Eye was hungry. Though he lay down in the entrance and +slept, his sleep was fitful. He kept awaking and cocking his ears +at the bright world without, where the April sun was blazing across +the snow. When he dozed, upon his ears would steal the faint whispers +of hidden trickles of running water, and he would rouse and listen intently. +The sun had come back, and all the awakening Northland world was calling +to him. Life was stirring. The feel of spring was in the +air, the feel of growing life under the snow, of sap ascending in the +trees, of buds bursting the shackles of the frost.</p> +<p>He cast anxious glances at his mate, but she showed no desire to +get up. He looked outside, and half a dozen snow-birds fluttered +across his field of vision. He started to get up, then looked +back to his mate again, and settled down and dozed. A shrill and +minute singing stole upon his heating. Once, and twice, he sleepily +brushed his nose with his paw. Then he woke up. There, buzzing +in the air at the tip of his nose, was a lone mosquito. It was +a full-grown mosquito, one that had lain frozen in a dry log all winter +and that had now been thawed out by the sun. He could resist the +call of the world no longer. Besides, he was hungry.</p> +<p>He crawled over to his mate and tried to persuade her to get up. +But she only snarled at him, and he walked out alone into the bright +sunshine to find the snow-surface soft under foot and the travelling +difficult. He went up the frozen bed of the stream, where the +snow, shaded by the trees, was yet hard and crystalline. He was +gone eight hours, and he came back through the darkness hungrier than +when he had started. He had found game, but he had not caught +it. He had broken through the melting snow crust, and wallowed, +while the snowshoe rabbits had skimmed along on top lightly as ever.</p> +<p>He paused at the mouth of the cave with a sudden shock of suspicion. +Faint, strange sounds came from within. They were sounds not made +by his mate, and yet they were remotely familiar. He bellied cautiously +inside and was met by a warning snarl from the she-wolf. This +he received without perturbation, though he obeyed it by keeping his +distance; but he remained interested in the other sounds—faint, +muffled sobbings and slubberings.</p> +<p>His mate warned him irritably away, and he curled up and slept in +the entrance. When morning came and a dim light pervaded the lair, +he again sought after the source of the remotely familiar sounds. +There was a new note in his mate’s warning snarl. It was +a jealous note, and he was very careful in keeping a respectful distance. +Nevertheless, he made out, sheltering between her legs against the length +of her body, five strange little bundles of life, very feeble, very +helpless, making tiny whimpering noises, with eyes that did not open +to the light. He was surprised. It was not the first time +in his long and successful life that this thing had happened. +It had happened many times, yet each time it was as fresh a surprise +as ever to him.</p> +<p>His mate looked at him anxiously. Every little while she emitted +a low growl, and at times, when it seemed to her he approached too near, +the growl shot up in her throat to a sharp snarl. Of her own experience +she had no memory of the thing happening; but in her instinct, which +was the experience of all the mothers of wolves, there lurked a memory +of fathers that had eaten their new-born and helpless progeny. +It manifested itself as a fear strong within her, that made her prevent +One Eye from more closely inspecting the cubs he had fathered.</p> +<p>But there was no danger. Old One Eye was feeling the urge of +an impulse, that was, in turn, an instinct that had come down to him +from all the fathers of wolves. He did not question it, nor puzzle +over it. It was there, in the fibre of his being; and it was the +most natural thing in the world that he should obey it by turning his +back on his new-born family and by trotting out and away on the meat-trail +whereby he lived.</p> +<p>Five or six miles from the lair, the stream divided, its forks going +off among the mountains at a right angle. Here, leading up the +left fork, he came upon a fresh track. He smelled it and found +it so recent that he crouched swiftly, and looked in the direction in +which it disappeared. Then he turned deliberately and took the +right fork. The footprint was much larger than the one his own +feet made, and he knew that in the wake of such a trail there was little +meat for him.</p> +<p>Half a mile up the right fork, his quick ears caught the sound of +gnawing teeth. He stalked the quarry and found it to be a porcupine, +standing upright against a tree and trying his teeth on the bark. +One Eye approached carefully but hopelessly. He knew the breed, +though he had never met it so far north before; and never in his long +life had porcupine served him for a meal. But he had long since +learned that there was such a thing as Chance, or Opportunity, and he +continued to draw near. There was never any telling what might +happen, for with live things events were somehow always happening differently.</p> +<p>The porcupine rolled itself into a ball, radiating long, sharp needles +in all directions that defied attack. In his youth One Eye had +once sniffed too near a similar, apparently inert ball of quills, and +had the tail flick out suddenly in his face. One quill he had +carried away in his muzzle, where it had remained for weeks, a rankling +flame, until it finally worked out. So he lay down, in a comfortable +crouching position, his nose fully a foot away, and out of the line +of the tail. Thus he waited, keeping perfectly quiet. There +was no telling. Something might happen. The porcupine might +unroll. There might be opportunity for a deft and ripping thrust +of paw into the tender, unguarded belly.</p> +<p>But at the end of half an hour he arose, growled wrathfully at the +motionless ball, and trotted on. He had waited too often and futilely +in the past for porcupines to unroll, to waste any more time. +He continued up the right fork. The day wore along, and nothing +rewarded his hunt.</p> +<p>The urge of his awakened instinct of fatherhood was strong upon him. +He must find meat. In the afternoon he blundered upon a ptarmigan. +He came out of a thicket and found himself face to face with the slow-witted +bird. It was sitting on a log, not a foot beyond the end of his +nose. Each saw the other. The bird made a startled rise, +but he struck it with his paw, and smashed it down to earth, then pounced +upon it, and caught it in his teeth as it scuttled across the snow trying +to rise in the air again. As his teeth crunched through the tender +flesh and fragile bones, he began naturally to eat. Then he remembered, +and, turning on the back-track, started for home, carrying the ptarmigan +in his mouth.</p> +<p>A mile above the forks, running velvet-footed as was his custom, +a gliding shadow that cautiously prospected each new vista of the trail, +he came upon later imprints of the large tracks he had discovered in +the early morning. As the track led his way, he followed, prepared +to meet the maker of it at every turn of the stream.</p> +<p>He slid his head around a corner of rock, where began an unusually +large bend in the stream, and his quick eyes made out something that +sent him crouching swiftly down. It was the maker of the track, +a large female lynx. She was crouching as he had crouched once +that day, in front of her the tight-rolled ball of quills. If +he had been a gliding shadow before, he now became the ghost of such +a shadow, as he crept and circled around, and came up well to leeward +of the silent, motionless pair.</p> +<p>He lay down in the snow, depositing the ptarmigan beside him, and +with eyes peering through the needles of a low-growing spruce he watched +the play of life before him—the waiting lynx and the waiting porcupine, +each intent on life; and, such was the curiousness of the game, the +way of life for one lay in the eating of the other, and the way of life +for the other lay in being not eaten. While old One Eye, the wolf +crouching in the covert, played his part, too, in the game, waiting +for some strange freak of Chance, that might help him on the meat-trail +which was his way of life.</p> +<p>Half an hour passed, an hour; and nothing happened. The balls +of quills might have been a stone for all it moved; the lynx might have +been frozen to marble; and old One Eye might have been dead. Yet +all three animals were keyed to a tenseness of living that was almost +painful, and scarcely ever would it come to them to be more alive than +they were then in their seeming petrifaction.</p> +<p>One Eye moved slightly and peered forth with increased eagerness. +Something was happening. The porcupine had at last decided that +its enemy had gone away. Slowly, cautiously, it was unrolling +its ball of impregnable armour. It was agitated by no tremor of +anticipation. Slowly, slowly, the bristling ball straightened +out and lengthened. One Eye watching, felt a sudden moistness +in his mouth and a drooling of saliva, involuntary, excited by the living +meat that was spreading itself like a repast before him.</p> +<p>Not quite entirely had the porcupine unrolled when it discovered +its enemy. In that instant the lynx struck. The blow was +like a flash of light. The paw, with rigid claws curving like +talons, shot under the tender belly and came back with a swift ripping +movement. Had the porcupine been entirely unrolled, or had it +not discovered its enemy a fraction of a second before the blow was +struck, the paw would have escaped unscathed; but a side-flick of the +tail sank sharp quills into it as it was withdrawn.</p> +<p>Everything had happened at once—the blow, the counter-blow, +the squeal of agony from the porcupine, the big cat’s squall of +sudden hurt and astonishment. One Eye half arose in his excitement, +his ears up, his tail straight out and quivering behind him. The +lynx’s bad temper got the best of her. She sprang savagely +at the thing that had hurt her. But the porcupine, squealing and +grunting, with disrupted anatomy trying feebly to roll up into its ball-protection, +flicked out its tail again, and again the big cat squalled with hurt +and astonishment. Then she fell to backing away and sneezing, +her nose bristling with quills like a monstrous pin-cushion. She +brushed her nose with her paws, trying to dislodge the fiery darts, +thrust it into the snow, and rubbed it against twigs and branches, and +all the time leaping about, ahead, sidewise, up and down, in a frenzy +of pain and fright.</p> +<p>She sneezed continually, and her stub of a tail was doing its best +toward lashing about by giving quick, violent jerks. She quit +her antics, and quieted down for a long minute. One Eye watched. +And even he could not repress a start and an involuntary bristling of +hair along his back when she suddenly leaped, without warning, straight +up in the air, at the same time emitting a long and most terrible squall. +Then she sprang away, up the trail, squalling with every leap she made.</p> +<p>It was not until her racket had faded away in the distance and died +out that One Eye ventured forth. He walked as delicately as though +all the snow were carpeted with porcupine quills, erect and ready to +pierce the soft pads of his feet. The porcupine met his approach +with a furious squealing and a clashing of its long teeth. It +had managed to roll up in a ball again, but it was not quite the old +compact ball; its muscles were too much torn for that. It had +been ripped almost in half, and was still bleeding profusely.</p> +<p>One Eye scooped out mouthfuls of the blood-soaked snow, and chewed +and tasted and swallowed. This served as a relish, and his hunger +increased mightily; but he was too old in the world to forget his caution. +He waited. He lay down and waited, while the porcupine grated +its teeth and uttered grunts and sobs and occasional sharp little squeals. +In a little while, One Eye noticed that the quills were drooping and +that a great quivering had set up. The quivering came to an end +suddenly. There was a final defiant clash of the long teeth. +Then all the quills drooped quite down, and the body relaxed and moved +no more.</p> +<p>With a nervous, shrinking paw, One Eye stretched out the porcupine +to its full length and turned it over on its back. Nothing had +happened. It was surely dead. He studied it intently for +a moment, then took a careful grip with his teeth and started off down +the stream, partly carrying, partly dragging the porcupine, with head +turned to the side so as to avoid stepping on the prickly mass. +He recollected something, dropped the burden, and trotted back to where +he had left the ptarmigan. He did not hesitate a moment. +He knew clearly what was to be done, and this he did by promptly eating +the ptarmigan. Then he returned and took up his burden.</p> +<p>When he dragged the result of his day’s hunt into the cave, +the she-wolf inspected it, turned her muzzle to him, and lightly licked +him on the neck. But the next instant she was warning him away +from the cubs with a snarl that was less harsh than usual and that was +more apologetic than menacing. Her instinctive fear of the father +of her progeny was toning down. He was behaving as a wolf-father +should, and manifesting no unholy desire to devour the young lives she +had brought into the world.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE GREY CUB</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>He was different from his brothers and sisters. Their hair +already betrayed the reddish hue inherited from their mother, the she-wolf; +while he alone, in this particular, took after his father. He +was the one little grey cub of the litter. He had bred true to +the straight wolf-stock—in fact, he had bred true to old One Eye +himself, physically, with but a single exception, and that was he had +two eyes to his father’s one.</p> +<p>The grey cub’s eyes had not been open long, yet already he +could see with steady clearness. And while his eyes were still +closed, he had felt, tasted, and smelled. He knew his two brothers +and his two sisters very well. He had begun to romp with them +in a feeble, awkward way, and even to squabble, his little throat vibrating +with a queer rasping noise (the forerunner of the growl), as he worked +himself into a passion. And long before his eyes had opened he +had learned by touch, taste, and smell to know his mother—a fount +of warmth and liquid food and tenderness. She possessed a gentle, +caressing tongue that soothed him when it passed over his soft little +body, and that impelled him to snuggle close against her and to doze +off to sleep.</p> +<p>Most of the first month of his life had been passed thus in sleeping; +but now he could see quite well, and he stayed awake for longer periods +of time, and he was coming to learn his world quite well. His +world was gloomy; but he did not know that, for he knew no other world. +It was dim-lighted; but his eyes had never had to adjust themselves +to any other light. His world was very small. Its limits +were the walls of the lair; but as he had no knowledge of the wide world +outside, he was never oppressed by the narrow confines of his existence.</p> +<p>But he had early discovered that one wall of his world was different +from the rest. This was the mouth of the cave and the source of +light. He had discovered that it was different from the other +walls long before he had any thoughts of his own, any conscious volitions. +It had been an irresistible attraction before ever his eyes opened and +looked upon it. The light from it had beat upon his sealed lids, +and the eyes and the optic nerves had pulsated to little, sparklike +flashes, warm-coloured and strangely pleasing. The life of his +body, and of every fibre of his body, the life that was the very substance +of his body and that was apart from his own personal life, had yearned +toward this light and urged his body toward it in the same way that +the cunning chemistry of a plant urges it toward the sun.</p> +<p>Always, in the beginning, before his conscious life dawned, he had +crawled toward the mouth of the cave. And in this his brothers +and sisters were one with him. Never, in that period, did any +of them crawl toward the dark corners of the back-wall. The light +drew them as if they were plants; the chemistry of the life that composed +them demanded the light as a necessity of being; and their little puppet-bodies +crawled blindly and chemically, like the tendrils of a vine. Later +on, when each developed individuality and became personally conscious +of impulsions and desires, the attraction of the light increased. +They were always crawling and sprawling toward it, and being driven +back from it by their mother.</p> +<p>It was in this way that the grey cub learned other attributes of +his mother than the soft, soothing, tongue. In his insistent crawling +toward the light, he discovered in her a nose that with a sharp nudge +administered rebuke, and later, a paw, that crushed him down and rolled +him over and over with swift, calculating stroke. Thus he learned +hurt; and on top of it he learned to avoid hurt, first, by not incurring +the risk of it; and second, when he had incurred the risk, by dodging +and by retreating. These were conscious actions, and were the +results of his first generalisations upon the world. Before that +he had recoiled automatically from hurt, as he had crawled automatically +toward the light. After that he recoiled from hurt because he +<i>knew</i> that it was hurt.</p> +<p>He was a fierce little cub. So were his brothers and sisters. +It was to be expected. He was a carnivorous animal. He came +of a breed of meat-killers and meat-eaters. His father and mother +lived wholly upon meat. The milk he had sucked with his first +flickering life, was milk transformed directly from meat, and now, at +a month old, when his eyes had been open for but a week, he was beginning +himself to eat meat—meat half-digested by the she-wolf and disgorged +for the five growing cubs that already made too great demand upon her +breast.</p> +<p>But he was, further, the fiercest of the litter. He could make +a louder rasping growl than any of them. His tiny rages were much +more terrible than theirs. It was he that first learned the trick +of rolling a fellow-cub over with a cunning paw-stroke. And it +was he that first gripped another cub by the ear and pulled and tugged +and growled through jaws tight-clenched. And certainly it was +he that caused the mother the most trouble in keeping her litter from +the mouth of the cave.</p> +<p>The fascination of the light for the grey cub increased from day +to day. He was perpetually departing on yard-long adventures toward +the cave’s entrance, and as perpetually being driven back. +Only he did not know it for an entrance. He did not know anything +about entrances—passages whereby one goes from one place to another +place. He did not know any other place, much less of a way to +get there. So to him the entrance of the cave was a wall—a +wall of light. As the sun was to the outside dweller, this wall +was to him the sun of his world. It attracted him as a candle +attracts a moth. He was always striving to attain it. The +life that was so swiftly expanding within him, urged him continually +toward the wall of light. The life that was within him knew that +it was the one way out, the way he was predestined to tread. But +he himself did not know anything about it. He did not know there +was any outside at all.</p> +<p>There was one strange thing about this wall of light. His father +(he had already come to recognise his father as the one other dweller +in the world, a creature like his mother, who slept near the light and +was a bringer of meat)—his father had a way of walking right into +the white far wall and disappearing. The grey cub could not understand +this. Though never permitted by his mother to approach that wall, +he had approached the other walls, and encountered hard obstruction +on the end of his tender nose. This hurt. And after several +such adventures, he left the walls alone. Without thinking about +it, he accepted this disappearing into the wall as a peculiarity of +his father, as milk and half-digested meat were peculiarities of his +mother.</p> +<p>In fact, the grey cub was not given to thinking—at least, to +the kind of thinking customary of men. His brain worked in dim +ways. Yet his conclusions were as sharp and distinct as those +achieved by men. He had a method of accepting things, without +questioning the why and wherefore. In reality, this was the act +of classification. He was never disturbed over why a thing happened. +How it happened was sufficient for him. Thus, when he had bumped +his nose on the back-wall a few times, he accepted that he would not +disappear into walls. In the same way he accepted that his father +could disappear into walls. But he was not in the least disturbed +by desire to find out the reason for the difference between his father +and himself. Logic and physics were no part of his mental make-up.</p> +<p>Like most creatures of the Wild, he early experienced famine. +There came a time when not only did the meat-supply cease, but the milk +no longer came from his mother’s breast. At first, the cubs +whimpered and cried, but for the most part they slept. It was +not long before they were reduced to a coma of hunger. There were +no more spats and squabbles, no more tiny rages nor attempts at growling; +while the adventures toward the far white wall ceased altogether. +The cubs slept, while the life that was in them flickered and died down.</p> +<p>One Eye was desperate. He ranged far and wide, and slept but +little in the lair that had now become cheerless and miserable. +The she-wolf, too, left her litter and went out in search of meat. +In the first days after the birth of the cubs, One Eye had journeyed +several times back to the Indian camp and robbed the rabbit snares; +but, with the melting of the snow and the opening of the streams, the +Indian camp had moved away, and that source of supply was closed to +him.</p> +<p>When the grey cub came back to life and again took interest in the +far white wall, he found that the population of his world had been reduced. +Only one sister remained to him. The rest were gone. As +he grew stronger, he found himself compelled to play alone, for the +sister no longer lifted her head nor moved about. His little body +rounded out with the meat he now ate; but the food had come too late +for her. She slept continuously, a tiny skeleton flung round with +skin in which the flame flickered lower and lower and at last went out.</p> +<p>Then there came a time when the grey cub no longer saw his father +appearing and disappearing in the wall nor lying down asleep in the +entrance. This had happened at the end of a second and less severe +famine. The she-wolf knew why One Eye never came back, but there +was no way by which she could tell what she had seen to the grey cub. +Hunting herself for meat, up the left fork of the stream where lived +the lynx, she had followed a day-old trail of One Eye. And she +had found him, or what remained of him, at the end of the trail. +There were many signs of the battle that had been fought, and of the +lynx’s withdrawal to her lair after having won the victory. +Before she went away, the she-wolf had found this lair, but the signs +told her that the lynx was inside, and she had not dared to venture +in.</p> +<p>After that, the she-wolf in her hunting avoided the left fork. +For she knew that in the lynx’s lair was a litter of kittens, +and she knew the lynx for a fierce, bad-tempered creature and a terrible +fighter. It was all very well for half a dozen wolves to drive +a lynx, spitting and bristling, up a tree; but it was quite a different +matter for a lone wolf to encounter a lynx—especially when the +lynx was known to have a litter of hungry kittens at her back.</p> +<p>But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times +fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it; and the time was +to come when the she-wolf, for her grey cub’s sake, would venture +the left fork, and the lair in the rocks, and the lynx’s wrath.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE WALL OF THE WORLD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>By the time his mother began leaving the cave on hunting expeditions, +the cub had learned well the law that forbade his approaching the entrance. +Not only had this law been forcibly and many times impressed on him +by his mother’s nose and paw, but in him the instinct of fear +was developing. Never, in his brief cave-life, had he encountered +anything of which to be afraid. Yet fear was in him. It +had come down to him from a remote ancestry through a thousand thousand +lives. It was a heritage he had received directly from One Eye +and the she-wolf; but to them, in turn, it had been passed down through +all the generations of wolves that had gone before. Fear!—that +legacy of the Wild which no animal may escape nor exchange for pottage.</p> +<p>So the grey cub knew fear, though he knew not the stuff of which +fear was made. Possibly he accepted it as one of the restrictions +of life. For he had already learned that there were such restrictions. +Hunger he had known; and when he could not appease his hunger he had +felt restriction. The hard obstruction of the cave-wall, the sharp +nudge of his mother’s nose, the smashing stroke of her paw, the +hunger unappeased of several famines, had borne in upon him that all +was not freedom in the world, that to life there was limitations and +restraints. These limitations and restraints were laws. +To be obedient to them was to escape hurt and make for happiness.</p> +<p>He did not reason the question out in this man fashion. He +merely classified the things that hurt and the things that did not hurt. +And after such classification he avoided the things that hurt, the restrictions +and restraints, in order to enjoy the satisfactions and the remunerations +of life.</p> +<p>Thus it was that in obedience to the law laid down by his mother, +and in obedience to the law of that unknown and nameless thing, fear, +he kept away from the mouth of the cave. It remained to him a +white wall of light. When his mother was absent, he slept most +of the time, while during the intervals that he was awake he kept very +quiet, suppressing the whimpering cries that tickled in his throat and +strove for noise.</p> +<p>Once, lying awake, he heard a strange sound in the white wall. +He did not know that it was a wolverine, standing outside, all a-trembling +with its own daring, and cautiously scenting out the contents of the +cave. The cub knew only that the sniff was strange, a something +unclassified, therefore unknown and terrible—for the unknown was +one of the chief elements that went into the making of fear.</p> +<p>The hair bristled upon the grey cub’s back, but it bristled +silently. How was he to know that this thing that sniffed was +a thing at which to bristle? It was not born of any knowledge +of his, yet it was the visible expression of the fear that was in him, +and for which, in his own life, there was no accounting. But fear +was accompanied by another instinct—that of concealment. +The cub was in a frenzy of terror, yet he lay without movement or sound, +frozen, petrified into immobility, to all appearances dead. His +mother, coming home, growled as she smelt the wolverine’s track, +and bounded into the cave and licked and nozzled him with undue vehemence +of affection. And the cub felt that somehow he had escaped a great +hurt.</p> +<p>But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which +was growth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. +But growth demanded disobedience. His mother and fear impelled +him to keep away from the white wall. Growth is life, and life +is for ever destined to make for light. So there was no damming +up the tide of life that was rising within him—rising with every +mouthful of meat he swallowed, with every breath he drew. In the +end, one day, fear and obedience were swept away by the rush of life, +and the cub straddled and sprawled toward the entrance.</p> +<p>Unlike any other wall with which he had had experience, this wall +seemed to recede from him as he approached. No hard surface collided +with the tender little nose he thrust out tentatively before him. +The substance of the wall seemed as permeable and yielding as light. +And as condition, in his eyes, had the seeming of form, so he entered +into what had been wall to him and bathed in the substance that composed +it.</p> +<p>It was bewildering. He was sprawling through solidity. +And ever the light grew brighter. Fear urged him to go back, but +growth drove him on. Suddenly he found himself at the mouth of +the cave. The wall, inside which he had thought himself, as suddenly +leaped back before him to an immeasurable distance. The light +had become painfully bright. He was dazzled by it. Likewise +he was made dizzy by this abrupt and tremendous extension of space. +Automatically, his eyes were adjusting themselves to the brightness, +focusing themselves to meet the increased distance of objects. +At first, the wall had leaped beyond his vision. He now saw it +again; but it had taken upon itself a remarkable remoteness. Also, +its appearance had changed. It was now a variegated wall, composed +of the trees that fringed the stream, the opposing mountain that towered +above the trees, and the sky that out-towered the mountain.</p> +<p>A great fear came upon him. This was more of the terrible unknown. +He crouched down on the lip of the cave and gazed out on the world. +He was very much afraid. Because it was unknown, it was hostile +to him. Therefore the hair stood up on end along his back and +his lips wrinkled weakly in an attempt at a ferocious and intimidating +snarl. Out of his puniness and fright he challenged and menaced +the whole wide world.</p> +<p>Nothing happened. He continued to gaze, and in his interest +he forgot to snarl. Also, he forgot to be afraid. For the +time, fear had been routed by growth, while growth had assumed the guise +of curiosity. He began to notice near objects—an open portion +of the stream that flashed in the sun, the blasted pine-tree that stood +at the base of the slope, and the slope itself, that ran right up to +him and ceased two feet beneath the lip of the cave on which he crouched.</p> +<p>Now the grey cub had lived all his days on a level floor. He +had never experienced the hurt of a fall. He did not know what +a fall was. So he stepped boldly out upon the air. His hind-legs +still rested on the cave-lip, so he fell forward head downward. +The earth struck him a harsh blow on the nose that made him yelp. +Then he began rolling down the slope, over and over. He was in +a panic of terror. The unknown had caught him at last. It +had gripped savagely hold of him and was about to wreak upon him some +terrific hurt. Growth was now routed by fear, and he ki-yi’d +like any frightened puppy.</p> +<p>The unknown bore him on he knew not to what frightful hurt, and he +yelped and ki-yi’d unceasingly. This was a different proposition +from crouching in frozen fear while the unknown lurked just alongside. +Now the unknown had caught tight hold of him. Silence would do +no good. Besides, it was not fear, but terror, that convulsed +him.</p> +<p>But the slope grew more gradual, and its base was grass-covered. +Here the cub lost momentum. When at last he came to a stop, he +gave one last agonised yell and then a long, whimpering wail. +Also, and quite as a matter of course, as though in his life he had +already made a thousand toilets, he proceeded to lick away the dry clay +that soiled him.</p> +<p>After that he sat up and gazed about him, as might the first man +of the earth who landed upon Mars. The cub had broken through +the wall of the world, the unknown had let go its hold of him, and here +he was without hurt. But the first man on Mars would have experienced +less unfamiliarity than did he. Without any antecedent knowledge, +without any warning whatever that such existed, he found himself an +explorer in a totally new world.</p> +<p>Now that the terrible unknown had let go of him, he forgot that the +unknown had any terrors. He was aware only of curiosity in all +the things about him. He inspected the grass beneath him, the +moss-berry plant just beyond, and the dead trunk of the blasted pine +that stood on the edge of an open space among the trees. A squirrel, +running around the base of the trunk, came full upon him, and gave him +a great fright. He cowered down and snarled. But the squirrel +was as badly scared. It ran up the tree, and from a point of safety +chattered back savagely.</p> +<p>This helped the cub’s courage, and though the woodpecker he +next encountered gave him a start, he proceeded confidently on his way. +Such was his confidence, that when a moose-bird impudently hopped up +to him, he reached out at it with a playful paw. The result was +a sharp peck on the end of his nose that made him cower down and ki-yi. +The noise he made was too much for the moose-bird, who sought safety +in flight.</p> +<p>But the cub was learning. His misty little mind had already +made an unconscious classification. There were live things and +things not alive. Also, he must watch out for the live things. +The things not alive remained always in one place, but the live things +moved about, and there was no telling what they might do. The +thing to expect of them was the unexpected, and for this he must be +prepared.</p> +<p>He travelled very clumsily. He ran into sticks and things. +A twig that he thought a long way off, would the next instant hit him +on the nose or rake along his ribs. There were inequalities of +surface. Sometimes he overstepped and stubbed his nose. +Quite as often he understepped and stubbed his feet. Then there +were the pebbles and stones that turned under him when he trod upon +them; and from them he came to know that the things not alive were not +all in the same state of stable equilibrium as was his cave—also, +that small things not alive were more liable than large things to fall +down or turn over. But with every mishap he was learning. +The longer he walked, the better he walked. He was adjusting himself. +He was learning to calculate his own muscular movements, to know his +physical limitations, to measure distances between objects, and between +objects and himself.</p> +<p>His was the luck of the beginner. Born to be a hunter of meat +(though he did not know it), he blundered upon meat just outside his +own cave-door on his first foray into the world. It was by sheer +blundering that he chanced upon the shrewdly hidden ptarmigan nest. +He fell into it. He had essayed to walk along the trunk of a fallen +pine. The rotten bark gave way under his feet, and with a despairing +yelp he pitched down the rounded crescent, smashed through the leafage +and stalks of a small bush, and in the heart of the bush, on the ground, +fetched up in the midst of seven ptarmigan chicks.</p> +<p>They made noises, and at first he was frightened at them. Then +he perceived that they were very little, and he became bolder. +They moved. He placed his paw on one, and its movements were accelerated. +This was a source of enjoyment to him. He smelled it. He +picked it up in his mouth. It struggled and tickled his tongue. +At the same time he was made aware of a sensation of hunger. His +jaws closed together. There was a crunching of fragile bones, +and warm blood ran in his mouth. The taste of it was good. +This was meat, the same as his mother gave him, only it was alive between +his teeth and therefore better. So he ate the ptarmigan. +Nor did he stop till he had devoured the whole brood. Then he +licked his chops in quite the same way his mother did, and began to +crawl out of the bush.</p> +<p>He encountered a feathered whirlwind. He was confused and blinded +by the rush of it and the beat of angry wings. He hid his head +between his paws and yelped. The blows increased. The mother +ptarmigan was in a fury. Then he became angry. He rose up, +snarling, striking out with his paws. He sank his tiny teeth into +one of the wings and pulled and tugged sturdily. The ptarmigan +struggled against him, showering blows upon him with her free wing. +It was his first battle. He was elated. He forgot all about +the unknown. He no longer was afraid of anything. He was +fighting, tearing at a live thing that was striking at him. Also, +this live thing was meat. The lust to kill was on him. He +had just destroyed little live things. He would now destroy a +big live thing. He was too busy and happy to know that he was +happy. He was thrilling and exulting in ways new to him and greater +to him than any he had known before.</p> +<p>He held on to the wing and growled between his tight-clenched teeth. +The ptarmigan dragged him out of the bush. When she turned and +tried to drag him back into the bush’s shelter, he pulled her +away from it and on into the open. And all the time she was making +outcry and striking with her free wing, while feathers were flying like +a snow-fall. The pitch to which he was aroused was tremendous. +All the fighting blood of his breed was up in him and surging through +him. This was living, though he did not know it. He was +realising his own meaning in the world; he was doing that for which +he was made—killing meat and battling to kill it. He was +justifying his existence, than which life can do no greater; for life +achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was +equipped to do.</p> +<p>After a time, the ptarmigan ceased her struggling. He still +held her by the wing, and they lay on the ground and looked at each +other. He tried to growl threateningly, ferociously. She +pecked on his nose, which by now, what of previous adventures was sore. +He winced but held on. She pecked him again and again. From +wincing he went to whimpering. He tried to back away from her, +oblivious to the fact that by his hold on her he dragged her after him. +A rain of pecks fell on his ill-used nose. The flood of fight +ebbed down in him, and, releasing his prey, he turned tail and scampered +on across the open in inglorious retreat.</p> +<p>He lay down to rest on the other side of the open, near the edge +of the bushes, his tongue lolling out, his chest heaving and panting, +his nose still hurting him and causing him to continue his whimper. +But as he lay there, suddenly there came to him a feeling as of something +terrible impending. The unknown with all its terrors rushed upon +him, and he shrank back instinctively into the shelter of the bush. +As he did so, a draught of air fanned him, and a large, winged body +swept ominously and silently past. A hawk, driving down out of +the blue, had barely missed him.</p> +<p>While he lay in the bush, recovering from his fright and peering +fearfully out, the mother-ptarmigan on the other side of the open space +fluttered out of the ravaged nest. It was because of her loss +that she paid no attention to the winged bolt of the sky. But +the cub saw, and it was a warning and a lesson to him—the swift +downward swoop of the hawk, the short skim of its body just above the +ground, the strike of its talons in the body of the ptarmigan, the ptarmigan’s +squawk of agony and fright, and the hawk’s rush upward into the +blue, carrying the ptarmigan away with it,</p> +<p>It was a long time before the cub left its shelter. He had +learned much. Live things were meat. They were good to eat. +Also, live things when they were large enough, could give hurt. +It was better to eat small live things like ptarmigan chicks, and to +let alone large live things like ptarmigan hens. Nevertheless +he felt a little prick of ambition, a sneaking desire to have another +battle with that ptarmigan hen—only the hawk had carried her away. +May be there were other ptarmigan hens. He would go and see.</p> +<p>He came down a shelving bank to the stream. He had never seen +water before. The footing looked good. There were no inequalities +of surface. He stepped boldly out on it; and went down, crying +with fear, into the embrace of the unknown. It was cold, and he +gasped, breathing quickly. The water rushed into his lungs instead +of the air that had always accompanied his act of breathing. The +suffocation he experienced was like the pang of death. To him +it signified death. He had no conscious knowledge of death, but +like every animal of the Wild, he possessed the instinct of death. +To him it stood as the greatest of hurts. It was the very essence +of the unknown; it was the sum of the terrors of the unknown, the one +culminating and unthinkable catastrophe that could happen to him, about +which he knew nothing and about which he feared everything.</p> +<p>He came to the surface, and the sweet air rushed into his open mouth. +He did not go down again. Quite as though it had been a long-established +custom of his he struck out with all his legs and began to swim. +The near bank was a yard away; but he had come up with his back to it, +and the first thing his eyes rested upon was the opposite bank, toward +which he immediately began to swim. The stream was a small one, +but in the pool it widened out to a score of feet.</p> +<p>Midway in the passage, the current picked up the cub and swept him +downstream. He was caught in the miniature rapid at the bottom +of the pool. Here was little chance for swimming. The quiet +water had become suddenly angry. Sometimes he was under, sometimes +on top. At all times he was in violent motion, now being turned +over or around, and again, being smashed against a rock. And with +every rock he struck, he yelped. His progress was a series of +yelps, from which might have been adduced the number of rocks he encountered.</p> +<p>Below the rapid was a second pool, and here, captured by the eddy, +he was gently borne to the bank, and as gently deposited on a bed of +gravel. He crawled frantically clear of the water and lay down. +He had learned some more about the world. Water was not alive. +Yet it moved. Also, it looked as solid as the earth, but was without +any solidity at all. His conclusion was that things were not always +what they appeared to be. The cub’s fear of the unknown +was an inherited distrust, and it had now been strengthened by experience. +Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust +of appearances. He would have to learn the reality of a thing +before he could put his faith into it.</p> +<p>One other adventure was destined for him that day. He had recollected +that there was such a thing in the world as his mother. And then +there came to him a feeling that he wanted her more than all the rest +of the things in the world. Not only was his body tired with the +adventures it had undergone, but his little brain was equally tired. +In all the days he had lived it had not worked so hard as on this one +day. Furthermore, he was sleepy. So he started out to look +for the cave and his mother, feeling at the same time an overwhelming +rush of loneliness and helplessness.</p> +<p>He was sprawling along between some bushes, when he heard a sharp +intimidating cry. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes. +He saw a weasel leaping swiftly away from him. It was a small +live thing, and he had no fear. Then, before him, at his feet, +he saw an extremely small live thing, only several inches long, a young +weasel, that, like himself, had disobediently gone out adventuring. +It tried to retreat before him. He turned it over with his paw. +It made a queer, grating noise. The next moment the flash of yellow +reappeared before his eyes. He heard again the intimidating cry, +and at the same instant received a sharp blow on the side of the neck +and felt the sharp teeth of the mother-weasel cut into his flesh.</p> +<p>While he yelped and ki-yi’d and scrambled backward, he saw +the mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into +the neighbouring thicket. The cut of her teeth in his neck still +hurt, but his feelings were hurt more grievously, and he sat down and +weakly whimpered. This mother-weasel was so small and so savage. +He was yet to learn that for size and weight the weasel was the most +ferocious, vindictive, and terrible of all the killers of the Wild. +But a portion of this knowledge was quickly to be his.</p> +<p>He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. +She did not rush him, now that her young one was safe. She approached +more cautiously, and the cub had full opportunity to observe her lean, +snakelike body, and her head, erect, eager, and snake-like itself. +Her sharp, menacing cry sent the hair bristling along his back, and +he snarled warningly at her. She came closer and closer. +There was a leap, swifter than his unpractised sight, and the lean, +yellow body disappeared for a moment out of the field of his vision. +The next moment she was at his throat, her teeth buried in his hair +and flesh.</p> +<p>At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young, and +this was only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a whimper, +his fight a struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed her hold. +She hung on, striving to press down with her teeth to the great vein +were his life-blood bubbled. The weasel was a drinker of blood, +and it was ever her preference to drink from the throat of life itself.</p> +<p>The grey cub would have died, and there would have been no story +to write about him, had not the she-wolf come bounding through the bushes. +The weasel let go the cub and flashed at the she-wolf’s throat, +missing, but getting a hold on the jaw instead. The she-wolf flirted +her head like the snap of a whip, breaking the weasel’s hold and +flinging it high in the air. And, still in the air, the she-wolf’s +jaws closed on the lean, yellow body, and the weasel knew death between +the crunching teeth.</p> +<p>The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of his +mother. Her joy at finding him seemed even greater than his joy +at being found. She nozzled him and caressed him and licked the +cuts made in him by the weasel’s teeth. Then, between them, +mother and cub, they ate the blood-drinker, and after that went back +to the cave and slept.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE LAW OF MEAT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The cub’s development was rapid. He rested for two days, +and then ventured forth from the cave again. It was on this adventure +that he found the young weasel whose mother he had helped eat, and he +saw to it that the young weasel went the way of its mother. But +on this trip he did not get lost. When he grew tired, he found +his way back to the cave and slept. And every day thereafter found +him out and ranging a wider area.</p> +<p>He began to get accurate measurement of his strength and his weakness, +and to know when to be bold and when to be cautious. He found +it expedient to be cautious all the time, except for the rare moments, +when, assured of his own intrepidity, he abandoned himself to petty +rages and lusts.</p> +<p>He was always a little demon of fury when he chanced upon a stray +ptarmigan. Never did he fail to respond savagely to the chatter +of the squirrel he had first met on the blasted pine. While the +sight of a moose-bird almost invariably put him into the wildest of +rages; for he never forgot the peck on the nose he had received from +the first of that ilk he encountered.</p> +<p>But there were times when even a moose-bird failed to affect him, +and those were times when he felt himself to be in danger from some +other prowling meat hunter. He never forgot the hawk, and its +moving shadow always sent him crouching into the nearest thicket. +He no longer sprawled and straddled, and already he was developing the +gait of his mother, slinking and furtive, apparently without exertion, +yet sliding along with a swiftness that was as deceptive as it was imperceptible.</p> +<p>In the matter of meat, his luck had been all in the beginning. +The seven ptarmigan chicks and the baby weasel represented the sum of +his killings. His desire to kill strengthened with the days, and +he cherished hungry ambitions for the squirrel that chattered so volubly +and always informed all wild creatures that the wolf-cub was approaching. +But as birds flew in the air, squirrels could climb trees, and the cub +could only try to crawl unobserved upon the squirrel when it was on +the ground.</p> +<p>The cub entertained a great respect for his mother. She could +get meat, and she never failed to bring him his share. Further, +she was unafraid of things. It did not occur to him that this +fearlessness was founded upon experience and knowledge. Its effect +on him was that of an impression of power. His mother represented +power; and as he grew older he felt this power in the sharper admonishment +of her paw; while the reproving nudge of her nose gave place to the +slash of her fangs. For this, likewise, he respected his mother. +She compelled obedience from him, and the older he grew the shorter +grew her temper.</p> +<p>Famine came again, and the cub with clearer consciousness knew once +more the bite of hunger. The she-wolf ran herself thin in the +quest for meat. She rarely slept any more in the cave, spending +most of her time on the meat-trail, and spending it vainly. This +famine was not a long one, but it was severe while it lasted. +The cub found no more milk in his mother’s breast, nor did he +get one mouthful of meat for himself.</p> +<p>Before, he had hunted in play, for the sheer joyousness of it; now +he hunted in deadly earnestness, and found nothing. Yet the failure +of it accelerated his development. He studied the habits of the +squirrel with greater carefulness, and strove with greater craft to +steal upon it and surprise it. He studied the wood-mice and tried +to dig them out of their burrows; and he learned much about the ways +of moose-birds and woodpeckers. And there came a day when the +hawk’s shadow did not drive him crouching into the bushes. +He had grown stronger and wiser, and more confident. Also, he +was desperate. So he sat on his haunches, conspicuously in an +open space, and challenged the hawk down out of the sky. For he +knew that there, floating in the blue above him, was meat, the meat +his stomach yearned after so insistently. But the hawk refused +to come down and give battle, and the cub crawled away into a thicket +and whimpered his disappointment and hunger.</p> +<p>The famine broke. The she-wolf brought home meat. It +was strange meat, different from any she had ever brought before. +It was a lynx kitten, partly grown, like the cub, but not so large. +And it was all for him. His mother had satisfied her hunger elsewhere; +though he did not know that it was the rest of the lynx litter that +had gone to satisfy her. Nor did he know the desperateness of +her deed. He knew only that the velvet-furred kitten was meat, +and he ate and waxed happier with every mouthful.</p> +<p>A full stomach conduces to inaction, and the cub lay in the cave, +sleeping against his mother’s side. He was aroused by her +snarling. Never had he heard her snarl so terribly. Possibly +in her whole life it was the most terrible snarl she ever gave. +There was reason for it, and none knew it better than she. A lynx’s +lair is not despoiled with impunity. In the full glare of the +afternoon light, crouching in the entrance of the cave, the cub saw +the lynx-mother. The hair rippled up along his back at the sight. +Here was fear, and it did not require his instinct to tell him of it. +And if sight alone were not sufficient, the cry of rage the intruder +gave, beginning with a snarl and rushing abruptly upward into a hoarse +screech, was convincing enough in itself.</p> +<p>The cub felt the prod of the life that was in him, and stood up and +snarled valiantly by his mother’s side. But she thrust him +ignominiously away and behind her. Because of the low-roofed entrance +the lynx could not leap in, and when she made a crawling rush of it +the she-wolf sprang upon her and pinned her down. The cub saw +little of the battle. There was a tremendous snarling and spitting +and screeching. The two animals threshed about, the lynx ripping +and tearing with her claws and using her teeth as well, while the she-wolf +used her teeth alone.</p> +<p>Once, the cub sprang in and sank his teeth into the hind leg of the +lynx. He clung on, growling savagely. Though he did not +know it, by the weight of his body he clogged the action of the leg +and thereby saved his mother much damage. A change in the battle +crushed him under both their bodies and wrenched loose his hold. +The next moment the two mothers separated, and, before they rushed together +again, the lynx lashed out at the cub with a huge fore-paw that ripped +his shoulder open to the bone and sent him hurtling sidewise against +the wall. Then was added to the uproar the cub’s shrill +yelp of pain and fright. But the fight lasted so long that he +had time to cry himself out and to experience a second burst of courage; +and the end of the battle found him again clinging to a hind-leg and +furiously growling between his teeth.</p> +<p>The lynx was dead. But the she-wolf was very weak and sick. +At first she caressed the cub and licked his wounded shoulder; but the +blood she had lost had taken with it her strength, and for all of a +day and a night she lay by her dead foe’s side, without movement, +scarcely breathing. For a week she never left the cave, except +for water, and then her movements were slow and painful. At the +end of that time the lynx was devoured, while the she-wolf’s wounds +had healed sufficiently to permit her to take the meat-trail again.</p> +<p>The cub’s shoulder was stiff and sore, and for some time he +limped from the terrible slash he had received. But the world +now seemed changed. He went about in it with greater confidence, +with a feeling of prowess that had not been his in the days before the +battle with the lynx. He had looked upon life in a more ferocious +aspect; he had fought; he had buried his teeth in the flesh of a foe; +and he had survived. And because of all this, he carried himself +more boldly, with a touch of defiance that was new in him. He +was no longer afraid of minor things, and much of his timidity had vanished, +though the unknown never ceased to press upon him with its mysteries +and terrors, intangible and ever-menacing.</p> +<p>He began to accompany his mother on the meat-trail, and he saw much +of the killing of meat and began to play his part in it. And in +his own dim way he learned the law of meat. There were two kinds +of life—his own kind and the other kind. His own kind included +his mother and himself. The other kind included all live things +that moved. But the other kind was divided. One portion +was what his own kind killed and ate. This portion was composed +of the non-killers and the small killers. The other portion killed +and ate his own kind, or was killed and eaten by his own kind. +And out of this classification arose the law. The aim of life +was meat. Life itself was meat. Life lived on life. +There were the eaters and the eaten. The law was: EAT OR BE EATEN. +He did not formulate the law in clear, set terms and moralise about +it. He did not even think the law; he merely lived the law without +thinking about it at all.</p> +<p>He saw the law operating around him on every side. He had eaten +the ptarmigan chicks. The hawk had eaten the ptarmigan-mother. +The hawk would also have eaten him. Later, when he had grown more +formidable, he wanted to eat the hawk. He had eaten the lynx kitten. +The lynx-mother would have eaten him had she not herself been killed +and eaten. And so it went. The law was being lived about +him by all live things, and he himself was part and parcel of the law. +He was a killer. His only food was meat, live meat, that ran away +swiftly before him, or flew into the air, or climbed trees, or hid in +the ground, or faced him and fought with him, or turned the tables and +ran after him.</p> +<p>Had the cub thought in man-fashion, he might have epitomised life +as a voracious appetite and the world as a place wherein ranged a multitude +of appetites, pursuing and being pursued, hunting and being hunted, +eating and being eaten, all in blindness and confusion, with violence +and disorder, a chaos of gluttony and slaughter, ruled over by chance, +merciless, planless, endless.</p> +<p>But the cub did not think in man-fashion. He did not look at +things with wide vision. He was single-purposed, and entertained +but one thought or desire at a time. Besides the law of meat, +there were a myriad other and lesser laws for him to learn and obey. +The world was filled with surprise. The stir of the life that +was in him, the play of his muscles, was an unending happiness. +To run down meat was to experience thrills and elations. His rages +and battles were pleasures. Terror itself, and the mystery of +the unknown, led to his living.</p> +<p>And there were easements and satisfactions. To have a full +stomach, to doze lazily in the sunshine—such things were remuneration +in full for his ardours and toils, while his ardours and tolls were +in themselves self-remunerative. They were expressions of life, +and life is always happy when it is expressing itself. So the +cub had no quarrel with his hostile environment. He was very much +alive, very happy, and very proud of himself.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART III</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE MAKERS OF FIRE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The cub came upon it suddenly. It was his own fault. +He had been careless. He had left the cave and run down to the +stream to drink. It might have been that he took no notice because +he was heavy with sleep. (He had been out all night on the meat-trail, +and had but just then awakened.) And his carelessness might have +been due to the familiarity of the trail to the pool. He had travelled +it often, and nothing had ever happened on it.</p> +<p>He went down past the blasted pine, crossed the open space, and trotted +in amongst the trees. Then, at the same instant, he saw and smelt. +Before him, sitting silently on their haunches, were five live things, +the like of which he had never seen before. It was his first glimpse +of mankind. But at the sight of him the five men did not spring +to their feet, nor show their teeth, nor snarl. They did not move, +but sat there, silent and ominous.</p> +<p>Nor did the cub move. Every instinct of his nature would have +impelled him to dash wildly away, had there not suddenly and for the +first time arisen in him another and counter instinct. A great +awe descended upon him. He was beaten down to movelessness by +an overwhelming sense of his own weakness and littleness. Here +was mastery and power, something far and away beyond him.</p> +<p>The cub had never seen man, yet the instinct concerning man was his. +In dim ways he recognised in man the animal that had fought itself to +primacy over the other animals of the Wild. Not alone out of his +own eyes, but out of the eyes of all his ancestors was the cub now looking +upon man—out of eyes that had circled in the darkness around countless +winter camp-fires, that had peered from safe distances and from the +hearts of thickets at the strange, two-legged animal that was lord over +living things. The spell of the cub’s heritage was upon +him, the fear and the respect born of the centuries of struggle and +the accumulated experience of the generations. The heritage was +too compelling for a wolf that was only a cub. Had he been full-grown, +he would have run away. As it was, he cowered down in a paralysis +of fear, already half proffering the submission that his kind had proffered +from the first time a wolf came in to sit by man’s fire and be +made warm.</p> +<p>One of the Indians arose and walked over to him and stooped above +him. The cub cowered closer to the ground. It was the unknown, +objectified at last, in concrete flesh and blood, bending over him and +reaching down to seize hold of him. His hair bristled involuntarily; +his lips writhed back and his little fangs were bared. The hand, +poised like doom above him, hesitated, and the man spoke laughing, “<i>Wabam +wabisca ip pit tah</i>.” (“Look! The white fangs!”)</p> +<p>The other Indians laughed loudly, and urged the man on to pick up +the cub. As the hand descended closer and closer, there raged +within the cub a battle of the instincts. He experienced two great +impulsions—to yield and to fight. The resulting action was +a compromise. He did both. He yielded till the hand almost +touched him. Then he fought, his teeth flashing in a snap that +sank them into the hand. The next moment he received a clout alongside +the head that knocked him over on his side. Then all fight fled +out of him. His puppyhood and the instinct of submission took +charge of him. He sat up on his haunches and ki-yi’d. +But the man whose hand he had bitten was angry. The cub received +a clout on the other side of his head. Whereupon he sat up and +ki-yi’d louder than ever.</p> +<p>The four Indians laughed more loudly, while even the man who had +been bitten began to laugh. They surrounded the cub and laughed +at him, while he wailed out his terror and his hurt. In the midst +of it, he heard something. The Indians heard it too. But +the cub knew what it was, and with a last, long wail that had in it +more of triumph than grief, he ceased his noise and waited for the coming +of his mother, of his ferocious and indomitable mother who fought and +killed all things and was never afraid. She was snarling as she +ran. She had heard the cry of her cub and was dashing to save +him.</p> +<p>She bounded in amongst them, her anxious and militant motherhood +making her anything but a pretty sight. But to the cub the spectacle +of her protective rage was pleasing. He uttered a glad little +cry and bounded to meet her, while the man-animals went back hastily +several steps. The she-wolf stood over against her cub, facing +the men, with bristling hair, a snarl rumbling deep in her throat. +Her face was distorted and malignant with menace, even the bridge of +the nose wrinkling from tip to eyes so prodigious was her snarl.</p> +<p>Then it was that a cry went up from one of the men. “Kiche!” +was what he uttered. It was an exclamation of surprise. +The cub felt his mother wilting at the sound.</p> +<p>“Kiche!” the man cried again, this time with sharpness +and authority.</p> +<p>And then the cub saw his mother, the she-wolf, the fearless one, +crouching down till her belly touched the ground, whimpering, wagging +her tail, making peace signs. The cub could not understand. +He was appalled. The awe of man rushed over him again. His +instinct had been true. His mother verified it. She, too, +rendered submission to the man-animals.</p> +<p>The man who had spoken came over to her. He put his hand upon +her head, and she only crouched closer. She did not snap, nor +threaten to snap. The other men came up, and surrounded her, and +felt her, and pawed her, which actions she made no attempt to resent. +They were greatly excited, and made many noises with their mouths. +These noises were not indication of danger, the cub decided, as he crouched +near his mother still bristling from time to time but doing his best +to submit.</p> +<p>“It is not strange,” an Indian was saying. “Her +father was a wolf. It is true, her mother was a dog; but did not +my brother tie her out in the woods all of three nights in the mating +season? Therefore was the father of Kiche a wolf.”</p> +<p>“It is a year, Grey Beaver, since she ran away,” spoke +a second Indian.</p> +<p>“It is not strange, Salmon Tongue,” Grey Beaver answered. +“It was the time of the famine, and there was no meat for the +dogs.”</p> +<p>“She has lived with the wolves,” said a third Indian.</p> +<p>“So it would seem, Three Eagles,” Grey Beaver answered, +lying his hand on the cub; “and this be the sign of it.”</p> +<p>The cub snarled a little at the touch of the hand, and the hand flew +back to administer a clout. Whereupon the cub covered its fangs, +and sank down submissively, while the hand, returning, rubbed behind +his ears, and up and down his back.</p> +<p>“This be the sign of it,” Grey Beaver went on. +“It is plain that his mother is Kiche. But this father was +a wolf. Wherefore is there in him little dog and much wolf. +His fangs be white, and White Fang shall be his name. I have spoken. +He is my dog. For was not Kiche my brother’s dog? +And is not my brother dead?”</p> +<p>The cub, who had thus received a name in the world, lay and watched. +For a time the man-animals continued to make their mouth-noises. +Then Grey Beaver took a knife from a sheath that hung around his neck, +and went into the thicket and cut a stick. White Fang watched +him. He notched the stick at each end and in the notches fastened +strings of raw-hide. One string he tied around the throat of Kiche. +Then he led her to a small pine, around which he tied the other string.</p> +<p>White Fang followed and lay down beside her. Salmon Tongue’s +hand reached out to him and rolled him over on his back. Kiche +looked on anxiously. White Fang felt fear mounting in him again. +He could not quite suppress a snarl, but he made no offer to snap. +The hand, with fingers crooked and spread apart, rubbed his stomach +in a playful way and rolled him from side to side. It was ridiculous +and ungainly, lying there on his back with legs sprawling in the air. +Besides, it was a position of such utter helplessness that White Fang’s +whole nature revolted against it. He could do nothing to defend +himself. If this man-animal intended harm, White Fang knew that +he could not escape it. How could he spring away with his four +legs in the air above him? Yet submission made him master his +fear, and he only growled softly. This growl he could not suppress; +nor did the man-animal resent it by giving him a blow on the head. +And furthermore, such was the strangeness of it, White Fang experienced +an unaccountable sensation of pleasure as the hand rubbed back and forth. +When he was rolled on his side he ceased to growl, when the fingers +pressed and prodded at the base of his ears the pleasurable sensation +increased; and when, with a final rub and scratch, the man left him +alone and went away, all fear had died out of White Fang. He was +to know fear many times in his dealing with man; yet it was a token +of the fearless companionship with man that was ultimately to be his.</p> +<p>After a time, White Fang heard strange noises approaching. +He was quick in his classification, for he knew them at once for man-animal +noises. A few minutes later the remainder of the tribe, strung +out as it was on the march, trailed in. There were more men and +many women and children, forty souls of them, and all heavily burdened +with camp equipage and outfit. Also there were many dogs; and +these, with the exception of the part-grown puppies, were likewise burdened +with camp outfit. On their backs, in bags that fastened tightly +around underneath, the dogs carried from twenty to thirty pounds of +weight.</p> +<p>White Fang had never seen dogs before, but at sight of them he felt +that they were his own kind, only somehow different. But they +displayed little difference from the wolf when they discovered the cub +and his mother. There was a rush. White Fang bristled and +snarled and snapped in the face of the open-mouthed oncoming wave of +dogs, and went down and under them, feeling the sharp slash of teeth +in his body, himself biting and tearing at the legs and bellies above +him. There was a great uproar. He could hear the snarl of +Kiche as she fought for him; and he could hear the cries of the man-animals, +the sound of clubs striking upon bodies, and the yelps of pain from +the dogs so struck.</p> +<p>Only a few seconds elapsed before he was on his feet again. +He could now see the man-animals driving back the dogs with clubs and +stones, defending him, saving him from the savage teeth of his kind +that somehow was not his kind. And though there was no reason +in his brain for a clear conception of so abstract a thing as justice, +nevertheless, in his own way, he felt the justice of the man-animals, +and he knew them for what they were—makers of law and executors +of law. Also, he appreciated the power with which they administered +the law. Unlike any animals he had ever encountered, they did +not bite nor claw. They enforced their live strength with the +power of dead things. Dead things did their bidding. Thus, +sticks and stones, directed by these strange creatures, leaped through +the air like living things, inflicting grievous hurts upon the dogs.</p> +<p>To his mind this was power unusual, power inconceivable and beyond +the natural, power that was godlike. White Fang, in the very nature +of him, could never know anything about gods; at the best he could know +only things that were beyond knowing—but the wonder and awe that +he had of these man-animals in ways resembled what would be the wonder +and awe of man at sight of some celestial creature, on a mountain top, +hurling thunderbolts from either hand at an astonished world.</p> +<p>The last dog had been driven back. The hubbub died down. +And White Fang licked his hurts and meditated upon this, his first taste +of pack-cruelty and his introduction to the pack. He had never +dreamed that his own kind consisted of more than One Eye, his mother, +and himself. They had constituted a kind apart, and here, abruptly, +he had discovered many more creatures apparently of his own kind. +And there was a subconscious resentment that these, his kind, at first +sight had pitched upon him and tried to destroy him. In the same +way he resented his mother being tied with a stick, even though it was +done by the superior man-animals. It savoured of the trap, of +bondage. Yet of the trap and of bondage he knew nothing. +Freedom to roam and run and lie down at will, had been his heritage; +and here it was being infringed upon. His mother’s movements +were restricted to the length of a stick, and by the length of that +same stick was he restricted, for he had not yet got beyond the need +of his mother’s side.</p> +<p>He did not like it. Nor did he like it when the man-animals +arose and went on with their march; for a tiny man-animal took the other +end of the stick and led Kiche captive behind him, and behind Kiche +followed White Fang, greatly perturbed and worried by this new adventure +he had entered upon.</p> +<p>They went down the valley of the stream, far beyond White Fang’s +widest ranging, until they came to the end of the valley, where the +stream ran into the Mackenzie River. Here, where canoes were cached +on poles high in the air and where stood fish-racks for the drying of +fish, camp was made; and White Fang looked on with wondering eyes. +The superiority of these man-animals increased with every moment. +There was their mastery over all these sharp-fanged dogs. It breathed +of power. But greater than that, to the wolf-cub, was their mastery +over things not alive; their capacity to communicate motion to unmoving +things; their capacity to change the very face of the world.</p> +<p>It was this last that especially affected him. The elevation +of frames of poles caught his eye; yet this in itself was not so remarkable, +being done by the same creatures that flung sticks and stones to great +distances. But when the frames of poles were made into tepees +by being covered with cloth and skins, White Fang was astounded. +It was the colossal bulk of them that impressed him. They arose +around him, on every side, like some monstrous quick-growing form of +life. They occupied nearly the whole circumference of his field +of vision. He was afraid of them. They loomed ominously +above him; and when the breeze stirred them into huge movements, he +cowered down in fear, keeping his eyes warily upon them, and prepared +to spring away if they attempted to precipitate themselves upon him.</p> +<p>But in a short while his fear of the tepees passed away. He +saw the women and children passing in and out of them without harm, +and he saw the dogs trying often to get into them, and being driven +away with sharp words and flying stones. After a time, he left +Kiche’s side and crawled cautiously toward the wall of the nearest +tepee. It was the curiosity of growth that urged him on—the +necessity of learning and living and doing that brings experience. +The last few inches to the wall of the tepee were crawled with painful +slowness and precaution. The day’s events had prepared him +for the unknown to manifest itself in most stupendous and unthinkable +ways. At last his nose touched the canvas. He waited. +Nothing happened. Then he smelled the strange fabric, saturated +with the man-smell. He closed on the canvas with his teeth and +gave a gentle tug. Nothing happened, though the adjacent portions +of the tepee moved. He tugged harder. There was a greater +movement. It was delightful. He tugged still harder, and +repeatedly, until the whole tepee was in motion. Then the sharp +cry of a squaw inside sent him scampering back to Kiche. But after +that he was afraid no more of the looming bulks of the tepees.</p> +<p>A moment later he was straying away again from his mother. +Her stick was tied to a peg in the ground and she could not follow him. +A part-grown puppy, somewhat larger and older than he, came toward him +slowly, with ostentatious and belligerent importance. The puppy’s +name, as White Fang was afterward to hear him called, was Lip-lip. +He had had experience in puppy fights and was already something of a +bully.</p> +<p>Lip-lip was White Fang’s own kind, and, being only a puppy, +did not seem dangerous; so White Fang prepared to meet him in a friendly +spirit. But when the strangers walk became stiff-legged and his +lips lifted clear of his teeth, White Fang stiffened too, and answered +with lifted lips. They half circled about each other, tentatively, +snarling and bristling. This lasted several minutes, and White +Fang was beginning to enjoy it, as a sort of game. But suddenly, +with remarkable swiftness, Lip-lip leaped in, delivering a slashing +snap, and leaped away again. The snap had taken effect on the +shoulder that had been hurt by the lynx and that was still sore deep +down near the bone. The surprise and hurt of it brought a yelp +out of White Fang; but the next moment, in a rush of anger, he was upon +Lip-lip and snapping viciously.</p> +<p>But Lip-hp had lived his life in camp and had fought many puppy fights. +Three times, four times, and half a dozen times, his sharp little teeth +scored on the newcomer, until White Fang, yelping shamelessly, fled +to the protection of his mother. It was the first of the many +fights he was to have with Lip-lip, for they were enemies from the start, +born so, with natures destined perpetually to clash.</p> +<p>Kiche licked White Fang soothingly with her tongue, and tried to +prevail upon him to remain with her. But his curiosity was rampant, +and several minutes later he was venturing forth on a new quest. +He came upon one of the man-animals, Grey Beaver, who was squatting +on his hams and doing something with sticks and dry moss spread before +him on the ground. White Fang came near to him and watched. +Grey Beaver made mouth-noises which White Fang interpreted as not hostile, +so he came still nearer.</p> +<p>Women and children were carrying more sticks and branches to Grey +Beaver. It was evidently an affair of moment. White Fang +came in until he touched Grey Beaver’s knee, so curious was he, +and already forgetful that this was a terrible man-animal. Suddenly +he saw a strange thing like mist beginning to arise from the sticks +and moss beneath Grey Beaver’s hands. Then, amongst the +sticks themselves, appeared a live thing, twisting and turning, of a +colour like the colour of the sun in the sky. White Fang knew +nothing about fire. It drew him as the light, in the mouth of +the cave had drawn him in his early puppyhood. He crawled the +several steps toward the flame. He heard Grey Beaver chuckle above +him, and he knew the sound was not hostile. Then his nose touched +the flame, and at the same instant his little tongue went out to it.</p> +<p>For a moment he was paralysed. The unknown, lurking in the +midst of the sticks and moss, was savagely clutching him by the nose. +He scrambled backward, bursting out in an astonished explosion of ki-yi’s. +At the sound, Kiche leaped snarling to the end of her stick, and there +raged terribly because she could not come to his aid. But Grey +Beaver laughed loudly, and slapped his thighs, and told the happening +to all the rest of the camp, till everybody was laughing uproariously. +But White Fang sat on his haunches and ki-yi’d and ki-yi’d, +a forlorn and pitiable little figure in the midst of the man-animals.</p> +<p>It was the worst hurt he had ever known. Both nose and tongue +had been scorched by the live thing, sun-coloured, that had grown up +under Grey Beaver’s hands. He cried and cried interminably, +and every fresh wail was greeted by bursts of laughter on the part of +the man-animals. He tried to soothe his nose with his tongue, +but the tongue was burnt too, and the two hurts coming together produced +greater hurt; whereupon he cried more hopelessly and helplessly than +ever.</p> +<p>And then shame came to him. He knew laughter and the meaning +of it. It is not given us to know how some animals know laughter, +and know when they are being laughed at; but it was this same way that +White Fang knew it. And he felt shame that the man-animals should +be laughing at him. He turned and fled away, not from the hurt +of the fire, but from the laughter that sank even deeper, and hurt in +the spirit of him. And he fled to Kiche, raging at the end of +her stick like an animal gone mad—to Kiche, the one creature in +the world who was not laughing at him.</p> +<p>Twilight drew down and night came on, and White Fang lay by his mother’s +side. His nose and tongue still hurt, but he was perplexed by +a greater trouble. He was homesick. He felt a vacancy in +him, a need for the hush and quietude of the stream and the cave in +the cliff. Life had become too populous. There were so many +of the man-animals, men, women, and children, all making noises and +irritations. And there were the dogs, ever squabbling and bickering, +bursting into uproars and creating confusions. The restful loneliness +of the only life he had known was gone. Here the very air was +palpitant with life. It hummed and buzzed unceasingly. Continually +changing its intensity and abruptly variant in pitch, it impinged on +his nerves and senses, made him nervous and restless and worried him +with a perpetual imminence of happening.</p> +<p>He watched the man-animals coming and going and moving about the +camp. In fashion distantly resembling the way men look upon the +gods they create, so looked White Fang upon the man-animals before him. +They were superior creatures, of a verity, gods. To his dim comprehension +they were as much wonder-workers as gods are to men. They were +creatures of mastery, possessing all manner of unknown and impossible +potencies, overlords of the alive and the not alive—making obey +that which moved, imparting movement to that which did not move, and +making life, sun-coloured and biting life, to grow out of dead moss +and wood. They were fire-makers! They were gods.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE BONDAGE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The days were thronged with experience for White Fang. During +the time that Kiche was tied by the stick, he ran about over all the +camp, inquiring, investigating, learning. He quickly came to know +much of the ways of the man-animals, but familiarity did not breed contempt. +The more he came to know them, the more they vindicated their superiority, +the more they displayed their mysterious powers, the greater loomed +their god-likeness.</p> +<p>To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown +and his altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog that have +come in to crouch at man’s feet, this grief has never come. +Unlike man, whose gods are of the unseen and the overguessed, vapours +and mists of fancy eluding the garmenture of reality, wandering wraiths +of desired goodness and power, intangible out-croppings of self into +the realm of spirit—unlike man, the wolf and the wild dog that +have come in to the fire find their gods in the living flesh, solid +to the touch, occupying earth-space and requiring time for the accomplishment +of their ends and their existence. No effort of faith is necessary +to believe in such a god; no effort of will can possibly induce disbelief +in such a god. There is no getting away from it. There it +stands, on its two hind-legs, club in hand, immensely potential, passionate +and wrathful and loving, god and mystery and power all wrapped up and +around by flesh that bleeds when it is torn and that is good to eat +like any flesh.</p> +<p>And so it was with White Fang. The man-animals were gods unmistakable +and unescapable. As his mother, Kiche, had rendered her allegiance +to them at the first cry of her name, so he was beginning to render +his allegiance. He gave them the trail as a privilege indubitably +theirs. When they walked, he got out of their way. When +they called, he came. When they threatened, he cowered down. +When they commanded him to go, he went away hurriedly. For behind +any wish of theirs was power to enforce that wish, power that hurt, +power that expressed itself in clouts and clubs, in flying stones and +stinging lashes of whips.</p> +<p>He belonged to them as all dogs belonged to them. His actions +were theirs to command. His body was theirs to maul, to stamp +upon, to tolerate. Such was the lesson that was quickly borne +in upon him. It came hard, going as it did, counter to much that +was strong and dominant in his own nature; and, while he disliked it +in the learning of it, unknown to himself he was learning to like it. +It was a placing of his destiny in another’s hands, a shifting +of the responsibilities of existence. This in itself was compensation, +for it is always easier to lean upon another than to stand alone.</p> +<p>But it did not all happen in a day, this giving over of himself, +body and soul, to the man-animals. He could not immediately forego +his wild heritage and his memories of the Wild. There were days +when he crept to the edge of the forest and stood and listened to something +calling him far and away. And always he returned, restless and +uncomfortable, to whimper softly and wistfully at Kiche’s side +and to lick her face with eager, questioning tongue.</p> +<p>White Fang learned rapidly the ways of the camp. He knew the +injustice and greediness of the older dogs when meat or fish was thrown +out to be eaten. He came to know that men were more just, children +more cruel, and women more kindly and more likely to toss him a bit +of meat or bone. And after two or three painful adventures with +the mothers of part-grown puppies, he came into the knowledge that it +was always good policy to let such mothers alone, to keep away from +them as far as possible, and to avoid them when he saw them coming.</p> +<p>But the bane of his life was Lip-lip. Larger, older, and stronger, +Lip-lip had selected White Fang for his special object of persecution. +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.</p> +<p>But the effect upon White Fang was not to cow him. Though he +suffered most of the damage and was always defeated, his spirit remained +unsubdued. Yet a bad effect was produced. He became malignant +and morose. His temper had been savage by birth, but it became +more savage under this unending persecution. The genial, playful, +puppyish side of him found little expression. He never played +and gambolled about with the other puppies of the camp. Lip-lip +would not permit it. The moment White Fang appeared near them, +Lip-lip was upon him, bullying and hectoring him, or fighting with him +until he had driven him away.</p> +<p>The effect of all this was to rob White Fang of much of his puppyhood +and to make him in his comportment older than his age. Denied +the outlet, through play, of his energies, he recoiled upon himself +and developed his mental processes. He became cunning; he had +idle time in which to devote himself to thoughts of trickery. +Prevented from obtaining his share of meat and fish when a general feed +was given to the camp-dogs, he became a clever thief. He had to +forage for himself, and he foraged well, though he was oft-times a plague +to the squaws in consequence. He learned to sneak about camp, +to be crafty, to know what was going on everywhere, to see and to hear +everything and to reason accordingly, and successfully to devise ways +and means of avoiding his implacable persecutor.</p> +<p>It was early in the days of his persecution that he played his first +really big crafty game and got there from his first taste of revenge. +As Kiche, when with the wolves, had lured out to destruction dogs from +the camps of men, so White Fang, in manner somewhat similar, lured Lip-lip +into Kiche’s avenging jaws. Retreating before Lip-lip, White +Fang made an indirect flight that led in and out and around the various +tepees of the camp. He was a good runner, swifter than any puppy +of his size, and swifter than Lip-lip. But he did not run his +best in this chase. He barely held his own, one leap ahead of +his pursuer.</p> +<p>Lip-lip, excited by the chase and by the persistent nearness of his +victim, forgot caution and locality. When he remembered locality, +it was too late. Dashing at top speed around a tepee, he ran full +tilt into Kiche lying at the end of her stick. He gave one yelp +of consternation, and then her punishing jaws closed upon him. +She was tied, but he could not get away from her easily. She rolled +him off his legs so that he could not run, while she repeatedly ripped +and slashed him with her fangs.</p> +<p>When at last he succeeded in rolling clear of her, he crawled to +his feet, badly dishevelled, hurt both in body and in spirit. +His hair was standing out all over him in tufts where her teeth had +mauled. He stood where he had arisen, opened his mouth, and broke +out the long, heart-broken puppy wail. But even this he was not +allowed to complete. In the middle of it, White Fang, rushing +in, sank his teeth into Lip-lip’s hind leg. There was no +fight left in Lip-lip, and he ran away shamelessly, his victim hot on +his heels and worrying him all the way back to his own tepee. +Here the squaws came to his aid, and White Fang, transformed into a +raging demon, was finally driven off only by a fusillade of stones.</p> +<p>Came the day when Grey Beaver, deciding that the liability of her +running away was past, released Kiche. White Fang was delighted +with his mother’s freedom. He accompanied her joyfully about +the camp; and, so long as he remained close by her side, Lip-lip kept +a respectful distance. White-Fang even bristled up to him and +walked stiff-legged, but Lip-lip ignored the challenge. He was +no fool himself, and whatever vengeance he desired to wreak, he could +wait until he caught White Fang alone.</p> +<p>Later on that day, Kiche and White Fang strayed into the edge of +the woods next to the camp. He had led his mother there, step +by step, and now when she stopped, he tried to inveigle her farther. +The stream, the lair, and the quiet woods were calling to him, and he +wanted her to come. He ran on a few steps, stopped, and looked +back. She had not moved. He whined pleadingly, and scurried +playfully in and out of the underbrush. He ran back to her, licked +her face, and ran on again. And still she did not move. +He stopped and regarded her, all of an intentness and eagerness, physically +expressed, that slowly faded out of him as she turned her head and gazed +back at the camp.</p> +<p>There was something calling to him out there in the open. His +mother heard it too. But she heard also that other and louder +call, the call of the fire and of man—the call which has been +given alone of all animals to the wolf to answer, to the wolf and the +wild-dog, who are brothers.</p> +<p>Kiche turned and slowly trotted back toward camp. Stronger +than the physical restraint of the stick was the clutch of the camp +upon her. Unseen and occultly, the gods still gripped with their +power and would not let her go. White Fang sat down in the shadow +of a birch and whimpered softly. There was a strong smell of pine, +and subtle wood fragrances filled the air, reminding him of his old +life of freedom before the days of his bondage. But he was still +only a part-grown puppy, and stronger than the call either of man or +of the Wild was the call of his mother. All the hours of his short +life he had depended upon her. The time was yet to come for independence. +So he arose and trotted forlornly back to camp, pausing once, and twice, +to sit down and whimper and to listen to the call that still sounded +in the depths of the forest.</p> +<p>In the Wild the time of a mother with her young is short; but under +the dominion of man it is sometimes even shorter. Thus it was +with White Fang. Grey Beaver was in the debt of Three Eagles. +Three Eagles was going away on a trip up the Mackenzie to the Great +Slave Lake. A strip of scarlet cloth, a bearskin, twenty cartridges, +and Kiche, went to pay the debt. White Fang saw his mother taken +aboard Three Eagles’ canoe, and tried to follow her. A blow +from Three Eagles knocked him backward to the land. The canoe +shoved off. He sprang into the water and swam after it, deaf to +the sharp cries of Grey Beaver to return. Even a man-animal, a +god, White Fang ignored, such was the terror he was in of losing his +mother.</p> +<p>But gods are accustomed to being obeyed, and Grey Beaver wrathfully +launched a canoe in pursuit. When he overtook White Fang, he reached +down and by the nape of the neck lifted him clear of the water. +He did not deposit him at once in the bottom of the canoe. Holding +him suspended with one hand, with the other hand he proceeded to give +him a beating. And it <i>was</i> a beating. His hand was +heavy. Every blow was shrewd to hurt; and he delivered a multitude +of blows.</p> +<p>Impelled by the blows that rained upon him, now from this side, now +from that, White Fang swung back and forth like an erratic and jerky +pendulum. Varying were the emotions that surged through him. +At first, he had known surprise. Then came a momentary fear, when +he yelped several times to the impact of the hand. But this was +quickly followed by anger. His free nature asserted itself, and +he showed his teeth and snarled fearlessly in the face of the wrathful +god. This but served to make the god more wrathful. The +blows came faster, heavier, more shrewd to hurt.</p> +<p>Grey Beaver continued to beat, White Fang continued to snarl. +But this could not last for ever. One or the other must give over, +and that one was White Fang. Fear surged through him again. +For the first time he was being really man-handled. The occasional +blows of sticks and stones he had previously experienced were as caresses +compared with this. He broke down and began to cry and yelp. +For a time each blow brought a yelp from him; but fear passed into terror, +until finally his yelps were voiced in unbroken succession, unconnected +with the rhythm of the punishment.</p> +<p>At last Grey Beaver withheld his hand. White Fang, hanging +limply, continued to cry. This seemed to satisfy his master, who +flung him down roughly in the bottom of the canoe. In the meantime +the canoe had drifted down the stream. Grey Beaver picked up the +paddle. White Fang was in his way. He spurned him savagely +with his foot. In that moment White Fang’s free nature flashed +forth again, and he sank his teeth into the moccasined foot.</p> +<p>The beating that had gone before was as nothing compared with the +beating he now received. Grey Beaver’s wrath was terrible; +likewise was White Fang’s fright. Not only the hand, but +the hard wooden paddle was used upon him; and he was bruised and sore +in all his small body when he was again flung down in the canoe. +Again, and this time with purpose, did Grey Beaver kick him. White +Fang did not repeat his attack on the foot. He had learned another +lesson of his bondage. Never, no matter what the circumstance, +must he dare to bite the god who was lord and master over him; the body +of the lord and master was sacred, not to be defiled by the teeth of +such as he. That was evidently the crime of crimes, the one offence +there was no condoning nor overlooking.</p> +<p>When the canoe touched the shore, White Fang lay whimpering and motionless, +waiting the will of Grey Beaver. It was Grey Beaver’s will +that he should go ashore, for ashore he was flung, striking heavily +on his side and hurting his bruises afresh. He crawled tremblingly +to his feet and stood whimpering. Lip-lip, who had watched the +whole proceeding from the bank, now rushed upon him, knocking him over +and sinking his teeth into him. White Fang was too helpless to +defend himself, and it would have gone hard with him had not Grey Beaver’s +foot shot out, lifting Lip-lip into the air with its violence so that +he smashed down to earth a dozen feet away. This was the man-animal’s +justice; and even then, in his own pitiable plight, White Fang experienced +a little grateful thrill. At Grey Beaver’s heels he limped +obediently through the village to the tepee. And so it came that +White Fang learned that the right to punish was something the gods reserved +for themselves and denied to the lesser creatures under them.</p> +<p>That night, when all was still, White Fang remembered his mother +and sorrowed for her. He sorrowed too loudly and woke up Grey +Beaver, who beat him. After that he mourned gently when the gods +were around. But sometimes, straying off to the edge of the woods +by himself, he gave vent to his grief, and cried it out with loud whimperings +and wailings.</p> +<p>It was during this period that he might have harkened to the memories +of the lair and the stream and run back to the Wild. But the memory +of his mother held him. As the hunting man-animals went out and +came back, so she would come back to the village some time. So +he remained in his bondage waiting for her.</p> +<p>But it was not altogether an unhappy bondage. There was much +to interest him. Something was always happening. There was +no end to the strange things these gods did, and he was always curious +to see. Besides, he was learning how to get along with Grey Beaver. +Obedience, rigid, undeviating obedience, was what was exacted of him; +and in return he escaped beatings and his existence was tolerated.</p> +<p>Nay, Grey Beaver himself sometimes tossed him a piece of meat, and +defended him against the other dogs in the eating of it. And such +a piece of meat was of value. It was worth more, in some strange +way, then a dozen pieces of meat from the hand of a squaw. Grey +Beaver never petted nor caressed. Perhaps it was the weight of +his hand, perhaps his justice, perhaps the sheer power of him, and perhaps +it was all these things that influenced White Fang; for a certain tie +of attachment was forming between him and his surly lord.</p> +<p>Insidiously, and by remote ways, as well as by the power of stick +and stone and clout of hand, were the shackles of White Fang’s +bondage being riveted upon him. The qualities in his kind that +in the beginning made it possible for them to come in to the fires of +men, were qualities capable of development. They were developing +in him, and the camp-life, replete with misery as it was, was secretly +endearing itself to him all the time. But White Fang was unaware +of it. He knew only grief for the loss of Kiche, hope for her +return, and a hungry yearning for the free life that had been his.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE OUTCAST</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Lip-lip continued so to darken his days that White Fang became wickeder +and more ferocious than it was his natural right to be. Savageness +was a part of his make-up, but the savageness thus developed exceeded +his make-up. He acquired a reputation for wickedness amongst the +man-animals themselves. Wherever there was trouble and uproar +in camp, fighting and squabbling or the outcry of a squaw over a bit +of stolen meat, they were sure to find White Fang mixed up in it and +usually at the bottom of it. They did not bother to look after +the causes of his conduct. They saw only the effects, and the +effects were bad. He was a sneak and a thief, a mischief-maker, +a fomenter of trouble; and irate squaws told him to his face, the while +he eyed them alert and ready to dodge any quick-flung missile, that +he was a wolf and worthless and bound to come to an evil end.</p> +<p>He found himself an outcast in the midst of the populous camp. +All the young dogs followed Lip-lip’s lead. There was a +difference between White Fang and them. Perhaps they sensed his +wild-wood breed, and instinctively felt for him the enmity that the +domestic dog feels for the wolf. But be that as it may, they joined +with Lip-lip in the persecution. And, once declared against him, +they found good reason to continue declared against him. One and +all, from time to time, they felt his teeth; and to his credit, he gave +more than he received. Many of them he could whip in single fight; +but single fight was denied him. The beginning of such a fight +was a signal for all the young dogs in camp to come running and pitch +upon him.</p> +<p>Out of this pack-persecution he learned two important things: how +to take care of himself in a mass-fight against him—and how, on +a single dog, to inflict the greatest amount of damage in the briefest +space of time. To keep one’s feet in the midst of the hostile +mass meant life, and this he learnt well. He became cat-like in +his ability to stay on his feet. Even grown dogs might hurtle +him backward or sideways with the impact of their heavy bodies; and +backward or sideways he would go, in the air or sliding on the ground, +but always with his legs under him and his feet downward to the mother +earth.</p> +<p>When dogs fight, there are usually preliminaries to the actual combat—snarlings +and bristlings and stiff-legged struttings. But White Fang learned +to omit these preliminaries. Delay meant the coming against him +of all the young dogs. He must do his work quickly and get away. +So he learnt to give no warning of his intention. He rushed in +and snapped and slashed on the instant, without notice, before his foe +could prepare to meet him. Thus he learned how to inflict quick +and severe damage. Also he learned the value of surprise. +A dog, taken off its guard, its shoulder slashed open or its ear ripped +in ribbons before it knew what was happening, was a dog half whipped.</p> +<p>Furthermore, it was remarkably easy to overthrow a dog taken by surprise; +while a dog, thus overthrown, invariably exposed for a moment the soft +underside of its neck—the vulnerable point at which to strike +for its life. White Fang knew this point. It was a knowledge +bequeathed to him directly from the hunting generation of wolves. +So it was that White Fang’s method when he took the offensive, +was: first to find a young dog alone; second, to surprise it and knock +it off its feet; and third, to drive in with his teeth at the soft throat.</p> +<p>Being but partly grown his jaws had not yet become large enough nor +strong enough to make his throat-attack deadly; but many a young dog +went around camp with a lacerated throat in token of White Fang’s +intention. And one day, catching one of his enemies alone on the +edge of the woods, he managed, by repeatedly overthrowing him and attacking +the throat, to cut the great vein and let out the life. There +was a great row that night. He had been observed, the news had +been carried to the dead dog’s master, the squaws remembered all +the instances of stolen meat, and Grey Beaver was beset by many angry +voices. But he resolutely held the door of his tepee, inside which +he had placed the culprit, and refused to permit the vengeance for which +his tribespeople clamoured.</p> +<p>White Fang became hated by man and dog. During this period +of his development he never knew a moment’s security. The +tooth of every dog was against him, the hand of every man. He +was greeted with snarls by his kind, with curses and stones by his gods. +He lived tensely. He was always keyed up, alert for attack, wary +of being attacked, with an eye for sudden and unexpected missiles, prepared +to act precipitately and coolly, to leap in with a flash of teeth, or +to leap away with a menacing snarl.</p> +<p>As for snarling he could snarl more terribly than any dog, young +or old, in camp. The intent of the snarl is to warn or frighten, +and judgment is required to know when it should be used. White +Fang knew how to make it and when to make it. Into his snarl he +incorporated all that was vicious, malignant, and horrible. With +nose serrulated by continuous spasms, hair bristling in recurrent waves, +tongue whipping out like a red snake and whipping back again, ears flattened +down, eyes gleaming hatred, lips wrinkled back, and fangs exposed and +dripping, he could compel a pause on the part of almost any assailant. +A temporary pause, when taken off his guard, gave him the vital moment +in which to think and determine his action. But often a pause +so gained lengthened out until it evolved into a complete cessation +from the attack. And before more than one of the grown dogs White +Fang’s snarl enabled him to beat an honourable retreat.</p> +<p>An outcast himself from the pack of the part-grown dogs, his sanguinary +methods and remarkable efficiency made the pack pay for its persecution +of him. Not permitted himself to run with the pack, the curious +state of affairs obtained that no member of the pack could run outside +the pack. White Fang would not permit it. What of his bushwhacking +and waylaying tactics, the young dogs were afraid to run by themselves. +With the exception of Lip-lip, they were compelled to hunch together +for mutual protection against the terrible enemy they had made. +A puppy alone by the river bank meant a puppy dead or a puppy that aroused +the camp with its shrill pain and terror as it fled back from the wolf-cub +that had waylaid it.</p> +<p>But White Fang’s reprisals did not cease, even when the young +dogs had learned thoroughly that they must stay together. He attacked +them when he caught them alone, and they attacked him when they were +bunched. The sight of him was sufficient to start them rushing +after him, at which times his swiftness usually carried him into safety. +But woe the dog that outran his fellows in such pursuit! White +Fang had learned to turn suddenly upon the pursuer that was ahead of +the pack and thoroughly to rip him up before the pack could arrive. +This occurred with great frequency, for, once in full cry, the dogs +were prone to forget themselves in the excitement of the chase, while +White Fang never forgot himself. Stealing backward glances as +he ran, he was always ready to whirl around and down the overzealous +pursuer that outran his fellows.</p> +<p>Young dogs are bound to play, and out of the exigencies of the situation +they realised their play in this mimic warfare. Thus it was that +the hunt of White Fang became their chief game—a deadly game, +withal, and at all times a serious game. He, on the other hand, +being the fastest-footed, was unafraid to venture anywhere. During +the period that he waited vainly for his mother to come back, he led +the pack many a wild chase through the adjacent woods. But the +pack invariably lost him. Its noise and outcry warned him of its +presence, while he ran alone, velvet-footed, silently, a moving shadow +among the trees after the manner of his father and mother before him. +Further he was more directly connected with the Wild than they; and +he knew more of its secrets and stratagems. A favourite trick +of his was to lose his trail in running water and then lie quietly in +a near-by thicket while their baffled cries arose around him.</p> +<p>Hated by his kind and by mankind, indomitable, perpetually warred +upon and himself waging perpetual war, his development was rapid and +one-sided. This was no soil for kindliness and affection to blossom +in. Of such things he had not the faintest glimmering. The +code he learned was to obey the strong and to oppress the weak. +Grey Beaver was a god, and strong. Therefore White Fang obeyed +him. But the dog younger or smaller than himself was weak, a thing +to be destroyed. His development was in the direction of power. +In order to face the constant danger of hurt and even of destruction, +his predatory and protective faculties were unduly developed. +He became quicker of movement than the other dogs, swifter of foot, +craftier, deadlier, more lithe, more lean with ironlike muscle and sinew, +more enduring, more cruel, more ferocious, and more intelligent. +He had to become all these things, else he would not have held his own +nor survive the hostile environment in which he found himself.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE TRAIL OF THE GODS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the fall of the year, when the days were shortening and the bite +of the frost was coming into the air, White Fang got his chance for +liberty. For several days there had been a great hubbub in the +village. The summer camp was being dismantled, and the tribe, +bag and baggage, was preparing to go off to the fall hunting. +White Fang watched it all with eager eyes, and when the tepees began +to come down and the canoes were loading at the bank, he understood. +Already the canoes were departing, and some had disappeared down the +river.</p> +<p>Quite deliberately he determined to stay behind. He waited +his opportunity to slink out of camp to the woods. Here, in the +running stream where ice was beginning to form, he hid his trail. +Then he crawled into the heart of a dense thicket and waited. +The time passed by, and he slept intermittently for hours. Then +he was aroused by Grey Beaver’s voice calling him by name. +There were other voices. White Fang could hear Grey Beaver’s +squaw taking part in the search, and Mit-sah, who was Grey Beaver’s +son.</p> +<p>White Fang trembled with fear, and though the impulse came to crawl +out of his hiding-place, he resisted it. After a time the voices +died away, and some time after that he crept out to enjoy the success +of his undertaking. Darkness was coming on, and for a while he +played about among the trees, pleasuring in his freedom. Then, +and quite suddenly, he became aware of loneliness. He sat down +to consider, listening to the silence of the forest and perturbed by +it. That nothing moved nor sounded, seemed ominous. He felt +the lurking of danger, unseen and unguessed. He was suspicious +of the looming bulks of the trees and of the dark shadows that might +conceal all manner of perilous things.</p> +<p>Then it was cold. Here was no warm side of a tepee against +which to snuggle. The frost was in his feet, and he kept lifting +first one fore-foot and then the other. He curved his bushy tail +around to cover them, and at the same time he saw a vision. There +was nothing strange about it. Upon his inward sight was impressed +a succession of memory-pictures. He saw the camp again, the tepees, +and the blaze of the fires. He heard the shrill voices of the +women, the gruff basses of the men, and the snarling of the dogs. +He was hungry, and he remembered pieces of meat and fish that had been +thrown him. Here was no meat, nothing but a threatening and inedible +silence.</p> +<p>His bondage had softened him. Irresponsibility had weakened +him. He had forgotten how to shift for himself. The night +yawned about him. His senses, accustomed to the hum and bustle +of the camp, used to the continuous impact of sights and sounds, were +now left idle. There was nothing to do, nothing to see nor hear. +They strained to catch some interruption of the silence and immobility +of nature. They were appalled by inaction and by the feel of something +terrible impending.</p> +<p>He gave a great start of fright. A colossal and formless something +was rushing across the field of his vision. It was a tree-shadow +flung by the moon, from whose face the clouds had been brushed away. +Reassured, he whimpered softly; then he suppressed the whimper for fear +that it might attract the attention of the lurking dangers.</p> +<p>A tree, contracting in the cool of the night, made a loud noise. +It was directly above him. He yelped in his fright. A panic +seized him, and he ran madly toward the village. He knew an overpowering +desire for the protection and companionship of man. In his nostrils +was the smell of the camp-smoke. In his ears the camp-sounds and +cries were ringing loud. He passed out of the forest and into +the moonlit open where were no shadows nor darknesses. But no +village greeted his eyes. He had forgotten. The village +had gone away.</p> +<p>His wild flight ceased abruptly. There was no place to which +to flee. He slunk forlornly through the deserted camp, smelling +the rubbish-heaps and the discarded rags and tags of the gods. +He would have been glad for the rattle of stones about him, flung by +an angry squaw, glad for the hand of Grey Beaver descending upon him +in wrath; while he would have welcomed with delight Lip-lip and the +whole snarling, cowardly pack.</p> +<p>He came to where Grey Beaver’s tepee had stood. In the +centre of the space it had occupied, he sat down. He pointed his +nose at the moon. His throat was afflicted by rigid spasms, his +mouth opened, and in a heart-broken cry bubbled up his loneliness and +fear, his grief for Kiche, all his past sorrows and miseries as well +as his apprehension of sufferings and dangers to come. It was +the long wolf-howl, full-throated and mournful, the first howl he had +ever uttered.</p> +<p>The coming of daylight dispelled his fears but increased his loneliness. +The naked earth, which so shortly before had been so populous; thrust +his loneliness more forcibly upon him. It did not take him long +to make up his mind. He plunged into the forest and followed the +river bank down the stream. All day he ran. He did not rest. +He seemed made to run on for ever. His iron-like body ignored +fatigue. And even after fatigue came, his heritage of endurance +braced him to endless endeavour and enabled him to drive his complaining +body onward.</p> +<p>Where the river swung in against precipitous bluffs, he climbed the +high mountains behind. Rivers and streams that entered the main +river he forded or swam. Often he took to the rim-ice that was +beginning to form, and more than once he crashed through and struggled +for life in the icy current. Always he was on the lookout for +the trail of the gods where it might leave the river and proceed inland.</p> +<p>White Fang was intelligent beyond the average of his kind; yet his +mental vision was not wide enough to embrace the other bank of the Mackenzie. +What if the trail of the gods led out on that side? It never entered +his head. Later on, when he had travelled more and grown older +and wiser and come to know more of trails and rivers, it might be that +he could grasp and apprehend such a possibility. But that mental +power was yet in the future. Just now he ran blindly, his own +bank of the Mackenzie alone entering into his calculations.</p> +<p>All night he ran, blundering in the darkness into mishaps and obstacles +that delayed but did not daunt. By the middle of the second day +he had been running continuously for thirty hours, and the iron of his +flesh was giving out. It was the endurance of his mind that kept +him going. He had not eaten in forty hours, and he was weak with +hunger. The repeated drenchings in the icy water had likewise +had their effect on him. His handsome coat was draggled. +The broad pads of his feet were bruised and bleeding. He had begun +to limp, and this limp increased with the hours. To make it worse, +the light of the sky was obscured and snow began to fall—a raw, +moist, melting, clinging snow, slippery under foot, that hid from him +the landscape he traversed, and that covered over the inequalities of +the ground so that the way of his feet was more difficult and painful.</p> +<p>Grey Beaver had intended camping that night on the far bank of the +Mackenzie, for it was in that direction that the hunting lay. +But on the near bank, shortly before dark, a moose coming down to drink, +had been espied by Kloo-kooch, who was Grey Beaver’s squaw. +Now, had not the moose come down to drink, had not Mit-sah been steering +out of the course because of the snow, had not Kloo-kooch sighted the +moose, and had not Grey Beaver killed it with a lucky shot from his +rifle, all subsequent things would have happened differently. +Grey Beaver would not have camped on the near side of the Mackenzie, +and White Fang would have passed by and gone on, either to die or to +find his way to his wild brothers and become one of them—a wolf +to the end of his days.</p> +<p>Night had fallen. The snow was flying more thickly, and White +Fang, whimpering softly to himself as he stumbled and limped along, +came upon a fresh trail in the snow. So fresh was it that he knew +it immediately for what it was. Whining with eagerness, he followed +back from the river bank and in among the trees. The camp-sounds +came to his ears. He saw the blaze of the fire, Kloo-kooch cooking, +and Grey Beaver squatting on his hams and mumbling a chunk of raw tallow. +There was fresh meat in camp!</p> +<p>White Fang expected a beating. He crouched and bristled a little +at the thought of it. Then he went forward again. He feared +and disliked the beating he knew to be waiting for him. But he +knew, further, that the comfort of the fire would be his, the protection +of the gods, the companionship of the dogs—the last, a companionship +of enmity, but none the less a companionship and satisfying to his gregarious +needs.</p> +<p>He came cringing and crawling into the firelight. Grey Beaver +saw him, and stopped munching the tallow. White Fang crawled slowly, +cringing and grovelling in the abjectness of his abasement and submission. +He crawled straight toward Grey Beaver, every inch of his progress becoming +slower and more painful. At last he lay at the master’s +feet, into whose possession he now surrendered himself, voluntarily, +body and soul. Of his own choice, he came in to sit by man’s +fire and to be ruled by him. White Fang trembled, waiting for +the punishment to fall upon him. There was a movement of the hand +above him. He cringed involuntarily under the expected blow. +It did not fall. He stole a glance upward. Grey Beaver was +breaking the lump of tallow in half! Grey Beaver was offering +him one piece of the tallow! Very gently and somewhat suspiciously, +he first smelled the tallow and then proceeded to eat it. Grey +Beaver ordered meat to be brought to him, and guarded him from the other +dogs while he ate. After that, grateful and content, White Fang +lay at Grey Beaver’s feet, gazing at the fire that warmed him, +blinking and dozing, secure in the knowledge that the morrow would find +him, not wandering forlorn through bleak forest-stretches, but in the +camp of the man-animals, with the gods to whom he had given himself +and upon whom he was now dependent.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE COVENANT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When December was well along, Grey Beaver went on a journey up the +Mackenzie. Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch went with him. One sled +he drove himself, drawn by dogs he had traded for or borrowed. +A second and smaller sled was driven by Mit-sah, and to this was harnessed +a team of puppies. It was more of a toy affair than anything else, +yet it was the delight of Mit-sah, who felt that he was beginning to +do a man’s work in the world. Also, he was learning to drive +dogs and to train dogs; while the puppies themselves were being broken +in to the harness. Furthermore, the sled was of some service, +for it carried nearly two hundred pounds of outfit and food.</p> +<p>White Fang had seen the camp-dogs toiling in the harness, so that +he did not resent overmuch the first placing of the harness upon himself. +About his neck was put a moss-stuffed collar, which was connected by +two pulling-traces to a strap that passed around his chest and over +his back. It was to this that was fastened the long rope by which +he pulled at the sled.</p> +<p>There were seven puppies in the team. The others had been born +earlier in the year and were nine and ten months old, while White Fang +was only eight months old. Each dog was fastened to the sled by +a single rope. No two ropes were of the same length, while the +difference in length between any two ropes was at least that of a dog’s +body. Every rope was brought to a ring at the front end of the +sled. The sled itself was without runners, being a birch-bark +toboggan, with upturned forward end to keep it from ploughing under +the snow. This construction enabled the weight of the sled and +load to be distributed over the largest snow-surface; for the snow was +crystal-powder and very soft. Observing the same principle of +widest distribution of weight, the dogs at the ends of their ropes radiated +fan-fashion from the nose of the sled, so that no dog trod in another’s +footsteps.</p> +<p>There was, furthermore, another virtue in the fan-formation. +The ropes of varying length prevented the dogs attacking from the rear +those that ran in front of them. For a dog to attack another, +it would have to turn upon one at a shorter rope. In which case +it would find itself face to face with the dog attacked, and also it +would find itself facing the whip of the driver. But the most +peculiar virtue of all lay in the fact that the dog that strove to attack +one in front of him must pull the sled faster, and that the faster the +sled travelled, the faster could the dog attacked run away. Thus, +the dog behind could never catch up with the one in front. The +faster he ran, the faster ran the one he was after, and the faster ran +all the dogs. Incidentally, the sled went faster, and thus, by +cunning indirection, did man increase his mastery over the beasts.</p> +<p>Mit-sah resembled his father, much of whose grey wisdom he possessed. +In the past he had observed Lip-lip’s persecution of White Fang; +but at that time Lip-lip was another man’s dog, and Mit-sah had +never dared more than to shy an occasional stone at him. But now +Lip-lip was his dog, and he proceeded to wreak his vengeance on him +by putting him at the end of the longest rope. This made Lip-lip +the leader, and was apparently an honour! but in reality it took away +from him all honour, and instead of being bully and master of the pack, +he now found himself hated and persecuted by the pack.</p> +<p>Because he ran at the end of the longest rope, the dogs had always +the view of him running away before them. All that they saw of +him was his bushy tail and fleeing hind legs—a view far less ferocious +and intimidating than his bristling mane and gleaming fangs. Also, +dogs being so constituted in their mental ways, the sight of him running +away gave desire to run after him and a feeling that he ran away from +them.</p> +<p>The moment the sled started, the team took after Lip-lip in a chase +that extended throughout the day. At first he had been prone to +turn upon his pursuers, jealous of his dignity and wrathful; but at +such times Mit-sah would throw the stinging lash of the thirty-foot +cariboo-gut whip into his face and compel him to turn tail and run on. +Lip-lip might face the pack, but he could not face that whip, and all +that was left him to do was to keep his long rope taut and his flanks +ahead of the teeth of his mates.</p> +<p>But a still greater cunning lurked in the recesses of the Indian +mind. To give point to unending pursuit of the leader, Mit-sah +favoured him over the other dogs. These favours aroused in them +jealousy and hatred. In their presence Mit-sah would give him +meat and would give it to him only. This was maddening to them. +They would rage around just outside the throwing-distance of the whip, +while Lip-lip devoured the meat and Mit-sah protected him. And +when there was no meat to give, Mit-sah would keep the team at a distance +and make believe to give meat to Lip-lip.</p> +<p>White Fang took kindly to the work. He had travelled a greater +distance than the other dogs in the yielding of himself to the rule +of the gods, and he had learned more thoroughly the futility of opposing +their will. In addition, the persecution he had suffered from +the pack had made the pack less to him in the scheme of things, and +man more. He had not learned to be dependent on his kind for companionship. +Besides, Kiche was well-nigh forgotten; and the chief outlet of expression +that remained to him was in the allegiance he tendered the gods he had +accepted as masters. So he worked hard, learned discipline, and +was obedient. Faithfulness and willingness characterised his toil. +These are essential traits of the wolf and the wild-dog when they have +become domesticated, and these traits White Fang possessed in unusual +measure.</p> +<p>A companionship did exist between White Fang and the other dogs, +but it was one of warfare and enmity. He had never learned to +play with them. He knew only how to fight, and fight with them +he did, returning to them a hundred-fold the snaps and slashes they +had given him in the days when Lip-lip was leader of the pack. +But Lip-lip was no longer leader—except when he fled away before +his mates at the end of his rope, the sled bounding along behind. +In camp he kept close to Mit-sah or Grey Beaver or Kloo-kooch. +He did not dare venture away from the gods, for now the fangs of all +dogs were against him, and he tasted to the dregs the persecution that +had been White Fang’s.</p> +<p>With the overthrow of Lip-lip, White Fang could have become leader +of the pack. But he was too morose and solitary for that. +He merely thrashed his team-mates. Otherwise he ignored them. +They got out of his way when he came along; nor did the boldest of them +ever dare to rob him of his meat. On the contrary, they devoured +their own meat hurriedly, for fear that he would take it away from them. +White Fang knew the law well: <i>to oppress</i> <i>the weak and obey +the strong</i>. He ate his share of meat as rapidly as he could. +And then woe the dog that had not yet finished! A snarl and a +flash of fangs, and that dog would wail his indignation to the uncomforting +stars while White Fang finished his portion for him.</p> +<p>Every little while, however, one dog or another would flame up in +revolt and be promptly subdued. Thus White Fang was kept in training. +He was jealous of the isolation in which he kept himself in the midst +of the pack, and he fought often to maintain it. But such fights +were of brief duration. He was too quick for the others. +They were slashed open and bleeding before they knew what had happened, +were whipped almost before they had begun to fight.</p> +<p>As rigid as the sled-discipline of the gods, was the discipline maintained +by White Fang amongst his fellows. He never allowed them any latitude. +He compelled them to an unremitting respect for him. They might +do as they pleased amongst themselves. That was no concern of +his. But it <i>was</i> his concern that they leave him alone in +his isolation, get out of his way when he elected to walk among them, +and at all times acknowledge his mastery over them. A hint of +stiff-leggedness on their part, a lifted lip or a bristle of hair, and +he would be upon them, merciless and cruel, swiftly convincing them +of the error of their way.</p> +<p>He was a monstrous tyrant. His mastery was rigid as steel. +He oppressed the weak with a vengeance. Not for nothing had he +been exposed to the pitiless struggles for life in the day of his cubhood, +when his mother and he, alone and unaided, held their own and survived +in the ferocious environment of the Wild. And not for nothing +had he learned to walk softly when superior strength went by. +He oppressed the weak, but he respected the strong. And in the +course of the long journey with Grey Beaver he walked softly indeed +amongst the full-grown dogs in the camps of the strange man-animals +they encountered.</p> +<p>The months passed by. Still continued the journey of Grey Beaver. +White Fang’s strength was developed by the long hours on trail +and the steady toil at the sled; and it would have seemed that his mental +development was well-nigh complete. He had come to know quite +thoroughly the world in which he lived. His outlook was bleak +and materialistic. The world as he saw it was a fierce and brutal +world, a world without warmth, a world in which caresses and affection +and the bright sweetnesses of the spirit did not exist.</p> +<p>He had no affection for Grey Beaver. True, he was a god, but +a most savage god. White Fang was glad to acknowledge his lordship, +but it was a lordship based upon superior intelligence and brute strength. +There was something in the fibre of White Fang’s being that made +his lordship a thing to be desired, else he would not have come back +from the Wild when he did to tender his allegiance. There were +deeps in his nature which had never been sounded. A kind word, +a caressing touch of the hand, on the part of Grey Beaver, might have +sounded these deeps; but Grey Beaver did not caress, nor speak kind +words. It was not his way. His primacy was savage, and savagely +he ruled, administering justice with a club, punishing transgression +with the pain of a blow, and rewarding merit, not by kindness, but by +withholding a blow.</p> +<p>So White Fang knew nothing of the heaven a man’s hand might +contain for him. Besides, he did not like the hands of the man-animals. +He was suspicious of them. It was true that they sometimes gave +meat, but more often they gave hurt. Hands were things to keep +away from. They hurled stones, wielded sticks and clubs and whips, +administered slaps and clouts, and, when they touched him, were cunning +to hurt with pinch and twist and wrench. In strange villages he +had encountered the hands of the children and learned that they were +cruel to hurt. Also, he had once nearly had an eye poked out by +a toddling papoose. From these experiences he became suspicious +of all children. He could not tolerate them. When they came +near with their ominous hands, he got up.</p> +<p>It was in a village at the Great Slave Lake, that, in the course +of resenting the evil of the hands of the man-animals, he came to modify +the law that he had learned from Grey Beaver: namely, that the unpardonable +crime was to bite one of the gods. In this village, after the +custom of all dogs in all villages, White Fang went foraging, for food. +A boy was chopping frozen moose-meat with an axe, and the chips were +flying in the snow. White Fang, sliding by in quest of meat, stopped +and began to eat the chips. He observed the boy lay down the axe +and take up a stout club. White Fang sprang clear, just in time +to escape the descending blow. The boy pursued him, and he, a +stranger in the village, fled between two tepees to find himself cornered +against a high earth bank.</p> +<p>There was no escape for White Fang. The only way out was between +the two tepees, and this the boy guarded. Holding his club prepared +to strike, he drew in on his cornered quarry. White Fang was furious. +He faced the boy, bristling and snarling, his sense of justice outraged. +He knew the law of forage. All the wastage of meat, such as the +frozen chips, belonged to the dog that found it. He had done no +wrong, broken no law, yet here was this boy preparing to give him a +beating. White Fang scarcely knew what happened. He did +it in a surge of rage. And he did it so quickly that the boy did +not know either. All the boy knew was that he had in some unaccountable +way been overturned into the snow, and that his club-hand had been ripped +wide open by White Fang’s teeth.</p> +<p>But White Fang knew that he had broken the law of the gods. +He had driven his teeth into the sacred flesh of one of them, and could +expect nothing but a most terrible punishment. He fled away to +Grey Beaver, behind whose protecting legs he crouched when the bitten +boy and the boy’s family came, demanding vengeance. But +they went away with vengeance unsatisfied. Grey Beaver defended +White Fang. So did Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch. White Fang, listening +to the wordy war and watching the angry gestures, knew that his act +was justified. And so it came that he learned there were gods +and gods. There were his gods, and there were other gods, and +between them there was a difference. Justice or injustice, it +was all the same, he must take all things from the hands of his own +gods. But he was not compelled to take injustice from the other +gods. It was his privilege to resent it with his teeth. +And this also was a law of the gods.</p> +<p>Before the day was out, White Fang was to learn more about this law. +Mit-sah, alone, gathering firewood in the forest, encountered the boy +that had been bitten. With him were other boys. Hot words +passed. Then all the boys attacked Mit-sah. It was going +hard with him. Blows were raining upon him from all sides. +White Fang looked on at first. This was an affair of the gods, +and no concern of his. Then he realised that this was Mit-sah, +one of his own particular gods, who was being maltreated. It was +no reasoned impulse that made White Fang do what he then did. +A mad rush of anger sent him leaping in amongst the combatants. +Five minutes later the landscape was covered with fleeing boys, many +of whom dripped blood upon the snow in token that White Fang’s +teeth had not been idle. When Mit-sah told the story in camp, +Grey Beaver ordered meat to be given to White Fang. He ordered +much meat to be given, and White Fang, gorged and sleepy by the fire, +knew that the law had received its verification.</p> +<p>It was in line with these experiences that White Fang came to learn +the law of property and the duty of the defence of property. From +the protection of his god’s body to the protection of his god’s +possessions was a step, and this step he made. What was his god’s +was to be defended against all the world—even to the extent of +biting other gods. Not only was such an act sacrilegious in its +nature, but it was fraught with peril. The gods were all-powerful, +and a dog was no match against them; yet White Fang learned to face +them, fiercely belligerent and unafraid. Duty rose above fear, +and thieving gods learned to leave Grey Beaver’s property alone.</p> +<p>One thing, in this connection, White Fang quickly learnt, and that +was that a thieving god was usually a cowardly god and prone to run +away at the sounding of the alarm. Also, he learned that but brief +time elapsed between his sounding of the alarm and Grey Beaver coming +to his aid. He came to know that it was not fear of him that drove +the thief away, but fear of Grey Beaver. White Fang did not give +the alarm by barking. He never barked. His method was to +drive straight at the intruder, and to sink his teeth in if he could. +Because he was morose and solitary, having nothing to do with the other +dogs, he was unusually fitted to guard his master’s property; +and in this he was encouraged and trained by Grey Beaver. One +result of this was to make White Fang more ferocious and indomitable, +and more solitary.</p> +<p>The months went by, binding stronger and stronger the covenant between +dog and man. This was the ancient covenant that the first wolf +that came in from the Wild entered into with man. And, like all +succeeding wolves and wild dogs that had done likewise, White Fang worked +the covenant out for himself. The terms were simple. For +the possession of a flesh-and-blood god, he exchanged his own liberty. +Food and fire, protection and companionship, were some of the things +he received from the god. In return, he guarded the god’s +property, defended his body, worked for him, and obeyed him.</p> +<p>The possession of a god implies service. White Fang’s +was a service of duty and awe, but not of love. He did not know +what love was. He had no experience of love. Kiche was a +remote memory. Besides, not only had he abandoned the Wild and +his kind when he gave himself up to man, but the terms of the covenant +were such that if ever he met Kiche again he would not desert his god +to go with her. His allegiance to man seemed somehow a law of +his being greater than the love of liberty, of kind and kin.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—THE FAMINE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The spring of the year was at hand when Grey Beaver finished his +long journey. It was April, and White Fang was a year old when +he pulled into the home villages and was loosed from the harness by +Mit-sah. Though a long way from his full growth, White Fang, next +to Lip-lip, was the largest yearling in the village. Both from +his father, the wolf, and from Kiche, he had inherited stature and strength, +and already he was measuring up alongside the full-grown dogs. +But he had not yet grown compact. His body was slender and rangy, +and his strength more stringy than massive, His coat was the true wolf-grey, +and to all appearances he was true wolf himself. The quarter-strain +of dog he had inherited from Kiche had left no mark on him physically, +though it had played its part in his mental make-up.</p> +<p>He wandered through the village, recognising with staid satisfaction +the various gods he had known before the long journey. Then there +were the dogs, puppies growing up like himself, and grown dogs that +did not look so large and formidable as the memory pictures he retained +of them. Also, he stood less in fear of them than formerly, stalking +among them with a certain careless ease that was as new to him as it +was enjoyable.</p> +<p>There was Baseek, a grizzled old fellow that in his younger days +had but to uncover his fangs to send White Fang cringing and crouching +to the right about. From him White Fang had learned much of his +own insignificance; and from him he was now to learn much of the change +and development that had taken place in himself. While Baseek +had been growing weaker with age, White Fang had been growing stronger +with youth.</p> +<p>It was at the cutting-up of a moose, fresh-killed, that White Fang +learned of the changed relations in which he stood to the dog-world. +He had got for himself a hoof and part of the shin-bone, to which quite +a bit of meat was attached. Withdrawn from the immediate scramble +of the other dogs—in fact out of sight behind a thicket—he +was devouring his prize, when Baseek rushed in upon him. Before +he knew what he was doing, he had slashed the intruder twice and sprung +clear. Baseek was surprised by the other’s temerity and +swiftness of attack. He stood, gazing stupidly across at White +Fang, the raw, red shin-bone between them.</p> +<p>Baseek was old, and already he had come to know the increasing valour +of the dogs it had been his wont to bully. Bitter experiences +these, which, perforce, he swallowed, calling upon all his wisdom to +cope with them. In the old days he would have sprung upon White +Fang in a fury of righteous wrath. But now his waning powers would +not permit such a course. He bristled fiercely and looked ominously +across the shin-bone at White Fang. And White Fang, resurrecting +quite a deal of the old awe, seemed to wilt and to shrink in upon himself +and grow small, as he cast about in his mind for a way to beat a retreat +not too inglorious.</p> +<p>And right here Baseek erred. Had he contented himself with +looking fierce and ominous, all would have been well. White Fang, +on the verge of retreat, would have retreated, leaving the meat to him. +But Baseek did not wait. He considered the victory already his +and stepped forward to the meat. As he bent his head carelessly +to smell it, White Fang bristled slightly. Even then it was not +too late for Baseek to retrieve the situation. Had he merely stood +over the meat, head up and glowering, White Fang would ultimately have +slunk away. But the fresh meat was strong in Baseek’s nostrils, +and greed urged him to take a bite of it.</p> +<p>This was too much for White Fang. Fresh upon his months of +mastery over his own team-mates, it was beyond his self-control to stand +idly by while another devoured the meat that belonged to him. +He struck, after his custom, without warning. With the first slash, +Baseek’s right ear was ripped into ribbons. He was astounded +at the suddenness of it. But more things, and most grievous ones, +were happening with equal suddenness. He was knocked off his feet. +His throat was bitten. While he was struggling to his feet the +young dog sank teeth twice into his shoulder. The swiftness of +it was bewildering. He made a futile rush at White Fang, clipping +the empty air with an outraged snap. The next moment his nose +was laid open, and he was staggering backward away from the meat.</p> +<p>The situation was now reversed. White Fang stood over the shin-bone, +bristling and menacing, while Baseek stood a little way off, preparing +to retreat. He dared not risk a fight with this young lightning-flash, +and again he knew, and more bitterly, the enfeeblement of oncoming age. +His attempt to maintain his dignity was heroic. Calmly turning +his back upon young dog and shin-bone, as though both were beneath his +notice and unworthy of his consideration, he stalked grandly away. +Nor, until well out of sight, did he stop to lick his bleeding wounds.</p> +<p>The effect on White Fang was to give him a greater faith in himself, +and a greater pride. He walked less softly among the grown dogs; +his attitude toward them was less compromising. Not that he went +out of his way looking for trouble. Far from it. But upon +his way he demanded consideration. He stood upon his right to +go his way unmolested and to give trail to no dog. He had to be +taken into account, that was all. He was no longer to be disregarded +and ignored, as was the lot of puppies, and as continued to be the lot +of the puppies that were his team-mates. They got out of the way, +gave trail to the grown dogs, and gave up meat to them under compulsion. +But White Fang, uncompanionable, solitary, morose, scarcely looking +to right or left, redoubtable, forbidding of aspect, remote and alien, +was accepted as an equal by his puzzled elders. They quickly learned +to leave him alone, neither venturing hostile acts nor making overtures +of friendliness. If they left him alone, he left them alone—a +state of affairs that they found, after a few encounters, to be pre-eminently +desirable.</p> +<p>In midsummer White Fang had an experience. Trotting along in +his silent way to investigate a new tepee which had been erected on +the edge of the village while he was away with the hunters after moose, +he came full upon Kiche. He paused and looked at her. He +remembered her vaguely, but he <i>remembered</i> her, and that was more +than could be said for her. She lifted her lip at him in the old +snarl of menace, and his memory became clear. His forgotten cubhood, +all that was associated with that familiar snarl, rushed back to him. +Before he had known the gods, she had been to him the centre-pin of +the universe. The old familiar feelings of that time came back +upon him, surged up within him. He bounded towards her joyously, +and she met him with shrewd fangs that laid his cheek open to the bone. +He did not understand. He backed away, bewildered and puzzled.</p> +<p>But it was not Kiche’s fault. A wolf-mother was not made +to remember her cubs of a year or so before. So she did not remember +White Fang. He was a strange animal, an intruder; and her present +litter of puppies gave her the right to resent such intrusion.</p> +<p>One of the puppies sprawled up to White Fang. They were half-brothers, +only they did not know it. White Fang sniffed the puppy curiously, +whereupon Kiche rushed upon him, gashing is face a second time. +He backed farther away. All the old memories and associations +died down again and passed into the grave from which they had been resurrected. +He looked at Kiche licking her puppy and stopping now and then to snarl +at him. She was without value to him. He had learned to +get along without her. Her meaning was forgotten. There +was no place for her in his scheme of things, as there was no place +for him in hers.</p> +<p>He was still standing, stupid and bewildered, the memories forgotten, +wondering what it was all about, when Kiche attacked him a third time, +intent on driving him away altogether from the vicinity. And White +Fang allowed himself to be driven away. This was a female of his +kind, and it was a law of his kind that the males must not fight the +females. He did not know anything about this law, for it was no +generalisation of the mind, not a something acquired by experience of +the world. He knew it as a secret prompting, as an urge of instinct—of +the same instinct that made him howl at the moon and stars of nights, +and that made him fear death and the unknown.</p> +<p>The months went by. White Fang grew stronger, heavier, and +more compact, while his character was developing along the lines laid +down by his heredity and his environment. His heredity was a life-stuff +that may be likened to clay. It possessed many possibilities, +was capable of being moulded into many different forms. Environment +served to model the clay, to give it a particular form. Thus, +had White Fang never come in to the fires of man, the Wild would have +moulded him into a true wolf. But the gods had given him a different +environment, and he was moulded into a dog that was rather wolfish, +but that was a dog and not a wolf.</p> +<p>And so, according to the clay of his nature and the pressure of his +surroundings, his character was being moulded into a certain particular +shape. There was no escaping it. He was becoming more morose, +more uncompanionable, more solitary, more ferocious; while the dogs +were learning more and more that it was better to be at peace with him +than at war, and Grey Beaver was coming to prize him more greatly with +the passage of each day.</p> +<p>White Fang, seeming to sum up strength in all his qualities, nevertheless +suffered from one besetting weakness. He could not stand being +laughed at. The laughter of men was a hateful thing. They +might laugh among themselves about anything they pleased except himself, +and he did not mind. But the moment laughter was turned upon him +he would fly into a most terrible rage. Grave, dignified, sombre, +a laugh made him frantic to ridiculousness. It so outraged him +and upset him that for hours he would behave like a demon. And +woe to the dog that at such times ran foul of him. He knew the +law too well to take it out 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.</p> +<p>In the third year of his life there came a great famine to the Mackenzie +Indians. In the summer the fish failed. In the winter the +cariboo forsook their accustomed track. Moose were scarce, the +rabbits almost disappeared, hunting and preying animals perished. +Denied their usual food-supply, weakened by hunger, they fell upon and +devoured one another. Only the strong survived. White Fang’s +gods were always hunting animals. The old and the weak of them +died of hunger. There was wailing in the village, where the women +and children went without in order that what little they had might go +into the bellies of the lean and hollow-eyed hunters who trod the forest +in the vain pursuit of meat.</p> +<p>To such extremity were the gods driven that they ate the soft-tanned +leather of their mocassins and mittens, while the dogs ate the harnesses +off their backs and the very whip-lashes. Also, the dogs ate one +another, and also the gods ate the dogs. The weakest and the more +worthless were eaten first. The dogs that still lived, looked +on and understood. A few of the boldest and wisest forsook the +fires of the gods, which had now become a shambles, and fled into the +forest, where, in the end, they starved to death or were eaten by wolves.</p> +<p>In this time of misery, White Fang, too, stole away into the woods. +He was better fitted for the life than the other dogs, for he had the +training of his cubhood to guide him. Especially adept did he +become in stalking small living things. He would lie concealed +for hours, following every movement of a cautious tree-squirrel, waiting, +with a patience as huge as the hunger he suffered from, until the squirrel +ventured out upon the ground. Even then, White Fang was not premature. +He waited until he was sure of striking before the squirrel could gain +a tree-refuge. Then, and not until then, would he flash from his +hiding-place, a grey projectile, incredibly swift, never failing its +mark—the fleeing squirrel that fled not fast enough.</p> +<p>Successful as he was with squirrels, there was one difficulty that +prevented him from living and growing fat on them. There were +not enough squirrels. So he was driven to hunt still smaller things. +So acute did his hunger become at times that he was not above rooting +out wood-mice from their burrows in the ground. Nor did he scorn +to do battle with a weasel as hungry as himself and many times more +ferocious.</p> +<p>In the worst pinches of the famine he stole back to the fires of +the gods. But he did not go into the fires. He lurked in +the forest, avoiding discovery and robbing the snares at the rare intervals +when game was caught. He even robbed Grey Beaver’s snare +of a rabbit at a time when Grey Beaver staggered and tottered through +the forest, sitting down often to rest, what of weakness and of shortness +of breath.</p> +<p>One day While Fang encountered a young wolf, gaunt and scrawny, loose-jointed +with famine. Had he not been hungry himself, White Fang might +have gone with him and eventually found his way into the pack amongst +his wild brethren. As it was, he ran the young wolf down and killed +and ate him.</p> +<p>Fortune seemed to favour him. Always, when hardest pressed +for food, he found something to kill. Again, when he was weak, +it was his luck that none of the larger preying animals chanced upon +him. Thus, he was strong from the two days’ eating a lynx +had afforded him when the hungry wolf-pack ran full tilt upon him. +It was a long, cruel chase, but he was better nourished than they, and +in the end outran them. And not only did he outrun them, but, +circling widely back on his track, he gathered in one of his exhausted +pursuers.</p> +<p>After that he left that part of the country and journeyed over to +the valley wherein he had been born. Here, in the old lair, he +encountered Kiche. Up to her old tricks, she, too, had fled the +inhospitable fires of the gods and gone back to her old refuge to give +birth to her young. Of this litter but one remained alive when +White Fang came upon the scene, and this one was not destined to live +long. Young life had little chance in such a famine.</p> +<p>Kiche’s greeting of her grown son was anything but affectionate. +But White Fang did not mind. He had outgrown his mother. +So he turned tail philosophically and trotted on up the stream. +At the forks he took the turning to the left, where he found the lair +of the lynx with whom his mother and he had fought long before. +Here, in the abandoned lair, he settled down and rested for a day.</p> +<p>During the early summer, in the last days of the famine, he met Lip-lip, +who had likewise taken to the woods, where he had eked out a miserable +existence.</p> +<p>White Fang came upon him unexpectedly. Trotting in opposite +directions along the base of a high bluff, they rounded a corner of +rock and found themselves face to face. They paused with instant +alarm, and looked at each other suspiciously.</p> +<p>White Fang was in splendid condition. His hunting had been +good, and for a week he had eaten his fill. He was even gorged +from his latest kill. But in the moment he looked at Lip-lip his +hair rose on end all along his back. It was an involuntary bristling +on his part, the physical state that in the past had always accompanied +the mental state produced in him by Lip-lip’s bullying and persecution. +As in the past he had bristled and snarled at sight of Lip-lip, so now, +and automatically, he bristled and snarled. He did not waste any +time. The thing was done thoroughly and with despatch. Lip-lip +essayed to back away, but White Fang struck him hard, shoulder to shoulder. +Lip-lip was overthrown and rolled upon his back. White Fang’s +teeth drove into the scrawny throat. There was a death-struggle, +during which White Fang walked around, stiff-legged and observant. +Then he resumed his course and trotted on along the base of the bluff.</p> +<p>One day, not long after, he came to the edge of the forest, where +a narrow stretch of open land sloped down to the Mackenzie. He +had been over this ground before, when it was bare, but now a village +occupied it. Still hidden amongst the trees, he paused to study +the situation. Sights and sounds and scents were familiar to him. +It was the old village changed to a new place. But sights and +sounds and smells were different from those he had last had when he +fled away from it. There was no whimpering nor wailing. +Contented sounds saluted his ear, and when he heard the angry voice +of a woman he knew it to be the anger that proceeds from a full stomach. +And there was a smell in the air of fish. There was food. +The famine was gone. He came out boldly from the forest and trotted +into camp straight to Grey Beaver’s tepee. Grey Beaver was +not there; but Kloo-kooch welcomed him with glad cries and the whole +of a fresh-caught fish, and he lay down to wait Grey Beaver’s +coming.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART IV</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE ENEMY OF HIS KIND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Had there been in White Fang’s nature any possibility, no matter +how remote, of his ever coming to fraternise with his kind, such possibility +was irretrievably destroyed when he was made leader of the sled-team. +For now the dogs hated him—hated him for the extra meat bestowed +upon him by Mit-sah; hated him for all the real and fancied favours +he received; hated him for that he fled always at the head of the team, +his waving brush of a tail and his perpetually retreating hind-quarters +for ever maddening their eyes.</p> +<p>And White Fang just as bitterly hated them back. Being sled-leader +was anything but gratifying to him. To be compelled to run away +before the yelling pack, every dog of which, for three years, he had +thrashed and mastered, was almost more than he could endure. But +endure it he must, or perish, and the life that was in him had no desire +to perish out. The moment Mit-sah gave his order for the start, +that moment the whole team, with eager, savage cries, sprang forward +at White Fang.</p> +<p>There was no defence for him. If he turned upon them, Mit-sah +would throw the stinging lash of the whip into his face. Only +remained to him to run away. He could not encounter that howling +horde with his tail and hind-quarters. These were scarcely fit +weapons with which to meet the many merciless fangs. So run away +he did, violating his own nature and pride with every leap he made, +and leaping all day long.</p> +<p>One cannot violate the promptings of one’s nature without having +that nature recoil upon itself. Such a recoil is like that of +a hair, made to grow out from the body, turning unnaturally upon the +direction of its growth and growing into the body—a rankling, +festering thing of hurt. And so with White Fang. Every urge +of his being impelled him to spring upon the pack that cried at his +heels, but it was the will of the gods that this should not be; and +behind the will, to enforce it, was the whip of cariboo-gut with its +biting thirty-foot lash. So White Fang could only eat his heart +in bitterness and develop a hatred and malice commensurate with the +ferocity and indomitability of his nature.</p> +<p>If ever a creature was the enemy of its kind, White Fang was that +creature. He asked no quarter, gave none. He was continually +marred and scarred by the teeth of the pack, and as continually he left +his own marks upon the pack. Unlike most leaders, who, when camp +was made and the dogs were unhitched, huddled near to the gods for protection, +White Fang disdained such protection. He walked boldly about the +camp, inflicting punishment in the night for what he had suffered in +the day. In the time before he was made leader of the team, the +pack had learned to get out of his way. But now it was different. +Excited by the day-long pursuit of him, swayed subconsciously by the +insistent iteration on their brains of the sight of him fleeing away, +mastered by the feeling of mastery enjoyed all day, the dogs could not +bring themselves to give way to him. When he appeared amongst +them, there was always a squabble. His progress was marked by +snarl and snap and growl. The very atmosphere he breathed was +surcharged with hatred and malice, and this but served to increase the +hatred and malice within him.</p> +<p>When Mit-sah cried out his command for the team to stop, White Fang +obeyed. At first this caused trouble for the other dogs. +All of them would spring upon the hated leader only to find the tables +turned. Behind him would be Mit-sah, the great whip singing in +his hand. So the dogs came to understand that when the team stopped +by order, White Fang was to be let alone. But when White Fang +stopped without orders, then it was allowed them to spring upon him +and destroy him if they could. After several experiences, White +Fang never stopped without orders. He learned quickly. It +was in the nature of things, that he must learn quickly if he were to +survive the unusually severe conditions under which life was vouchsafed +him.</p> +<p>But the dogs could never learn the lesson to leave him alone in camp. +Each day, pursuing him and crying defiance at him, the lesson of the +previous night was erased, and that night would have to be learned over +again, to be as immediately forgotten. Besides, there was a greater +consistence in their dislike of him. They sensed between themselves +and him a difference of kind—cause sufficient in itself for hostility. +Like him, they were domesticated wolves. But they had been domesticated +for generations. Much of the Wild had been lost, so that to them +the Wild was the unknown, the terrible, the ever-menacing and ever warring. +But to him, in appearance and action and impulse, still clung the Wild. +He symbolised it, was its personification: so that when they showed +their teeth to him they were defending themselves against the powers +of destruction that lurked in the shadows of the forest and in the dark +beyond the camp-fire.</p> +<p>But there was one lesson the dogs did learn, and that was to keep +together. White Fang was too terrible for any of them to face +single-handed. They met him with the mass-formation, otherwise +he would have killed them, one by one, in a night. As it was, +he never had a chance to kill them. He might roll a dog off its +feet, but the pack would be upon him before he could follow up and deliver +the deadly throat-stroke. At the first hint of conflict, the whole +team drew together and faced him. The dogs had quarrels among +themselves, but these were forgotten when trouble was brewing with White +Fang.</p> +<p>On the other hand, try as they would, they could not kill White Fang. +He was too quick for them, too formidable, too wise. He avoided +tight places and always backed out of it when they bade fair to surround +him. While, as for getting him off his feet, there was no dog +among them capable of doing the trick. His feet clung to the earth +with the same tenacity that he clung to life. For that matter, +life and footing were synonymous in this unending warfare with the pack, +and none knew it better than White Fang.</p> +<p>So he became the enemy of his kind, domesticated wolves that they +were, softened by the fires of man, weakened in the sheltering shadow +of man’s strength. White Fang was bitter and implacable. +The clay of him was so moulded. He declared a vendetta against +all dogs. And so terribly did he live this vendetta that Grey +Beaver, fierce savage himself, could not but marvel at White Fang’s +ferocity. Never, he swore, had there been the like of this animal; +and the Indians in strange villages swore likewise when they considered +the tale of his killings amongst their dogs.</p> +<p>When White Fang was nearly five years old, Grey Beaver took him on +another great journey, and long remembered was the havoc he worked amongst +the dogs of the many villages along the Mackenzie, across the Rockies, +and down the Porcupine to the Yukon. He revelled in the vengeance +he wreaked upon his kind. They were ordinary, unsuspecting dogs. +They were not prepared for his swiftness and directness, for his attack +without warning. They did not know him for what he was, a lightning-flash +of slaughter. They bristled up to him, stiff-legged and challenging, +while he, wasting no time on elaborate preliminaries, snapping into +action like a steel spring, was at their throats and destroying them +before they knew what was happening and while they were yet in the throes +of surprise.</p> +<p>He became an adept at fighting. He economised. He never +wasted his strength, never tussled. He was in too quickly for +that, and, if he missed, was out again too quickly. The dislike +of the wolf for close quarters was his to an unusual degree. He +could not endure a prolonged contact with another body. It smacked +of danger. It made him frantic. He must be away, free, on +his own legs, touching no living thing. It was the Wild still +clinging to him, asserting itself through him. This feeling had +been accentuated by the Ishmaelite life he had led from his puppyhood. +Danger lurked in contacts. It was the trap, ever the trap, the +fear of it lurking deep in the life of him, woven into the fibre of +him</p> +<p>In consequence, the strange dogs he encountered had no chance against +him. He eluded their fangs. He got them, or got away, himself +untouched in either event. In the natural course of things there +were exceptions to this. There were times when several dogs, pitching +on to him, punished him before he could get away; and there were times +when a single dog scored deeply on him. But these were accidents. +In the main, so efficient a fighter had he become, he went his way unscathed.</p> +<p>Another advantage he possessed was that of correctly judging time +and distance. Not that he did this consciously, however. +He did not calculate such things. It was all automatic. +His eyes saw correctly, and the nerves carried the vision correctly +to his brain. The parts of him were better adjusted than those +of the average dog. They worked together more smoothly and steadily. +His was a better, far better, nervous, mental, and muscular co-ordination. +When his eyes conveyed to his brain the moving image of an action, his +brain without conscious effort, knew the space that limited that action +and the time required for its completion. Thus, he could avoid +the leap of another dog, or the drive of its fangs, and at the same +moment could seize the infinitesimal fraction of time in which to deliver +his own attack. Body and brain, his was a more perfected mechanism. +Not that he was to be praised for it. Nature had been more generous +to him than to the average animal, that was all.</p> +<p>It was in the summer that White Fang arrived at Fort Yukon. +Grey Beaver had crossed the great watershed between Mackenzie and the +Yukon in the late winter, and spent the spring in hunting among the +western outlying spurs of the Rockies. Then, after the break-up +of the ice on the Porcupine, he had built a canoe and paddled down that +stream to where it effected its junction with the Yukon just under the +Artic circle. Here stood the old Hudson’s Bay Company fort; +and here were many Indians, much food, and unprecedented excitement. +It was the summer of 1898, and thousands of gold-hunters were going +up the Yukon to Dawson and the Klondike. Still hundreds of miles +from their goal, nevertheless many of them had been on the way for a +year, and the least any of them had travelled to get that far was five +thousand miles, while some had come from the other side of the world.</p> +<p>Here Grey Beaver stopped. A whisper of the gold-rush had reached +his ears, and he had come with several bales of furs, and another of +gut-sewn mittens and moccasins. He would not have ventured so +long a trip had he not expected generous profits. But what he +had expected was nothing to what he realised. His wildest dreams +had not exceeded a hundred per cent. profit; he made a thousand per +cent. And like a true Indian, he settled down to trade carefully +and slowly, even if it took all summer and the rest of the winter to +dispose of his goods.</p> +<p>It was at Fort Yukon that White Fang saw his first white men. +As compared with the Indians he had known, they were to him another +race of beings, a race of superior gods. They impressed him as +possessing superior power, and it is on power that godhead rests. +White Fang did not reason it out, did not in his mind make the sharp +generalisation that the white gods were more powerful. It was +a feeling, nothing more, and yet none the less potent. As, in +his puppyhood, the looming bulks of the tepees, man-reared, had affected +him as manifestations of power, so was he affected now by the houses +and the huge fort all of massive logs. Here was power. Those +white gods were strong. They possessed greater mastery over matter +than the gods he had known, most powerful among which was Grey Beaver. +And yet Grey Beaver was as a child-god among these white-skinned ones.</p> +<p>To be sure, White Fang only felt these things. He was not conscious +of them. Yet it is upon feeling, more often than thinking, that +animals act; and every act White Fang now performed was based upon the +feeling that the white men were the superior gods. In the first +place he was very suspicious of them. There was no telling what +unknown terrors were theirs, what unknown hurts they could administer. +He was curious to observe them, fearful of being noticed by them. +For the first few hours he was content with slinking around and watching +them from a safe distance. Then he saw that no harm befell the +dogs that were near to them, and he came in closer.</p> +<p>In turn he was an object of great curiosity to them. His wolfish +appearance caught their eyes at once, and they pointed him out to one +another. This act of pointing put White Fang on his guard, and +when they tried to approach him he showed his teeth and backed away. +Not one succeeded in laying a hand on him, and it was well that they +did not.</p> +<p>White Fang soon learned that very few of these gods—not more +than a dozen—lived at this place. Every two or three days +a steamer (another and colossal manifestation of power) came into the +bank and stopped for several hours. The white men came from off +these steamers and went away on them again. There seemed untold +numbers of these white men. In the first day or so, he saw more +of them than he had seen Indians in all his life; and as the days went +by they continued to come up the river, stop, and then go on up the +river out of sight.</p> +<p>But if the white gods were all-powerful, their dogs did not amount +to much. This White Fang quickly discovered by mixing with those +that came ashore with their masters. They were irregular shapes +and sizes. Some were short-legged—too short; others were +long-legged—too long. They had hair instead of fur, and +a few had very little hair at that. And none of them knew how +to fight.</p> +<p>As an enemy of his kind, it was in White Fang’s province to +fight with them. This he did, and he quickly achieved for them +a mighty contempt. They were soft and helpless, made much noise, +and floundered around clumsily trying to accomplish by main strength +what he accomplished by dexterity and cunning. They rushed bellowing +at him. He sprang to the side. They did not know what had +become of him; and in that moment he struck them on the shoulder, rolling +them off their feet and delivering his stroke at the throat.</p> +<p>Sometimes this stroke was successful, and a stricken dog rolled in +the dirt, to be pounced upon and torn to pieces by the pack of Indian +dogs that waited. White Fang was wise. He had long since +learned that the gods were made angry when their dogs were killed. +The white men were no exception to this. So he was content, when +he had overthrown and slashed wide the throat of one of their dogs, +to drop back and let the pack go in and do the cruel finishing work. +It was then that the white men rushed in, visiting their wrath heavily +on the pack, while White Fang went free. He would stand off at +a little distance and look on, while stones, clubs, axes, and all sorts +of weapons fell upon his fellows. White Fang was very wise.</p> +<p>But his fellows grew wise in their own way; and in this White Fang +grew wise with them. They learned that it was when a steamer first +tied to the bank that they had their fun. After the first two +or three strange dogs had been downed and destroyed, the white men hustled +their own animals back on board and wrecked savage vengeance on the +offenders. One white man, having seen his dog, a setter, torn +to pieces before his eyes, drew a revolver. He fired rapidly, +six times, and six of the pack lay dead or dying—another manifestation +of power that sank deep into White Fang’s consciousness.</p> +<p>White Fang enjoyed it all. He did not love his kind, and he +was shrewd enough to escape hurt himself. At first, the killing +of the white men’s dogs had been a diversion. After a time +it became his occupation. There was no work for him to do. +Grey Beaver was busy trading and getting wealthy. So White Fang +hung around the landing with the disreputable gang of Indian dogs, waiting +for steamers. With the arrival of a steamer the fun began. +After a few minutes, by the time the white men had got over their surprise, +the gang scattered. The fun was over until the next steamer should +arrive.</p> +<p>But it can scarcely be said that White Fang was a member of the gang. +He did not mingle with it, but remained aloof, always himself, and was +even feared by it. It is true, he worked with it. He picked +the quarrel with the strange dog while the gang waited. And when +he had overthrown the strange dog the gang went in to finish it. +But it is equally true that he then withdrew, leaving the gang to receive +the punishment of the outraged gods.</p> +<p>It did not require much exertion to pick these quarrels. All +he had to do, when the strange dogs came ashore, was to show himself. +When they saw him they rushed for him. It was their instinct. +He was the Wild—the unknown, the terrible, the ever-menacing, +the thing that prowled in the darkness around the fires of the primeval +world when they, cowering close to the fires, were reshaping their instincts, +learning to fear the Wild out of which they had come, and which they +had deserted and betrayed. Generation by generation, down all +the generations, had this fear of the Wild been stamped into their natures. +For centuries the Wild had stood for terror and destruction. And +during all this time free licence had been theirs, from their masters, +to kill the things of the Wild. In doing this they had protected +both themselves and the gods whose companionship they shared</p> +<p>And so, fresh from the soft southern world, these dogs, trotting +down the gang-plank and out upon the Yukon shore had but to see White +Fang to experience the irresistible impulse to rush upon him and destroy +him. They might be town-reared dogs, but the instinctive fear +of the Wild was theirs just the same. Not alone with their own +eyes did they see the wolfish creature in the clear light of day, standing +before them. They saw him with the eyes of their ancestors, and +by their inherited memory they knew White Fang for the wolf, and they +remembered the ancient feud.</p> +<p>All of which served to make White Fang’s days enjoyable. +If the sight of him drove these strange dogs upon him, so much the better +for him, so much the worse for them. They looked upon him as legitimate +prey, and as legitimate prey he looked upon them.</p> +<p>Not for nothing had he first seen the light of day in a lonely lair +and fought his first fights with the ptarmigan, the weasel, and the +lynx. And not for nothing had his puppyhood been made bitter by +the persecution of Lip-lip and the whole puppy pack. It might +have been otherwise, and he would then have been otherwise. Had +Lip-lip not existed, he would have passed his puppyhood with the other +puppies and grown up more doglike and with more liking for dogs. +Had Grey Beaver possessed the plummet of affection and love, he might +have sounded the deeps of White Fang’s nature and brought up to +the surface all manner of kindly qualities. But these things had +not been so. The clay of White Fang had been moulded until he +became what he was, morose and lonely, unloving and ferocious, the enemy +of all his kind.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE MAD GOD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A small number of white men lived in Fort Yukon. These men +had been long in the country. They called themselves Sour-doughs, +and took great pride in so classifying themselves. For other men, +new in the land, they felt nothing but disdain. The men who came +ashore from the steamers were newcomers. They were known as <i>chechaquos</i>, +and they always wilted at the application of the name. They made +their bread with baking-powder. This was the invidious distinction +between them and the Sour-doughs, who, forsooth, made their bread from +sour-dough because they had no baking-powder.</p> +<p>All of which is neither here nor there. The men in the fort +disdained the newcomers and enjoyed seeing them come to grief. +Especially did they enjoy the havoc worked amongst the newcomers’ +dogs by White Fang and his disreputable gang. When a steamer arrived, +the men of the fort made it a point always to come down to the bank +and see the fun. They looked forward to it with as much anticipation +as did the Indian dogs, while they were not slow to appreciate the savage +and crafty part played by White Fang.</p> +<p>But there was one man amongst them who particularly enjoyed the sport. +He would come running at the first sound of a steamboat’s whistle; +and when the last fight was over and White Fang and the pack had scattered, +he would return slowly to the fort, his face heavy with regret. +Sometimes, when a soft southland dog went down, shrieking its death-cry +under the fangs of the pack, this man would be unable to contain himself, +and would leap into the air and cry out with delight. And always +he had a sharp and covetous eye for White Fang.</p> +<p>This man was called “Beauty” by the other men of the +fort. No one knew his first name, and in general he was known +in the country as Beauty Smith. But he was anything save a beauty. +To antithesis was due his naming. He was pre-eminently unbeautiful. +Nature had been niggardly with him. He was a small man to begin +with; and upon his meagre frame was deposited an even more strikingly +meagre head. Its apex might be likened to a point. In fact, +in his boyhood, before he had been named Beauty by his fellows, he had +been called “Pinhead.”</p> +<p>Backward, from the apex, his head slanted down to his neck and forward +it slanted uncompromisingly to meet a low and remarkably wide forehead. +Beginning here, as though regretting her parsimony, Nature had spread +his features with a lavish hand. His eyes were large, and between +them was the distance of two eyes. His face, in relation to the +rest of him, was prodigious. In order to discover the necessary +area, Nature had given him an enormous prognathous jaw. It was +wide and heavy, and protruded outward and down until it seemed to rest +on his chest. Possibly this appearance was due to the weariness +of the slender neck, unable properly to support so great a burden.</p> +<p>This jaw gave the impression of ferocious determination. But +something lacked. Perhaps it was from excess. Perhaps the +jaw was too large. At any rate, it was a lie. Beauty Smith +was known far and wide as the weakest of weak-kneed and snivelling cowards. +To complete his description, his teeth were large and yellow, while +the two eye-teeth, larger than their fellows, showed under his lean +lips like fangs. His eyes were yellow and muddy, as though Nature +had run short on pigments and squeezed together the dregs of all her +tubes. It was the same with his hair, sparse and irregular of +growth, muddy-yellow and dirty-yellow, rising on his head and sprouting +out of his face in unexpected tufts and bunches, in appearance like +clumped and wind-blown grain.</p> +<p>In short, Beauty Smith was a monstrosity, and the blame of it lay +elsewhere. He was not responsible. The clay of him had been +so moulded in the making. He did the cooking for the other men +in the fort, the dish-washing and the drudgery. They did not despise +him. Rather did they tolerate him in a broad human way, as one +tolerates any creature evilly treated in the making. Also, they +feared him. His cowardly rages made them dread a shot in the back +or poison in their coffee. But somebody had to do the cooking, +and whatever else his shortcomings, Beauty Smith could cook.</p> +<p>This was the man that looked at White Fang, delighted in his ferocious +prowess, and desired to possess him. He made overtures to White +Fang from the first. White Fang began by ignoring him. Later +on, when the overtures became more insistent, White Fang bristled and +bared his teeth and backed away. He did not like the man. +The feel of him was bad. He sensed the evil in him, and feared +the extended hand and the attempts at soft-spoken speech. Because +of all this, he hated the man.</p> +<p>With the simpler creatures, good and bad are things simply understood. +The good stands for all things that bring easement and satisfaction +and surcease from pain. Therefore, the good is liked. The +bad stands for all things that are fraught with discomfort, menace, +and hurt, and is hated accordingly. White Fang’s feel of +Beauty Smith was bad. From the man’s distorted body and +twisted mind, in occult ways, like mists rising from malarial marshes, +came emanations of the unhealth within. Not by reasoning, not +by the five senses alone, but by other and remoter and uncharted senses, +came the feeling to White Fang that the man was ominous with evil, pregnant +with hurtfulness, and therefore a thing bad, and wisely to be hated.</p> +<p>White Fang was in Grey Beaver’s camp when Beauty Smith first +visited it. At the faint sound of his distant feet, before he +came in sight, White Fang knew who was coming and began to bristle. +He had been lying down in an abandon of comfort, but he arose quickly, +and, as the man arrived, slid away in true wolf-fashion to the edge +of the camp. He did not know what they said, but he could see +the man and Grey Beaver talking together. Once, the man pointed +at him, and White Fang snarled back as though the hand were just descending +upon him instead of being, as it was, fifty feet away. The man +laughed at this; and White Fang slunk away to the sheltering woods, +his head turned to observe as he glided softly over the ground.</p> +<p>Grey Beaver refused to sell the dog. He had grown rich with +his trading and stood in need of nothing. Besides, White Fang +was a valuable animal, the strongest sled-dog he had ever owned, and +the best leader. Furthermore, there was no dog like him on the +Mackenzie nor the Yukon. He could fight. He killed other +dogs as easily as men killed mosquitoes. (Beauty Smith’s +eyes lighted up at this, and he licked his thin lips with an eager tongue). +No, White Fang was not for sale at any price.</p> +<p>But Beauty Smith knew the ways of Indians. He visited Grey +Beaver’s camp often, and hidden under his coat was always a black +bottle or so. One of the potencies of whisky is the breeding of +thirst. Grey Beaver got the thirst. His fevered membranes +and burnt stomach began to clamour for more and more of the scorching +fluid; while his brain, thrust all awry by the unwonted stimulant, permitted +him to go any length to obtain it. The money he had received for +his furs and mittens and moccasins began to go. It went faster +and faster, and the shorter his money-sack grew, the shorter grew his +temper.</p> +<p>In the end his money and goods and temper were all gone. Nothing +remained to him but his thirst, a prodigious possession in itself that +grew more prodigious with every sober breath he drew. Then it +was that Beauty Smith had talk with him again about the sale of White +Fang; but this time the price offered was in bottles, not dollars, and +Grey Beaver’s ears were more eager to hear.</p> +<p>“You ketch um dog you take um all right,” was his last +word.</p> +<p>The bottles were delivered, but after two days. “You +ketch um dog,” were Beauty Smith’s words to Grey Beaver.</p> +<p>White Fang slunk into camp one evening and dropped down with a sigh +of content. The dreaded white god was not there. For days +his manifestations of desire to lay hands on him had been growing more +insistent, and during that time White Fang had been compelled to avoid +the camp. He did not know what evil was threatened by those insistent +hands. He knew only that they did threaten evil of some sort, +and that it was best for him to keep out of their reach.</p> +<p>But scarcely had he lain down when Grey Beaver staggered over to +him and tied a leather thong around his neck. He sat down beside +White Fang, holding the end of the thong in his hand. In the other +hand he held a bottle, which, from time to time, was inverted above +his head to the accompaniment of gurgling noises.</p> +<p>An hour of this passed, when the vibrations of feet in contact with +the ground foreran the one who approached. White Fang heard it +first, and he was bristling with recognition while Grey Beaver still +nodded stupidly. White Fang tried to draw the thong softly out +of his master’s hand; but the relaxed fingers closed tightly and +Grey Beaver roused himself.</p> +<p>Beauty Smith strode into camp and stood over White Fang. He +snarled softly up at the thing of fear, watching keenly the deportment +of the hands. One hand extended outward and began to descend upon +his head. His soft snarl grew tense and harsh. The hand +continued slowly to descend, while he crouched beneath it, eyeing it +malignantly, his snarl growing shorter and shorter as, with quickening +breath, it approached its culmination. Suddenly he snapped, striking +with his fangs like a snake. The hand was jerked back, and the +teeth came together emptily with a sharp click. Beauty Smith was +frightened and angry. Grey Beaver clouted White Fang alongside +the head, so that he cowered down close to the earth in respectful obedience.</p> +<p>White Fang’s suspicious eyes followed every movement. +He saw Beauty Smith go away and return with a stout club. Then +the end of the thong was given over to him by Grey Beaver. Beauty +Smith started to walk away. The thong grew taut. White Fang +resisted it. Grey Beaver clouted him right and left to make him +get up and follow. He obeyed, but with a rush, hurling himself +upon the stranger who was dragging him away. Beauty Smith did +not jump away. He had been waiting for this. He swung the +club smartly, stopping the rush midway and smashing White Fang down +upon the ground. Grey Beaver laughed and nodded approval. +Beauty Smith tightened the thong again, and White Fang crawled limply +and dizzily to his feet.</p> +<p>He did not rush a second time. One smash from the club was +sufficient to convince him that the white god knew how to handle it, +and he was too wise to fight the inevitable. So he followed morosely +at Beauty Smith’s heels, his tail between his legs, yet snarling +softly under his breath. But Beauty Smith kept a wary eye on him, +and the club was held always ready to strike.</p> +<p>At the fort Beauty Smith left him securely tied and went in to bed. +White Fang waited an hour. Then he applied his teeth to the thong, +and in the space of ten seconds was free. He had wasted no time +with his teeth. There had been no useless gnawing. The thong +was cut across, diagonally, almost as clean as though done by a knife. +White Fang looked up at the fort, at the same time bristling and growling. +Then he turned and trotted back to Grey Beaver’s camp. He +owed no allegiance to this strange and terrible god. He had given +himself to Grey Beaver, and to Grey Beaver he considered he still belonged.</p> +<p>But what had occurred before was repeated—with a difference. +Grey Beaver again made him fast with a thong, and in the morning turned +him over to Beauty Smith. And here was where the difference came +in. Beauty Smith gave him a beating. Tied securely, White +Fang could only rage futilely and endure the punishment. Club +and whip were both used upon him, and he experienced the worst beating +he had ever received in his life. Even the big beating given him +in his puppyhood by Grey Beaver was mild compared with this.</p> +<p>Beauty Smith enjoyed the task. He delighted in it. He +gloated over his victim, and his eyes flamed dully, as he swung the +whip or club and listened to White Fang’s cries of pain and to +his helpless bellows and snarls. For Beauty Smith was cruel in +the way that cowards are cruel. Cringing and snivelling himself +before the blows or angry speech of a man, he revenged himself, in turn, +upon creatures weaker than he. All life likes power, and Beauty +Smith was no exception. Denied the expression of power amongst +his own kind, he fell back upon the lesser creatures and there vindicated +the life that was in him. But Beauty Smith had not created himself, +and no blame was to be attached to him. He had come into the world +with a twisted body and a brute intelligence. This had constituted +the clay of him, and it had not been kindly moulded by the world.</p> +<p>White Fang knew why he was being beaten. When Grey Beaver tied +the thong around his neck, and passed the end of the thong into Beauty +Smith’s keeping, White Fang knew that it was his god’s will +for him to go with Beauty Smith. And when Beauty Smith left him +tied outside the fort, he knew that it was Beauty Smith’s will +that he should remain there. Therefore, he had disobeyed the will +of both the gods, and earned the consequent punishment. He had +seen dogs change owners in the past, and he had seen the runaways beaten +as he was being beaten. He was wise, and yet in the nature of +him there were forces greater than wisdom. One of these was fidelity. +He did not love Grey Beaver, yet, even in the face of his will and his +anger, he was faithful to him. He could not help it. This +faithfulness was a quality of the clay that composed him. It was +the quality that was peculiarly the possession of his kind; the quality +that set apart his species from all other species; the quality that +has enabled the wolf and the wild dog to come in from the open and be +the companions of man.</p> +<p>After the beating, White Fang was dragged back to the fort. +But this time Beauty Smith left him tied with a stick. One does +not give up a god easily, and so with White Fang. Grey Beaver +was his own particular god, and, in spite of Grey Beaver’s will, +White Fang still clung to him and would not give him up. Grey +Beaver had betrayed and forsaken him, but that had no effect upon him. +Not for nothing had he surrendered himself body and soul to Grey Beaver. +There had been no reservation on White Fang’s part, and the bond +was not to be broken easily.</p> +<p>So, in the night, when the men in the fort were asleep, White Fang +applied his teeth to the stick that held him. The wood was seasoned +and dry, and it was tied so closely to his neck that he could scarcely +get his teeth to it. It was only by the severest muscular exertion +and neck-arching that he succeeded in getting the wood between his teeth, +and barely between his teeth at that; and it was only by the exercise +of an immense patience, extending through many hours, that he succeeded +in gnawing through the stick. This was something that dogs were +not supposed to do. It was unprecedented. But White Fang +did it, trotting away from the fort in the early morning, with the end +of the stick hanging to his neck.</p> +<p>He was wise. But had he been merely wise he would not have +gone back to Grey Beaver who had already twice betrayed him. But +there was his faithfulness, and he went back to be betrayed yet a third +time. Again he yielded to the tying of a thong around his neck +by Grey Beaver, and again Beauty Smith came to claim him. And +this time he was beaten even more severely than before.</p> +<p>Grey Beaver looked on stolidly while the white man wielded the whip. +He gave no protection. It was no longer his dog. When the +beating was over White Fang was sick. A soft southland dog would +have died under it, but not he. His school of life had been sterner, +and he was himself of sterner stuff. He had too great vitality. +His clutch on life was too strong. But he was very sick. +At first he was unable to drag himself along, and Beauty Smith had to +wait half-an-hour for him. And then, blind and reeling, he followed +at Beauty Smith’s heels back to the fort.</p> +<p>But now he was tied with a chain that defied his teeth, and he strove +in vain, by lunging, to draw the staple from the timber into which it +was driven. After a few days, sober and bankrupt, Grey Beaver +departed up the Porcupine on his long journey to the Mackenzie. +White Fang remained on the Yukon, the property of a man more than half +mad and all brute. But what is a dog to know in its consciousness +of madness? To White Fang, Beauty Smith was a veritable, if terrible, +god. He was a mad god at best, but White Fang knew nothing of +madness; he knew only that he must submit to the will of this new master, +obey his every whim and fancy.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE REIGN OF HATE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Under the tutelage of the mad god, White Fang became a fiend. +He was kept chained in a pen at the rear of the fort, and here Beauty +Smith teased and irritated and drove him wild with petty torments. +The man early discovered White Fang’s susceptibility to laughter, +and made it a point after painfully tricking him, to laugh at him. +This laughter was uproarious and scornful, and at the same time the +god pointed his finger derisively at White Fang. At such times +reason fled from White Fang, and in his transports of rage he was even +more mad than Beauty Smith.</p> +<p>Formerly, White Fang had been merely the enemy of his kind, withal +a ferocious enemy. He now became the enemy of all things, and +more ferocious than ever. To such an extent was he tormented, +that he hated blindly and without the faintest spark of reason. +He hated the chain that bound him, the men who peered in at him through +the slats of the pen, the dogs that accompanied the men and that snarled +malignantly at him in his helplessness. He hated the very wood +of the pen that confined him. And, first, last, and most of all, +he hated Beauty Smith.</p> +<p>But Beauty Smith had a purpose in all that he did to White Fang. +One day a number of men gathered about the pen. Beauty Smith entered, +club in hand, and took the chain off from White Fang’s neck. +When his master had gone out, White Fang turned loose and tore around +the pen, trying to get at the men outside. He was magnificently +terrible. Fully five feet in length, and standing two and one-half +feet at the shoulder, he far outweighed a wolf of corresponding size. +From his mother he had inherited the heavier proportions of the dog, +so that he weighed, without any fat and without an ounce of superfluous +flesh, over ninety pounds. It was all muscle, bone, and sinew-fighting +flesh in the finest condition.</p> +<p>The door of the pen was being opened again. White Fang paused. +Something unusual was happening. He waited. The door was +opened wider. Then a huge dog was thrust inside, and the door +was slammed shut behind him. White Fang had never seen such a +dog (it was a mastiff); but the size and fierce aspect of the intruder +did not deter him. Here was some thing, not wood nor iron, upon +which to wreak his hate. He leaped in with a flash of fangs that +ripped down the side of the mastiff’s neck. The mastiff +shook his head, growled hoarsely, and plunged at White Fang. But +White Fang was here, there, and everywhere, always evading and eluding, +and always leaping in and slashing with his fangs and leaping out again +in time to escape punishment.</p> +<p>The men outside shouted and applauded, while Beauty Smith, in an +ecstasy of delight, gloated over the rippling and manging performed +by White Fang. There was no hope for the mastiff from the first. +He was too ponderous and slow. In the end, while Beauty Smith +beat White Fang back with a club, the mastiff was dragged out by its +owner. Then there was a payment of bets, and money clinked in +Beauty Smith’s hand.</p> +<p>White Fang came to look forward eagerly to the gathering of the men +around his pen. It meant a fight; and this was the only way that +was now vouchsafed him of expressing the life that was in him. +Tormented, incited to hate, he was kept a prisoner so that there was +no way of satisfying that hate except at the times his master saw fit +to put another dog against him. Beauty Smith had estimated his +powers well, for he was invariably the victor. One day, three +dogs were turned in upon him in succession. Another day a full-grown +wolf, fresh-caught from the Wild, was shoved in through the door of +the pen. And on still another day two dogs were set against him +at the same time. This was his severest fight, and though in the +end he killed them both he was himself half killed in doing it.</p> +<p>In the fall of the year, when the first snows were falling and mush-ice +was running in the river, Beauty Smith took passage for himself and +White Fang on a steamboat bound up the Yukon to Dawson. White +Fang had now achieved a reputation in the land. As “the +Fighting Wolf” he was known far and wide, and the cage in which +he was kept on the steam-boat’s deck was usually surrounded by +curious men. He raged and snarled at them, or lay quietly and +studied them with cold hatred. Why should he not hate them? +He never asked himself the question. He knew only hate and lost +himself in the passion of it. Life had become a hell to him. +He had not been made for the close confinement wild beasts endure at +the hands of men. And yet it was in precisely this way that he +was treated. Men stared at him, poked sticks between the bars +to make him snarl, and then laughed at him.</p> +<p>They were his environment, these men, and they were moulding the +clay of him into a more ferocious thing than had been intended by Nature. +Nevertheless, Nature had given him plasticity. Where many another +animal would have died or had its spirit broken, he adjusted himself +and lived, and at no expense of the spirit. Possibly Beauty Smith, +arch-fiend and tormentor, was capable of breaking White Fang’s +spirit, but as yet there were no signs of his succeeding.</p> +<p>If Beauty Smith had in him a devil, White Fang had another; and the +two of them raged against each other unceasingly. In the days +before, White Fang had had the wisdom to cower down and submit to a +man with a club in his hand; but this wisdom now left him. The +mere sight of Beauty Smith was sufficient to send him into transports +of fury. And when they came to close quarters, and he had been +beaten back by the club, he went on growling and snarling, and showing +his fangs. The last growl could never be extracted from him. +No matter how terribly he was beaten, he had always another growl; and +when Beauty Smith gave up and withdrew, the defiant growl followed after +him, or White Fang sprang at the bars of the cage bellowing his hatred.</p> +<p>When the steamboat arrived at Dawson, White Fang went ashore. +But he still lived a public life, in a cage, surrounded by curious men. +He was exhibited as “the Fighting Wolf,” and men paid fifty +cents in gold dust to see him. He was given no rest. Did +he lie down to sleep, he was stirred up by a sharp stick—so that +the audience might get its money’s worth. In order to make +the exhibition interesting, he was kept in a rage most of the time. +But worse than all this, was the atmosphere in which he lived. +He was regarded as the most fearful of wild beasts, and this was borne +in to him through the bars of the cage. Every word, every cautious +action, on the part of the men, impressed upon him his own terrible +ferocity. It was so much added fuel to the flame of his fierceness. +There could be but one result, and that was that his ferocity fed upon +itself and increased. It was another instance of the plasticity +of his clay, of his capacity for being moulded by the pressure of environment.</p> +<p>In addition to being exhibited he was a professional fighting animal. +At irregular intervals, whenever a fight could be arranged, he was taken +out of his cage and led off into the woods a few miles from town. +Usually this occurred at night, so as to avoid interference from the +mounted police of the Territory. After a few hours of waiting, +when daylight had come, the audience and the dog with which he was to +fight arrived. In this manner it came about that he fought all +sizes and breeds of dogs. It was a savage land, the men were savage, +and the fights were usually to the death.</p> +<p>Since White Fang continued to fight, it is obvious that it was the +other dogs that died. He never knew defeat. His early training, +when he fought with Lip-lip and the whole puppy-pack, stood him in good +stead. There was the tenacity with which he clung to the earth. +No dog could make him lose his footing. This was the favourite +trick of the wolf breeds—to rush in upon him, either directly +or with an unexpected swerve, in the hope of striking his shoulder and +overthrowing him. Mackenzie hounds, Eskimo and Labrador dogs, +huskies and Malemutes—all tried it on him, and all failed. +He was never known to lose his footing. Men told this to one another, +and looked each time to see it happen; but White Fang always disappointed +them.</p> +<p>Then there was his lightning quickness. It gave him a tremendous +advantage over his antagonists. No matter what their fighting +experience, they had never encountered a dog that moved so swiftly as +he. Also to be reckoned with, was the immediateness of his attack. +The average dog was accustomed to the preliminaries of snarling and +bristling and growling, and the average dog was knocked off his feet +and finished before he had begun to fight or recovered from his surprise. +So often did this happen, that it became the custom to hold White Fang +until the other dog went through its preliminaries, was good and ready, +and even made the first attack.</p> +<p>But greatest of all the advantages in White Fang’s favour, +was his experience. He knew more about fighting than did any of +the dogs that faced him. He had fought more fights, knew how to +meet more tricks and methods, and had more tricks himself, while his +own method was scarcely to be improved upon.</p> +<p>As the time went by, he had fewer and fewer fights. Men despaired +of matching him with an equal, and Beauty Smith was compelled to pit +wolves against him. These were trapped by the Indians for the +purpose, and a fight between White Fang and a wolf was always sure to +draw a crowd. Once, a full-grown female lynx was secured, and +this time White Fang fought for his life. Her quickness matched +his; her ferocity equalled his; while he fought with his fangs alone, +and she fought with her sharp-clawed feet as well.</p> +<p>But after the lynx, all fighting ceased for White Fang. There +were no more animals with which to fight—at least, there was none +considered worthy of fighting with him. So he remained on exhibition +until spring, when one Tim Keenan, a faro-dealer, arrived in the land. +With him came the first bull-dog that had ever entered the Klondike. +That this dog and White Fang should come together was inevitable, and +for a week the anticipated fight was the mainspring of conversation +in certain quarters of the town.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE CLINGING DEATH</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Beauty Smith slipped the chain from his neck and stepped back.</p> +<p>For once White Fang did not make an immediate attack. He stood +still, ears pricked forward, alert and curious, surveying the strange +animal that faced him. He had never seen such a dog before. +Tim Keenan shoved the bull-dog forward with a muttered “Go to +it.” The animal waddled toward the centre of the circle, +short and squat and ungainly. He came to a stop and blinked across +at White Fang.</p> +<p>There were cries from the crowd of, “Go to him, Cherokee! +Sick ’m, Cherokee! Eat ’m up!”</p> +<p>But Cherokee did not seem anxious to fight. He turned his head +and blinked at the men who shouted, at the same time wagging his stump +of a tail good-naturedly. He was not afraid, but merely lazy. +Besides, it did not seem to him that it was intended he should fight +with the dog he saw before him. He was not used to fighting with +that kind of dog, and he was waiting for them to bring on the real dog.</p> +<p>Tim Keenan stepped in and bent over Cherokee, fondling him on both +sides of the shoulders with hands that rubbed against the grain of the +hair and that made slight, pushing-forward movements. These were +so many suggestions. Also, their effect was irritating, for Cherokee +began to growl, very softly, deep down in his throat. There was +a correspondence in rhythm between the growls and the movements of the +man’s hands. The growl rose in the throat with the culmination +of each forward-pushing movement, and ebbed down to start up afresh +with the beginning of the next movement. The end of each movement +was the accent of the rhythm, the movement ending abruptly and the growling +rising with a jerk.</p> +<p>This was not without its effect on White Fang. The hair began +to rise on his neck and across the shoulders. Tim Keenan gave +a final shove forward and stepped back again. As the impetus that +carried Cherokee forward died down, he continued to go forward of his +own volition, in a swift, bow-legged run. Then White Fang struck. +A cry of startled admiration went up. He had covered the distance +and gone in more like a cat than a dog; and with the same cat-like swiftness +he had slashed with his fangs and leaped clear.</p> +<p>The bull-dog was bleeding back of one ear from a rip in his thick +neck. He gave no sign, did not even snarl, but turned and followed +after White Fang. The display on both sides, the quickness of +the one and the steadiness of the other, had excited the partisan spirit +of the crowd, and the men were making new bets and increasing original +bets. Again, and yet again, White Fang sprang in, slashed, and +got away untouched, and still his strange foe followed after him, without +too great haste, not slowly, but deliberately and determinedly, in a +businesslike sort of way. There was purpose in his method—something +for him to do that he was intent upon doing and from which nothing could +distract him.</p> +<p>His whole demeanour, every action, was stamped with this purpose. +It puzzled White Fang. Never had he seen such a dog. It +had no hair protection. It was soft, and bled easily. There +was no thick mat of fur to baffle White Fang’s teeth as they were +often baffled by dogs of his own breed. Each time that his teeth +struck they sank easily into the yielding flesh, while the animal did +not seem able to defend itself. Another disconcerting thing was +that it made no outcry, such as he had been accustomed to with the other +dogs he had fought. Beyond a growl or a grunt, the dog took its +punishment silently. And never did it flag in its pursuit of him.</p> +<p>Not that Cherokee was slow. He could turn and whirl swiftly +enough, but White Fang was never there. Cherokee was puzzled, +too. He had never fought before with a dog with which he could +not close. The desire to close had always been mutual. But +here was a dog that kept at a distance, dancing and dodging here and +there and all about. And when it did get its teeth into him, it +did not hold on but let go instantly and darted away again.</p> +<p>But White Fang could not get at the soft underside of the throat. +The bull-dog stood too short, while its massive jaws were an added protection. +White Fang darted in and out unscathed, while Cherokee’s wounds +increased. Both sides of his neck and head were ripped and slashed. +He bled freely, but showed no signs of being disconcerted. He +continued his plodding pursuit, though once, for the moment baffled, +he came to a full stop and blinked at the men who looked on, at the +same time wagging his stump of a tail as an expression of his willingness +to fight.</p> +<p>In that moment White Fang was in upon him and out, in passing ripping +his trimmed remnant of an ear. With a slight manifestation of +anger, Cherokee took up the pursuit again, running on the inside of +the circle White Fang was making, and striving to fasten his deadly +grip on White Fang’s throat. The bull-dog missed by a hair’s-breadth, +and cries of praise went up as White Fang doubled suddenly out of danger +in the opposite direction.</p> +<p>The time went by. White Fang still danced on, dodging and doubling, +leaping in and out, and ever inflicting damage. And still the +bull-dog, with grim certitude, toiled after him. Sooner or later +he would accomplish his purpose, get the grip that would win the battle. +In the meantime, he accepted all the punishment the other could deal +him. His tufts of ears had become tassels, his neck and shoulders +were slashed in a score of places, and his very lips were cut and bleeding—all +from these lightning snaps that were beyond his foreseeing and guarding.</p> +<p>Time and again White Fang had attempted to knock Cherokee off his +feet; but the difference in their height was too great. Cherokee +was too squat, too close to the ground. White Fang tried the trick +once too often. The chance came in one of his quick doublings +and counter-circlings. He caught Cherokee with head turned away +as he whirled more slowly. His shoulder was exposed. White +Fang drove in upon it: but his own shoulder was high above, while he +struck with such force that his momentum carried him on across over +the other’s body. For the first time in his fighting history, +men saw White Fang lose his footing. His body turned a half-somersault +in the air, and he would have landed on his back had he not twisted, +catlike, still in the air, in the effort to bring his feet to the earth. +As it was, he struck heavily on his side. The next instant he +was on his feet, but in that instant Cherokee’s teeth closed on +his throat.</p> +<p>It was not a good grip, being too low down toward the chest; but +Cherokee held on. White Fang sprang to his feet and tore wildly +around, trying to shake off the bull-dog’s body. It made +him frantic, this clinging, dragging weight. It bound his movements, +restricted his freedom. It was like the trap, and all his instinct +resented it and revolted against it. It was a mad revolt. +For several minutes he was to all intents insane. The basic life +that was in him took charge of him. The will to exist of his body +surged over him. He was dominated by this mere flesh-love of life. +All intelligence was gone. It was as though he had no brain. +His reason was unseated by the blind yearning of the flesh to exist +and move, at all hazards to move, to continue to move, for movement +was the expression of its existence.</p> +<p>Round and round he went, whirling and turning and reversing, trying +to shake off the fifty-pound weight that dragged at his throat. +The bull-dog did little but keep his grip. Sometimes, and rarely, +he managed to get his feet to the earth and for a moment to brace himself +against White Fang. But the next moment his footing would be lost +and he would be dragging around in the whirl of one of White Fang’s +mad gyrations. Cherokee identified himself with his instinct. +He knew that he was doing the right thing by holding on, and there came +to him certain blissful thrills of satisfaction. At such moments +he even closed his eyes and allowed his body to be hurled hither and +thither, willy-nilly, careless of any hurt that might thereby come to +it. That did not count. The grip was the thing, and the +grip he kept.</p> +<p>White Fang ceased only when he had tired himself out. He could +do nothing, and he could not understand. Never, in all his fighting, +had this thing happened. The dogs he had fought with did not fight +that way. With them it was snap and slash and get away, snap and +slash and get away. He lay partly on his side, panting for breath. +Cherokee still holding his grip, urged against him, trying to get him +over entirely on his side. White Fang resisted, and he could feel +the jaws shifting their grip, slightly relaxing and coming together +again in a chewing movement. Each shift brought the grip closer +to his throat. The bull-dog’s method was to hold what he +had, and when opportunity favoured to work in for more. Opportunity +favoured when White Fang remained quiet. When White Fang struggled, +Cherokee was content merely to hold on.</p> +<p>The bulging back of Cherokee’s neck was the only portion of +his body that White Fang’s teeth could reach. He got hold +toward the base where the neck comes out from the shoulders; but he +did not know the chewing method of fighting, nor were his jaws adapted +to it. He spasmodically ripped and tore with his fangs for a space. +Then a change in their position diverted him. The bull-dog had +managed to roll him over on his back, and still hanging on to his throat, +was on top of him. Like a cat, White Fang bowed his hind-quarters +in, and, with the feet digging into his enemy’s abdomen above +him, he began to claw with long tearing-strokes. Cherokee might +well have been disembowelled had he not quickly pivoted on his grip +and got his body off of White Fang’s and at right angles to it.</p> +<p>There was no escaping that grip. It was like Fate itself, and +as inexorable. Slowly it shifted up along the jugular. All +that saved White Fang from death was the loose skin of his neck and +the thick fur that covered it. This served to form a large roll +in Cherokee’s mouth, the fur of which well-nigh defied his teeth. +But bit by bit, whenever the chance offered, he was getting more of +the loose skin and fur in his mouth. The result was that he was +slowly throttling White Fang. The latter’s breath was drawn +with greater and greater difficulty as the moments went by.</p> +<p>It began to look as though the battle were over. The backers +of Cherokee waxed jubilant and offered ridiculous odds. White +Fang’s backers were correspondingly depressed, and refused bets +of ten to one and twenty to one, though one man was rash enough to close +a wager of fifty to one. This man was Beauty Smith. He took +a step into the ring and pointed his finger at White Fang. Then +he began to laugh derisively and scornfully. This produced the +desired effect. White Fang went wild with rage. He called +up his reserves of strength, and gained his feet. As he struggled +around the ring, the fifty pounds of his foe ever dragging on his throat, +his anger passed on into panic. The basic life of him dominated +him again, and his intelligence fled before the will of his flesh to +live. Round and round and back again, stumbling and falling and +rising, even uprearing at times on his hind-legs and lifting his foe +clear of the earth, he struggled vainly to shake off the clinging death.</p> +<p>At last he fell, toppling backward, exhausted; and the bull-dog promptly +shifted his grip, getting in closer, mangling more and more of the fur-folded +flesh, throttling White Fang more severely than ever. Shouts of +applause went up for the victor, and there were many cries of “Cherokee!” +“Cherokee!” To this Cherokee responded by vigorous +wagging of the stump of his tail. But the clamour of approval +did not distract him. There was no sympathetic relation between +his tail and his massive jaws. The one might wag, but the others +held their terrible grip on White Fang’s throat.</p> +<p>It was at this time that a diversion came to the spectators. +There was a jingle of bells. Dog-mushers’ cries were heard. +Everybody, save Beauty Smith, looked apprehensively, the fear of the +police strong upon them. But they saw, up the trail, and not down, +two men running with sled and dogs. They were evidently coming +down the creek from some prospecting trip. At sight of the crowd +they stopped their dogs and came over and joined it, curious to see +the cause of the excitement. The dog-musher wore a moustache, +but the other, a taller and younger man, was smooth-shaven, his skin +rosy from the pounding of his blood and the running in the frosty air.</p> +<p>White Fang had practically ceased struggling. Now and again +he resisted spasmodically and to no purpose. He could get little +air, and that little grew less and less under the merciless grip that +ever tightened. In spite of his armour of fur, the great vein +of his throat would have long since been torn open, had not the first +grip of the bull-dog been so low down as to be practically on the chest. +It had taken Cherokee a long time to shift that grip upward, and this +had also tended further to clog his jaws with fur and skin-fold.</p> +<p>In the meantime, the abysmal brute in Beauty Smith had been rising +into his brain and mastering the small bit of sanity that he possessed +at best. When he saw White Fang’s eyes beginning to glaze, +he knew beyond doubt that the fight was lost. Then he broke loose. +He sprang upon White Fang and began savagely to kick him. There +were hisses from the crowd and cries of protest, but that was all. +While this went on, and Beauty Smith continued to kick White Fang, there +was a commotion in the crowd. The tall young newcomer was forcing +his way through, shouldering men right and left without ceremony or +gentleness. When he broke through into the ring, Beauty Smith +was just in the act of delivering another kick. All his weight +was on one loot, and he was in a state of unstable equilibrium. +At that moment the newcomer’s fist landed a smashing blow full +in his face. Beauty Smith’s remaining leg left the ground, +and his whole body seemed to lift into the air as he turned over backward +and struck the snow. The newcomer turned upon the crowd.</p> +<p>“You cowards!” he cried. “You beasts!”</p> +<p>He was in a rage himself—a sane rage. His grey eyes seemed +metallic and steel-like as they flashed upon the crowd. Beauty +Smith regained his feet and came toward him, sniffling and cowardly. +The new-comer did not understand. He did not know how abject a +coward the other was, and thought he was coming back intent on fighting. +So, with a “You beast!” he smashed Beauty Smith over backward +with a second blow in the face. Beauty Smith decided that the +snow was the safest place for him, and lay where he had fallen, making +no effort to get up.</p> +<p>“Come on, Matt, lend a hand,” the newcomer called the +dog-musher, who had followed him into the ring.</p> +<p>Both men bent over the dogs. Matt took hold of White Fang, +ready to pull when Cherokee’s jaws should be loosened. This +the younger man endeavoured to accomplish by clutching the bulldog’s +jaws in his hands and trying to spread them. It was a vain undertaking. +As he pulled and tugged and wrenched, he kept exclaiming with every +expulsion of breath, “Beasts!”</p> +<p>The crowd began to grow unruly, and some of the men were protesting +against the spoiling of the sport; but they were silenced when the newcomer +lifted his head from his work for a moment and glared at them.</p> +<p>“You damn beasts!” he finally exploded, and went back +to his task.</p> +<p>“It’s no use, Mr. Scott, you can’t break ’m +apart that way,” Matt said at last.</p> +<p>The pair paused and surveyed the locked dogs.</p> +<p>“Ain’t bleedin’ much,” Matt announced. +“Ain’t got all the way in yet.”</p> +<p>“But he’s liable to any moment,” Scott answered. +“There, did you see that! He shifted his grip in a bit.”</p> +<p>The younger man’s excitement and apprehension for White Fang +was growing. He struck Cherokee about the head savagely again +and again. But that did not loosen the jaws. Cherokee wagged +the stump of his tail in advertisement that he understood the meaning +of the blows, but that he knew he was himself in the right and only +doing his duty by keeping his grip.</p> +<p>“Won’t some of you help?” Scott cried desperately +at the crowd.</p> +<p>But no help was offered. Instead, the crowd began sarcastically +to cheer him on and showered him with facetious advice.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to get a pry,” Matt counselled.</p> +<p>The other reached into the holster at his hip, drew his revolver, +and tried to thrust its muzzle between the bull-dog’s jaws. +He shoved, and shoved hard, till the grating of the steel against the +locked teeth could be distinctly heard. Both men were on their +knees, bending over the dogs. Tim Keenan strode into the ring. +He paused beside Scott and touched him on the shoulder, saying ominously:</p> +<p>“Don’t break them teeth, stranger.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll break his neck,” Scott retorted, continuing +his shoving and wedging with the revolver muzzle.</p> +<p>“I said don’t break them teeth,” the faro-dealer +repeated more ominously than before.</p> +<p>But if it was a bluff he intended, it did not work. Scott never +desisted from his efforts, though he looked up coolly and asked:</p> +<p>“Your dog?”</p> +<p>The faro-dealer grunted.</p> +<p>“Then get in here and break this grip.”</p> +<p>“Well, stranger,” the other drawled irritatingly, “I +don’t mind telling you that’s something I ain’t worked +out for myself. I don’t know how to turn the trick.”</p> +<p>“Then get out of the way,” was the reply, “and +don’t bother me. I’m busy.”</p> +<p>Tim Keenan continued standing over him, but Scott took no further +notice of his presence. He had managed to get the muzzle in between +the jaws on one side, and was trying to get it out between the jaws +on the other side. This accomplished, he pried gently and carefully, +loosening the jaws a bit at a time, while Matt, a bit at a time, extricated +White Fang’s mangled neck.</p> +<p>“Stand by to receive your dog,” was Scott’s peremptory +order to Cherokee’s owner.</p> +<p>The faro-dealer stooped down obediently and got a firm hold on Cherokee.</p> +<p>“Now!” Scott warned, giving the final pry.</p> +<p>The dogs were drawn apart, the bull-dog struggling vigorously.</p> +<p>“Take him away,” Scott commanded, and Tim Keenan dragged +Cherokee back into the crowd.</p> +<p>White Fang made several ineffectual efforts to get up. Once +he gained his feet, but his legs were too weak to sustain him, and he +slowly wilted and sank back into the snow. His eyes were half +closed, and the surface of them was glassy. His jaws were apart, +and through them the tongue protruded, draggled and limp. To all +appearances he looked like a dog that had been strangled to death. +Matt examined him.</p> +<p>“Just about all in,” he announced; “but he’s +breathin’ all right.”</p> +<p>Beauty Smith had regained his feet and come over to look at White +Fang.</p> +<p>“Matt, how much is a good sled-dog worth?” Scott asked.</p> +<p>The dog-musher, still on his knees and stooped over White Fang, calculated +for a moment.</p> +<p>“Three hundred dollars,” he answered.</p> +<p>“And how much for one that’s all chewed up like this +one?” Scott asked, nudging White Fang with his foot.</p> +<p>“Half of that,” was the dog-musher’s judgment. +Scott turned upon Beauty Smith.</p> +<p>“Did you hear, Mr. Beast? I’m going to take your +dog from you, and I’m going to give you a hundred and fifty for +him.”</p> +<p>He opened his pocket-book and counted out the bills.</p> +<p>Beauty Smith put his hands behind his back, refusing to touch the +proffered money.</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-sellin’,” he said.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes you are,” the other assured him. “Because +I’m buying. Here’s your money. The dog’s +mine.”</p> +<p>Beauty Smith, his hands still behind him, began to back away.</p> +<p>Scott sprang toward him, drawing his fist back to strike. Beauty +Smith cowered down in anticipation of the blow.</p> +<p>“I’ve got my rights,” he whimpered.</p> +<p>“You’ve forfeited your rights to own that dog,” +was the rejoinder. “Are you going to take the money? or +do I have to hit you again?”</p> +<p>“All right,” Beauty Smith spoke up with the alacrity +of fear. “But I take the money under protest,” he +added. “The dog’s a mint. I ain’t a-goin’ +to be robbed. A man’s got his rights.”</p> +<p>“Correct,” Scott answered, passing the money over to +him. “A man’s got his rights. But you’re +not a man. You’re a beast.”</p> +<p>“Wait till I get back to Dawson,” Beauty Smith threatened. +“I’ll have the law on you.”</p> +<p>“If you open your mouth when you get back to Dawson, I’ll +have you run out of town. Understand?”</p> +<p>Beauty Smith replied with a grunt.</p> +<p>“Understand?” the other thundered with abrupt fierceness.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Beauty Smith grunted, shrinking away.</p> +<p>“Yes what?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” Beauty Smith snarled.</p> +<p>“Look out! He’ll bite!” some one shouted, +and a guffaw of laughter went up.</p> +<p>Scott turned his back on him, and returned to help the dog-musher, +who was working over White Fang.</p> +<p>Some of the men were already departing; others stood in groups, looking +on and talking. Tim Keenan joined one of the groups.</p> +<p>“Who’s that mug?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Weedon Scott,” some one answered.</p> +<p>“And who in hell is Weedon Scott?” the faro-dealer demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, one of them crackerjack minin’ experts. He’s +in with all the big bugs. If you want to keep out of trouble, +you’ll steer clear of him, that’s my talk. He’s +all hunky with the officials. The Gold Commissioner’s a +special pal of his.”</p> +<p>“I thought he must be somebody,” was the faro-dealer’s +comment. “That’s why I kept my hands offen him at +the start.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE INDOMITABLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“It’s hopeless,” Weedon Scott confessed.</p> +<p>He sat on the step of his cabin and stared at the dog-musher, who +responded with a shrug that was equally hopeless.</p> +<p>Together they looked at White Fang at the end of his stretched chain, +bristling, snarling, ferocious, straining to get at the sled-dogs. +Having received sundry lessons from Matt, said lessons being imparted +by means of a club, the sled-dogs had learned to leave White Fang alone; +and even then they were lying down at a distance, apparently oblivious +of his existence.</p> +<p>“It’s a wolf and there’s no taming it,” Weedon +Scott announced.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Matt objected. +“Might be a lot of dog in ’m, for all you can tell. +But there’s one thing I know sure, an’ that there’s +no gettin’ away from.”</p> +<p>The dog-musher paused and nodded his head confidentially at Moosehide +Mountain.</p> +<p>“Well, don’t be a miser with what you know,” Scott +said sharply, after waiting a suitable length of time. “Spit +it out. What is it?”</p> +<p>The dog-musher indicated White Fang with a backward thrust of his +thumb.</p> +<p>“Wolf or dog, it’s all the same—he’s ben +tamed ’ready.”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“I tell you yes, an’ broke to harness. Look close +there. D’ye see them marks across the chest?”</p> +<p>“You’re right, Matt. He was a sled-dog before Beauty +Smith got hold of him.”</p> +<p>“And there’s not much reason against his bein’ +a sled-dog again.”</p> +<p>“What d’ye think?” Scott queried eagerly. +Then the hope died down as he added, shaking his head, “We’ve +had him two weeks now, and if anything he’s wilder than ever at +the present moment.”</p> +<p>“Give ’m a chance,” Matt counselled. “Turn +’m loose for a spell.”</p> +<p>The other looked at him incredulously.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Matt went on, “I know you’ve tried +to, but you didn’t take a club.”</p> +<p>“You try it then.”</p> +<p>The dog-musher secured a club and went over to the chained animal. +White Fang watched the club after the manner of a caged lion watching +the whip of its trainer.</p> +<p>“See ’m keep his eye on that club,” Matt said. +“That’s a good sign. He’s no fool. Don’t +dast tackle me so long as I got that club handy. He’s not +clean crazy, sure.”</p> +<p>As the man’s hand approached his neck, White Fang bristled +and snarled and crouched down. But while he eyed the approaching +hand, he at the same time contrived to keep track of the club in the +other hand, suspended threateningly above him. Matt unsnapped +the chain from the collar and stepped back.</p> +<p>White Fang could scarcely realise that he was free. Many months +had gone by since he passed into the possession of Beauty Smith, and +in all that period he had never known a moment of freedom except at +the times he had been loosed to fight with other dogs. Immediately +after such fights he had always been imprisoned again.</p> +<p>He did not know what to make of it. Perhaps some new devilry +of the gods was about to be perpetrated on him. He walked slowly +and cautiously, prepared to be assailed at any moment. He did +not know what to do, it was all so unprecedented. He took the +precaution to sheer off from the two watching gods, and walked carefully +to the corner of the cabin. Nothing happened. He was plainly +perplexed, and he came back again, pausing a dozen feet away and regarding +the two men intently.</p> +<p>“Won’t he run away?” his new owner asked.</p> +<p>Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Got to take a gamble. +Only way to find out is to find out.”</p> +<p>“Poor devil,” Scott murmured pityingly. “What +he needs is some show of human kindness,” he added, turning and +going into the cabin.</p> +<p>He came out with a piece of meat, which he tossed to White Fang. +He sprang away from it, and from a distance studied it suspiciously.</p> +<p>“Hi-yu, Major!” Matt shouted warningly, but too late.</p> +<p>Major had made a spring for the meat. At the instant his jaws +closed on it, White Fang struck him. He was overthrown. +Matt rushed in, but quicker than he was White Fang. Major staggered +to his feet, but the blood spouting from his throat reddened the snow +in a widening path.</p> +<p>“It’s too bad, but it served him right,” Scott +said hastily.</p> +<p>But Matt’s foot had already started on its way to kick White +Fang. There was a leap, a flash of teeth, a sharp exclamation. +White Fang, snarling fiercely, scrambled backward for several yards, +while Matt stooped and investigated his leg.</p> +<p>“He got me all right,” he announced, pointing to the +torn trousers and undercloths, and the growing stain of red.</p> +<p>“I told you it was hopeless, Matt,” Scott said in a discouraged +voice. “I’ve thought about it off and on, while not +wanting to think of it. But we’ve come to it now. +It’s the only thing to do.”</p> +<p>As he talked, with reluctant movements he drew his revolver, threw +open the cylinder, and assured himself of its contents.</p> +<p>“Look here, Mr. Scott,” Matt objected; “that dog’s +ben through hell. You can’t expect ’m to come out +a white an’ shinin’ angel. Give ’m time.”</p> +<p>“Look at Major,” the other rejoined.</p> +<p>The dog-musher surveyed the stricken dog. He had sunk down +on the snow in the circle of his blood and was plainly in the last gasp.</p> +<p>“Served ’m right. You said so yourself, Mr. Scott. +He tried to take White Fang’s meat, an’ he’s dead-O. +That was to be expected. I wouldn’t give two whoops in hell +for a dog that wouldn’t fight for his own meat.”</p> +<p>“But look at yourself, Matt. It’s all right about +the dogs, but we must draw the line somewhere.”</p> +<p>“Served me right,” Matt argued stubbornly. “What’d +I want to kick ’m for? You said yourself that he’d +done right. Then I had no right to kick ’m.”</p> +<p>“It would be a mercy to kill him,” Scott insisted. +“He’s untamable.”</p> +<p>“Now look here, Mr. Scott, give the poor devil a fightin’ +chance. He ain’t had no chance yet. He’s just +come through hell, an’ this is the first time he’s ben loose. +Give ’m a fair chance, an’ if he don’t deliver the +goods, I’ll kill ’m myself. There!”</p> +<p>“God knows I don’t want to kill him or have him killed,” +Scott answered, putting away the revolver. “We’ll +let him run loose and see what kindness can do for him. And here’s +a try at it.”</p> +<p>He walked over to White Fang and began talking to him gently and +soothingly.</p> +<p>“Better have a club handy,” Matt warned.</p> +<p>Scott shook his head and went on trying to win White Fang’s +confidence.</p> +<p>White Fang was suspicious. Something was impending. He +had killed this god’s dog, bitten his companion god, and what +else was to be expected than some terrible punishment? But in +the face of it he was indomitable. He bristled and showed his +teeth, his eyes vigilant, his whole body wary and prepared for anything. +The god had no club, so he suffered him to approach quite near. +The god’s hand had come out and was descending upon his head. +White Fang shrank together and grew tense as he crouched under it. +Here was danger, some treachery or something. He knew the hands +of the gods, their proved mastery, their cunning to hurt. Besides, +there was his old antipathy to being touched. He snarled more +menacingly, crouched still lower, and still the hand descended. +He did not want to bite the hand, and he endured the peril of it until +his instinct surged up in him, mastering him with its insatiable yearning +for life.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott had believed that he was quick enough to avoid any snap +or slash. But he had yet to learn the remarkable quickness of +White Fang, who struck with the certainty and swiftness of a coiled +snake.</p> +<p>Scott cried out sharply with surprise, catching his torn hand and +holding it tightly in his other hand. Matt uttered a great oath +and sprang to his side. White Fang crouched down, and backed away, +bristling, showing his fangs, his eyes malignant with menace. +Now he could expect a beating as fearful as any he had received from +Beauty Smith.</p> +<p>“Here! What are you doing?” Scott cried suddenly.</p> +<p>Matt had dashed into the cabin and come out with a rifle.</p> +<p>“Nothin’,” he said slowly, with a careless calmness +that was assumed, “only goin’ to keep that promise I made. +I reckon it’s up to me to kill ’m as I said I’d do.”</p> +<p>“No you don’t!”</p> +<p>“Yes I do. Watch me.”</p> +<p>As Matt had pleaded for White Fang when he had been bitten, it was +now Weedon Scott’s turn to plead.</p> +<p>“You said to give him a chance. Well, give it to him. +We’ve only just started, and we can’t quit at the beginning. +It served me right, this time. And—look at him!”</p> +<p>White Fang, near the corner of the cabin and forty feet away, was +snarling with blood-curdling viciousness, not at Scott, but at the dog-musher.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be everlastingly gosh-swoggled!” was +the dog-musher’s expression of astonishment.</p> +<p>“Look at the intelligence of him,” Scott went on hastily. +“He knows the meaning of firearms as well as you do. He’s +got intelligence and we’ve got to give that intelligence a chance. +Put up the gun.”</p> +<p>“All right, I’m willin’,” Matt agreed, leaning +the rifle against the woodpile</p> +<p>“But will you look at that!” he exclaimed the next moment.</p> +<p>White Fang had quieted down and ceased snarling. “This +is worth investigatin’. Watch.”</p> +<p>Matt, reached for the rifle, and at the same moment White Fang snarled. +He stepped away from the rifle, and White Fang’s lifted lips descended, +covering his teeth.</p> +<p>“Now, just for fun.”</p> +<p>Matt took the rifle and began slowly to raise it to his shoulder. +White Fang’s snarling began with the movement, and increased as +the movement approached its culmination. But the moment before +the rifle came to a level on him, he leaped sidewise behind the corner +of the cabin. Matt stood staring along the sights at the empty +space of snow which had been occupied by White Fang.</p> +<p>The dog-musher put the rifle down solemnly, then turned and looked +at his employer.</p> +<p>“I agree with you, Mr. Scott. That dog’s too intelligent +to kill.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—THE LOVE-MASTER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>As White Fang watched Weedon Scott approach, he bristled and snarled +to advertise that he would not submit to punishment. Twenty-four +hours had passed since he had slashed open the hand that was now bandaged +and held up by a sling to keep the blood out of it. In the past +White Fang had experienced delayed punishments, and he apprehended that +such a one was about to befall him. How could it be otherwise? +He had committed what was to him sacrilege, sunk his fangs into the +holy flesh of a god, and of a white-skinned superior god at that. +In the nature of things, and of intercourse with gods, something terrible +awaited him.</p> +<p>The god sat down several feet away. White Fang could see nothing +dangerous in that. When the gods administered punishment they +stood on their legs. Besides, this god had no club, no whip, no +firearm. And furthermore, he himself was free. No chain +nor stick bound him. He could escape into safety while the god +was scrambling to his feet. In the meantime he would wait and +see.</p> +<p>The god remained quiet, made no movement; and White Fang’s +snarl slowly dwindled to a growl that ebbed down in his throat and ceased. +Then the god spoke, and at the first sound of his voice, the hair rose +on White Fang’s neck and the growl rushed up in his throat. +But the god made no hostile movement, and went on calmly talking. +For a time White Fang growled in unison with him, a correspondence of +rhythm being established between growl and voice. But the god +talked on interminably. He talked to White Fang as White Fang +had never been talked to before. He talked softly and soothingly, +with a gentleness that somehow, somewhere, touched White Fang. +In spite of himself and all the pricking warnings of his instinct, White +Fang began to have confidence in this god. He had a feeling of +security that was belied by all his experience with men.</p> +<p>After a long time, the god got up and went into the cabin. +White Fang scanned him apprehensively when he came out. He had +neither whip nor club nor weapon. Nor was his uninjured hand behind +his back hiding something. He sat down as before, in the same +spot, several feet away. He held out a small piece of meat. +White Fang pricked his ears and investigated it suspiciously, managing +to look at the same time both at the meat and the god, alert for any +overt act, his body tense and ready to spring away at the first sign +of hostility.</p> +<p>Still the punishment delayed. The god merely held near to his +nose a piece of meat. And about the meat there seemed nothing +wrong. Still White Fang suspected; and though the meat was proffered +to him with short inviting thrusts of the hand, he refused to touch +it. The gods were all-wise, and there was no telling what masterful +treachery lurked behind that apparently harmless piece of meat. +In past experience, especially in dealing with squaws, meat and punishment +had often been disastrously related.</p> +<p>In the end, the god tossed the meat on the snow at White Fang’s +feet. He smelled the meat carefully; but he did not look at it. +While he smelled it he kept his eyes on the god. Nothing happened. +He took the meat into his mouth and swallowed it. Still nothing +happened. The god was actually offering him another piece of meat. +Again he refused to take it from the hand, and again it was tossed to +him. This was repeated a number of times. But there came +a time when the god refused to toss it. He kept it in his hand +and steadfastly proffered it.</p> +<p>The meat was good meat, and White Fang was hungry. Bit by bit, +infinitely cautious, he approached the hand. At last the time +came that he decided to eat the meat from the hand. He never took +his eyes from the god, thrusting his head forward with ears flattened +back and hair involuntarily rising and cresting on his neck. Also +a low growl rumbled in his throat as warning that he was not to be trifled +with. He ate the meat, and nothing happened. Piece by piece, +he ate all the meat, and nothing happened. Still the punishment +delayed.</p> +<p>He licked his chops and waited. The god went on talking. +In his voice was kindness—something of which White Fang had no +experience whatever. And within him it aroused feelings which +he had likewise never experienced before. He was aware of a certain +strange satisfaction, as though some need were being gratified, as though +some void in his being were being filled. Then again came the +prod of his instinct and the warning of past experience. The gods +were ever crafty, and they had unguessed ways of attaining their ends.</p> +<p>Ah, he had thought so! There it came now, the god’s hand, +cunning to hurt, thrusting out at him, descending upon his head. +But the god went on talking. His voice was soft and soothing. +In spite of the menacing hand, the voice inspired confidence. +And in spite of the assuring voice, the hand inspired distrust. +White Fang was torn by conflicting feelings, impulses. It seemed +he would fly to pieces, so terrible was the control he was exerting, +holding together by an unwonted indecision the counter-forces that struggled +within him for mastery.</p> +<p>He compromised. He snarled and bristled and flattened his ears. +But he neither snapped nor sprang away. The hand descended. +Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding +hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, +pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering, +he still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this +hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not +forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands +of men. But it was the will of the god, and he strove to submit.</p> +<p>The hand lifted and descended again in a patting, caressing movement. +This continued, but every time the hand lifted, the hair lifted under +it. And every time the hand descended, the ears flattened down +and a cavernous growl surged in his throat. White Fang growled +and growled with insistent warning. By this means he announced +that he was prepared to retaliate for any hurt he might receive. +There was no telling when the god’s ulterior motive might be disclosed. +At any moment that soft, confidence-inspiring voice might break forth +in a roar of wrath, that gentle and caressing hand transform itself +into a vice-like grip to hold him helpless and administer punishment.</p> +<p>But the god talked on softly, and ever the hand rose and fell with +non-hostile pats. White Fang experienced dual feelings. +It was distasteful to his instinct. It restrained him, opposed +the will of him toward personal liberty. And yet it was not physically +painful. On the contrary, it was even pleasant, in a physical +way. The patting movement slowly and carefully changed to a rubbing +of the ears about their bases, and the physical pleasure even increased +a little. Yet he continued to fear, and he stood on guard, expectant +of unguessed evil, alternately suffering and enjoying as one feeling +or the other came uppermost and swayed him.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be gosh-swoggled!”</p> +<p>So spoke Matt, coming out of the cabin, his sleeves rolled up, a +pan of dirty dish-water in his hands, arrested in the act of emptying +the pan by the sight of Weedon Scott patting White Fang.</p> +<p>At the instant his voice broke the silence, White Fang leaped back, +snarling savagely at him.</p> +<p>Matt regarded his employer with grieved disapproval.</p> +<p>“If you don’t mind my expressin’ my feelin’s, +Mr. Scott, I’ll make free to say you’re seventeen kinds +of a damn fool an’ all of ’em different, an’ then +some.”</p> +<p>Weedon Scott smiled with a superior air, gained his feet, and walked +over to White Fang. He talked soothingly to him, but not for long, +then slowly put out his hand, rested it on White Fang’s head, +and resumed the interrupted patting. White Fang endured it, keeping +his eyes fixed suspiciously, not upon the man that patted him, but upon +the man that stood in the doorway.</p> +<p>“You may be a number one, tip-top minin’ expert, all +right all right,” the dog-musher delivered himself oracularly, +“but you missed the chance of your life when you was a boy an’ +didn’t run off an’ join a circus.”</p> +<p>White Fang snarled at the sound of his voice, but this time did not +leap away from under the hand that was caressing his head and the back +of his neck with long, soothing strokes.</p> +<p>It was the beginning of the end for White Fang—the ending of +the old life and the reign of hate. A new and incomprehensibly +fairer life was dawning. It required much thinking and endless +patience on the part of Weedon Scott to accomplish this. And on +the part of White Fang it required nothing less than a revolution. +He had to ignore the urges and promptings of instinct and reason, defy +experience, give the lie to life itself.</p> +<p>Life, as he had known it, not only had had no place in it for much +that he now did; but all the currents had gone counter to those to which +he now abandoned himself. In short, when all things were considered, +he had to achieve an orientation far vaster than the one he had achieved +at the time he came voluntarily in from the Wild and accepted Grey Beaver +as his lord. At that time he was a mere puppy, soft from the making, +without form, ready for the thumb of circumstance to begin its work +upon him. But now it was different. The thumb of circumstance +had done its work only too well. By it he had been formed and +hardened into the Fighting Wolf, fierce and implacable, unloving and +unlovable. To accomplish the change was like a reflux of being, +and this when the plasticity of youth was no longer his; when the fibre +of him had become tough and knotty; when the warp and the woof of him +had made of him an adamantine texture, harsh and unyielding; when the +face of his spirit had become iron and all his instincts and axioms +had crystallised into set rules, cautions, dislikes, and desires.</p> +<p>Yet again, in this new orientation, it was the thumb of circumstance +that pressed and prodded him, softening that which had become hard and +remoulding it into fairer form. Weedon Scott was in truth this +thumb. He had gone to the roots of White Fang’s nature, +and with kindness touched to life potencies that had languished and +well-nigh perished. One such potency was <i>love</i>. It +took the place of <i>like</i>, which latter had been the highest feeling +that thrilled him in his intercourse with the gods.</p> +<p>But this love did not come in a day. It began with <i>like</i> +and out of it slowly developed. White Fang did not run away, though +he was allowed to remain loose, because he liked this new god. +This was certainly better than the life he had lived in the cage of +Beauty Smith, and it was necessary that he should have some god. +The lordship of man was a need of his nature. The seal of his +dependence on man had been set upon him in that early day when he turned +his back on the Wild and crawled to Grey Beaver’s feet to receive +the expected beating. This seal had been stamped upon him again, +and ineradicably, on his second return from the Wild, when the long +famine was over and there was fish once more in the village of Grey +Beaver.</p> +<p>And so, because he needed a god and because he preferred Weedon Scott +to Beauty Smith, White Fang remained. In acknowledgment of fealty, +he proceeded to take upon himself the guardianship of his master’s +property. He prowled about the cabin while the sled-dogs slept, +and the first night-visitor to the cabin fought him off with a club +until Weedon Scott came to the rescue. But White Fang soon learned +to differentiate between thieves and honest men, to appraise the true +value of step and carriage. The man who travelled, loud-stepping, +the direct line to the cabin door, he let alone—though he watched +him vigilantly until the door opened and he received the endorsement +of the master. But the man who went softly, by circuitous ways, +peering with caution, seeking after secrecy—that was the man who +received no suspension of judgment from White Fang, and who went away +abruptly, hurriedly, and without dignity.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott had set himself the task of redeeming White Fang—or +rather, of redeeming mankind from the wrong it had done White Fang. +It was a matter of principle and conscience. He felt that the +ill done White Fang was a debt incurred by man and that it must be paid. +So he went out of his way to be especially kind to the Fighting Wolf. +Each day he made it a point to caress and pet White Fang, and to do +it at length.</p> +<p>At first suspicious and hostile, White Fang grew to like this petting. +But there was one thing that he never outgrew—his growling. +Growl he would, from the moment the petting began till it ended. +But it was a growl with a new note in it. A stranger could not +hear this note, and to such a stranger the growling of White Fang was +an exhibition of primordial savagery, nerve-racking and blood-curdling. +But White Fang’s throat had become harsh-fibred from the making +of ferocious sounds through the many years since his first little rasp +of anger in the lair of his cubhood, and he could not soften the sounds +of that throat now to express the gentleness he felt. Nevertheless, +Weedon Scott’s ear and sympathy were fine enough to catch the +new note all but drowned in the fierceness—the note that was the +faintest hint of a croon of content and that none but he could hear.</p> +<p>As the days went by, the evolution of <i>like</i> into <i>love</i> +was accelerated. White Fang himself began to grow aware of it, +though in his consciousness he knew not what love was. It manifested +itself to him as a void in his being—a hungry, aching, yearning +void that clamoured to be filled. It was a pain and an unrest; +and it received easement only by the touch of the new god’s presence. +At such times love was joy to him, a wild, keen-thrilling satisfaction. +But when away from his god, the pain and the unrest returned; the void +in him sprang up and pressed against him with its emptiness, and the +hunger gnawed and gnawed unceasingly.</p> +<p>White Fang was in the process of finding himself. In spite +of the maturity of his years and of the savage rigidity of the mould +that had formed him, his nature was undergoing an expansion. There +was a burgeoning within him of strange feelings and unwonted impulses. +His old code of conduct was changing. In the past he had liked +comfort and surcease from pain, disliked discomfort and pain, and he +had adjusted his actions accordingly. But now it was different. +Because of this new feeling within him, he ofttimes elected discomfort +and pain for the sake of his god. Thus, in the early morning, +instead of roaming and foraging, or lying in a sheltered nook, he would +wait for hours on the cheerless cabin-stoop for a sight of the god’s +face. At night, when the god returned home, White Fang would leave +the warm sleeping-place he had burrowed in the snow in order to receive +the friendly snap of fingers and the word of greeting. Meat, even +meat itself, he would forego to be with his god, to receive a caress +from him or to accompany him down into the town.</p> +<p><i>Like</i> had been replaced by <i>love</i>. And love was +the plummet dropped down into the deeps of him where like had never +gone. And responsive out of his deeps had come the new thing—love. +That which was given unto him did he return. This was a god indeed, +a love-god, a warm and radiant god, in whose light White Fang’s +nature expanded as a flower expands under the sun.</p> +<p>But White Fang was not demonstrative. He was too old, too firmly +moulded, to become adept at expressing himself in new ways. He +was too self-possessed, too strongly poised in his own isolation. +Too long had he cultivated reticence, aloofness, and moroseness. +He had never barked in his life, and he could not now learn to bark +a welcome when his god approached. He was never in the way, never +extravagant nor foolish in the expression of his love. He never +ran to meet his god. He waited at a distance; but he always waited, +was always there. His love partook of the nature of worship, dumb, +inarticulate, a silent adoration. Only by the steady regard of +his eyes did he express his love, and by the unceasing following with +his eyes of his god’s every movement. Also, at times, when +his god looked at him and spoke to him, he betrayed an awkward self-consciousness, +caused by the struggle of his love to express itself and his physical +inability to express it.</p> +<p>He learned to adjust himself in many ways to his new mode of life. +It was borne in upon him that he must let his master’s dogs alone. +Yet his dominant nature asserted itself, and he had first to thrash +them into an acknowledgment of his superiority and leadership. +This accomplished, he had little trouble with them. They gave +trail to him when he came and went or walked among them, and when he +asserted his will they obeyed.</p> +<p>In the same way, he came to tolerate Matt—as a possession of +his master. His master rarely fed him. Matt did that, it +was his business; yet White Fang divined that it was his master’s +food he ate and that it was his master who thus led him vicariously. +Matt it was who tried to put him into the harness and make him haul +sled with the other dogs. But Matt failed. It was not until +Weedon Scott put the harness on White Fang and worked him, that he understood. +He took it as his master’s will that Matt should drive him and +work him just as he drove and worked his master’s other dogs.</p> +<p>Different from the Mackenzie toboggans were the Klondike sleds with +runners under them. And different was the method of driving the +dogs. There was no fan-formation of the team. The dogs worked +in single file, one behind another, hauling on double traces. +And here, in the Klondike, the leader was indeed the leader. The +wisest as well as strongest dog was the leader, and the team obeyed +him and feared him. That White Fang should quickly gain this post +was inevitable. He could not be satisfied with less, as Matt learned +after much inconvenience and trouble. White Fang picked out the +post for himself, and Matt backed his judgment with strong language +after the experiment had been tried. But, though he worked in +the sled in the day, White Fang did not forego the guarding of his master’s +property in the night. Thus he was on duty all the time, ever +vigilant and faithful, the most valuable of all the dogs.</p> +<p>“Makin’ free to spit out what’s in me,” Matt +said one day, “I beg to state that you was a wise guy all right +when you paid the price you did for that dog. You clean swindled +Beauty Smith on top of pushin’ his face in with your fist.”</p> +<p>A recrudescence of anger glinted in Weedon Scott’s grey eyes, +and he muttered savagely, “The beast!”</p> +<p>In the late spring a great trouble came to White Fang. Without +warning, the love-master disappeared. There had been warning, +but White Fang was unversed in such things and did not understand the +packing of a grip. He remembered afterwards that his packing had +preceded the master’s disappearance; but at the time he suspected +nothing. That night he waited for the master to return. +At midnight the chill wind that blew drove him to shelter at the rear +of the cabin. There he drowsed, only half asleep, his ears keyed +for the first sound of the familiar step. But, at two in the morning, +his anxiety drove him out to the cold front stoop, where he crouched, +and waited.</p> +<p>But no master came. In the morning the door opened and Matt +stepped outside. White Fang gazed at him wistfully. There +was no common speech by which he might learn what he wanted to know. +The days came and went, but never the master. White Fang, who +had never known sickness in his life, became sick. He became very +sick, so sick that Matt was finally compelled to bring him inside the +cabin. Also, in writing to his employer, Matt devoted a postscript +to White Fang.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott reading the letter down in Circle City, came upon the +following:</p> +<p>“That dam wolf won’t work. Won’t eat. +Aint got no spunk left. All the dogs is licking him. Wants +to know what has become of you, and I don’t know how to tell him. +Mebbe he is going to die.”</p> +<p>It was as Matt had said. White Fang had ceased eating, lost +heart, and allowed every dog of the team to thrash him. In the +cabin he lay on the floor near the stove, without interest in food, +in Matt, nor in life. Matt might talk gently to him or swear at +him, it was all the same; he never did more than turn his dull eyes +upon the man, then drop his head back to its customary position on his +fore-paws.</p> +<p>And then, one night, Matt, reading to himself with moving lips and +mumbled sounds, was startled by a low whine from White Fang. He +had got upon his feet, his ears cocked towards the door, and he was +listening intently. A moment later, Matt heard a footstep. +The door opened, and Weedon Scott stepped in. The two men shook +hands. Then Scott looked around the room.</p> +<p>“Where’s the wolf?” he asked.</p> +<p>Then he discovered him, standing where he had been lying, near to +the stove. He had not rushed forward after the manner of other +dogs. He stood, watching and waiting.</p> +<p>“Holy smoke!” Matt exclaimed. “Look at ’m +wag his tail!”</p> +<p>Weedon Scott strode half across the room toward him, at the same +time calling him. White Fang came to him, not with a great bound, +yet quickly. He was awakened from self-consciousness, but as he +drew near, his eyes took on a strange expression. Something, an +incommunicable vastness of feeling, rose up into his eyes as a light +and shone forth.</p> +<p>“He never looked at me that way all the time you was gone!” +Matt commented.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott did not hear. He was squatting down on his heels, +face to face with White Fang and petting him—rubbing at the roots +of the ears, making long caressing strokes down the neck to the shoulders, +tapping the spine gently with the balls of his fingers. And White +Fang was growling responsively, the crooning note of the growl more +pronounced than ever.</p> +<p>But that was not all. What of his joy, the great love in him, +ever surging and struggling to express itself, succeeding in finding +a new mode of expression. He suddenly thrust his head forward +and nudged his way in between the master’s arm and body. +And here, confined, hidden from view all except his ears, no longer +growling, he continued to nudge and snuggle.</p> +<p>The two men looked at each other. Scott’s eyes were shining.</p> +<p>“Gosh!” said Matt in an awe-stricken voice.</p> +<p>A moment later, when he had recovered himself, he said, “I +always insisted that wolf was a dog. Look at ’m!”</p> +<p>With the return of the love-master, White Fang’s recovery was +rapid. Two nights and a day he spent in the cabin. Then +he sallied forth. The sled-dogs had forgotten his prowess. +They remembered only the latest, which was his weakness and sickness. +At the sight of him as he came out of the cabin, they sprang upon him.</p> +<p>“Talk about your rough-houses,” Matt murmured gleefully, +standing in the doorway and looking on.</p> +<p>“Give ’m hell, you wolf! Give ’m hell!—an’ +then some!”</p> +<p>White Fang did not need the encouragement. The return of the +love-master was enough. Life was flowing through him again, splendid +and indomitable. He fought from sheer joy, finding in it an expression +of much that he felt and that otherwise was without speech. There +could be but one ending. The team dispersed in ignominious defeat, +and it was not until after dark that the dogs came sneaking back, one +by one, by meekness and humility signifying their fealty to White Fang.</p> +<p>Having learned to snuggle, White Fang was guilty of it often. +It was the final word. He could not go beyond it. The one +thing of which he had always been particularly jealous was his head. +He had always disliked to have it touched. It was the Wild in +him, the fear of hurt and of the trap, that had given rise to the panicky +impulses to avoid contacts. It was the mandate of his instinct +that that head must be free. And now, with the love-master, his +snuggling was the deliberate act of putting himself into a position +of hopeless helplessness. It was an expression of perfect confidence, +of absolute self-surrender, as though he said: “I put myself into +thy hands. Work thou thy will with me.”</p> +<p>One night, not long after the return, Scott and Matt sat at a game +of cribbage preliminary to going to bed. “Fifteen-two, fifteen-four +an’ a pair makes six,” Mat was pegging up, when there was +an outcry and sound of snarling without. They looked at each other +as they started to rise to their feet.</p> +<p>“The wolf’s nailed somebody,” Matt said.</p> +<p>A wild scream of fear and anguish hastened them.</p> +<p>“Bring a light!” Scott shouted, as he sprang outside.</p> +<p>Matt followed with the lamp, and by its light they saw a man lying +on his back in the snow. His arms were folded, one above the other, +across his face and throat. Thus he was trying to shield himself +from White Fang’s teeth. And there was need for it. +White Fang was in a rage, wickedly making his attack on the most vulnerable +spot. From shoulder to wrist of the crossed arms, the coat-sleeve, +blue flannel shirt and undershirt were ripped in rags, while the arms +themselves were terribly slashed and streaming blood.</p> +<p>All this the two men saw in the first instant. The next instant +Weedon Scott had White Fang by the throat and was dragging him clear. +White Fang struggled and snarled, but made no attempt to bite, while +he quickly quieted down at a sharp word from the master.</p> +<p>Matt helped the man to his feet. As he arose he lowered his +crossed arms, exposing the bestial face of Beauty Smith. The dog-musher +let go of him precipitately, with action similar to that of a man who +has picked up live fire. Beauty Smith blinked in the lamplight +and looked about him. He caught sight of White Fang and terror +rushed into his face.</p> +<p>At the same moment Matt noticed two objects lying in the snow. +He held the lamp close to them, indicating them with his toe for his +employer’s benefit—a steel dog-chain and a stout club.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott saw and nodded. Not a word was spoken. The +dog-musher laid his hand on Beauty Smith’s shoulder and faced +him to the right about. No word needed to be spoken. Beauty +Smith started.</p> +<p>In the meantime the love-master was patting White Fang and talking +to him.</p> +<p>“Tried to steal you, eh? And you wouldn’t have +it! Well, well, he made a mistake, didn’t he?”</p> +<p>“Must ‘a’ thought he had hold of seventeen devils,” +the dog-musher sniggered.</p> +<p>White Fang, still wrought up and bristling, growled and growled, +the hair slowly lying down, the crooning note remote and dim, but growing +in his throat.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART V</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE LONG TRAIL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was in the air. White Fang sensed the coming calamity, even +before there was tangible evidence of it. In vague ways it was +borne in upon him that a change was impending. He knew not how +nor why, yet he got his feel of the oncoming event from the gods themselves. +In ways subtler than they knew, they betrayed their intentions to the +wolf-dog that haunted the cabin-stoop, and that, though he never came +inside the cabin, knew what went on inside their brains.</p> +<p>“Listen to that, will you!” the dug-musher exclaimed +at supper one night.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott listened. Through the door came a low, anxious +whine, like a sobbing under the breath that had just grown audible. +Then came the long sniff, as White Fang reassured himself that his god +was still inside and had not yet taken himself off in mysterious and +solitary flight.</p> +<p>“I do believe that wolf’s on to you,” the dog-musher +said.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott looked across at his companion with eyes that almost +pleaded, though this was given the lie by his words.</p> +<p>“What the devil can I do with a wolf in California?” +he demanded.</p> +<p>“That’s what I say,” Matt answered. “What +the devil can you do with a wolf in California?”</p> +<p>But this did not satisfy Weedon Scott. The other seemed to +be judging him in a non-committal sort of way.</p> +<p>“White man’s dogs would have no show against him,” +Scott went on. “He’d kill them on sight. If +he didn’t bankrupt me with damaged suits, the authorities would +take him away from me and electrocute him.”</p> +<p>“He’s a downright murderer, I know,” was the dog-musher’s +comment.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott looked at him suspiciously.</p> +<p>“It would never do,” he said decisively.</p> +<p>“It would never do!” Matt concurred. “Why +you’d have to hire a man ’specially to take care of ’m.”</p> +<p>The other suspicion was allayed. He nodded cheerfully. +In the silence that followed, the low, half-sobbing whine was heard +at the door and then the long, questing sniff.</p> +<p>“There’s no denyin’ he thinks a hell of a lot of +you,” Matt said.</p> +<p>The other glared at him in sudden wrath. “Damn it all, +man! I know my own mind and what’s best!”</p> +<p>“I’m agreein’ with you, only . . . ”</p> +<p>“Only what?” Scott snapped out.</p> +<p>“Only . . . ” the dog-musher began softly, then changed +his mind and betrayed a rising anger of his own. “Well, +you needn’t get so all-fired het up about it. Judgin’ +by your actions one’d think you didn’t know your own mind.”</p> +<p>Weedon Scott debated with himself for a while, and then said more +gently: “You are right, Matt. I don’t know my own +mind, and that’s what’s the trouble.”</p> +<p>“Why, it would be rank ridiculousness for me to take that dog +along,” he broke out after another pause.</p> +<p>“I’m agreein’ with you,” was Matt’s +answer, and again his employer was not quite satisfied with him.</p> +<p>“But how in the name of the great Sardanapolis he knows you’re +goin’ is what gets me,” the dog-musher continued innocently.</p> +<p>“It’s beyond me, Matt,” Scott answered, with a +mournful shake of the head.</p> +<p>Then came the day when, through the open cabin door, White Fang saw +the fatal grip on the floor and the love-master packing things into +it. Also, there were comings and goings, and the erstwhile placid +atmosphere of the cabin was vexed with strange perturbations and unrest. +Here was indubitable evidence. White Fang had already scented +it. He now reasoned it. His god was preparing for another +flight. And since he had not taken him with him before, so, now, +he could look to be left behind.</p> +<p>That night he lifted the long wolf-howl. As he had howled, +in his puppy days, when he fled back from the Wild to the village to +find it vanished and naught but a rubbish-heap to mark the site of Grey +Beaver’s tepee, so now he pointed his muzzle to the cold stars +and told to them his woe.</p> +<p>Inside the cabin the two men had just gone to bed.</p> +<p>“He’s gone off his food again,” Matt remarked from +his bunk.</p> +<p>There was a grunt from Weedon Scott’s bunk, and a stir of blankets.</p> +<p>“From the way he cut up the other time you went away, I wouldn’t +wonder this time but what he died.”</p> +<p>The blankets in the other bunk stirred irritably.</p> +<p>“Oh, shut up!” Scott cried out through the darkness. +“You nag worse than a woman.”</p> +<p>“I’m agreein’ with you,” the dog-musher answered, +and Weedon Scott was not quite sure whether or not the other had snickered.</p> +<p>The next day White Fang’s anxiety and restlessness were even +more pronounced. He dogged his master’s heels whenever he +left the cabin, and haunted the front stoop when he remained inside. +Through the open door he could catch glimpses of the luggage on the +floor. The grip had been joined by two large canvas bags and a +box. Matt was rolling the master’s blankets and fur robe +inside a small tarpaulin. White Fang whined as he watched the +operation.</p> +<p>Later on two Indians arrived. He watched them closely as they +shouldered the luggage and were led off down the hill by Matt, who carried +the bedding and the grip. But White Fang did not follow them. +The master was still in the cabin. After a time, Matt returned. +The master came to the door and called White Fang inside.</p> +<p>“You poor devil,” he said gently, rubbing White Fang’s +ears and tapping his spine. “I’m hitting the long +trail, old man, where you cannot follow. Now give me a growl—the +last, good, good-bye growl.”</p> +<p>But White Fang refused to growl. Instead, and after a wistful, +searching look, he snuggled in, burrowing his head out of sight between +the master’s arm and body.</p> +<p>“There she blows!” Matt cried. From the Yukon arose +the hoarse bellowing of a river steamboat. “You’ve +got to cut it short. Be sure and lock the front door. I’ll +go out the back. Get a move on!”</p> +<p>The two doors slammed at the same moment, and Weedon Scott waited +for Matt to come around to the front. From inside the door came +a low whining and sobbing. Then there were long, deep-drawn sniffs.</p> +<p>“You must take good care of him, Matt,” Scott said, as +they started down the hill. “Write and let me know how he +gets along.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” the dog-musher answered. “But listen +to that, will you!”</p> +<p>Both men stopped. White Fang was howling as dogs howl when +their masters lie dead. He was voicing an utter woe, his cry bursting +upward in great heart-breaking rushes, dying down into quavering misery, +and bursting upward again with a rush upon rush of grief.</p> +<p>The <i>Aurora</i> was the first steamboat of the year for the Outside, +and her decks were jammed with prosperous adventurers and broken gold +seekers, all equally as mad to get to the Outside as they had been originally +to get to the Inside. Near the gang-plank, Scott was shaking hands +with Matt, who was preparing to go ashore. But Matt’s hand +went limp in the other’s grasp as his gaze shot past and remained +fixed on something behind him. Scott turned to see. Sitting +on the deck several feet away and watching wistfully was White Fang,</p> +<p>The dog-musher swore softly, in awe-stricken accents. Scott +could only look in wonder.</p> +<p>“Did you lock the front door?” Matt demanded. The +other nodded, and asked, “How about the back?”</p> +<p>“You just bet I did,” was the fervent reply.</p> +<p>White Fang flattened his ears ingratiatingly, but remained where +he was, making no attempt to approach.</p> +<p>“I’ll have to take ’m ashore with me.”</p> +<p>Matt made a couple of steps toward White Fang, but the latter slid +away from him. The dog-musher made a rush of it, and White Fang +dodged between the legs of a group of men. Ducking, turning, doubling, +he slid about the deck, eluding the other’s efforts to capture +him.</p> +<p>But when the love-master spoke, White Fang came to him with prompt +obedience.</p> +<p>“Won’t come to the hand that’s fed ’m all +these months,” the dog-musher muttered resentfully. “And +you—you ain’t never fed ’m after them first days of +gettin’ acquainted. I’m blamed if I can see how he +works it out that you’re the boss.”</p> +<p>Scott, who had been patting White Fang, suddenly bent closer and +pointed out fresh-made cuts on his muzzle, and a gash between the eyes.</p> +<p>Matt bent over and passed his hand along White Fang’s belly.</p> +<p>“We plump forgot the window. He’s all cut an’ +gouged underneath. Must ‘a’ butted clean through it, +b’gosh!”</p> +<p>But Weedon Scott was not listening. He was thinking rapidly. +The <i>Aurora’s</i> whistle hooted a final announcement of departure. +Men were scurrying down the gang-plank to the shore. Matt loosened +the bandana from his own neck and started to put it around White Fang’s. +Scott grasped the dog-musher’s hand.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Matt, old man. About the wolf-you needn’t +write. You see, I’ve . . . !”</p> +<p>“What!” the dog-musher exploded. “You don’t +mean to say . . .?”</p> +<p>“The very thing I mean. Here’s your bandana. +I’ll write to you about him.”</p> +<p>Matt paused halfway down the gang-plank.</p> +<p>“He’ll never stand the climate!” he shouted back. +“Unless you clip ’m in warm weather!”</p> +<p>The gang-plank was hauled in, and the <i>Aurora</i> swang out from +the bank. Weedon Scott waved a last good-bye. Then he turned +and bent over White Fang, standing by his side.</p> +<p>“Now growl, damn you, growl,” he said, as he patted the +responsive head and rubbed the flattening ears.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE SOUTHLAND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>White Fang landed from the steamer in San Francisco. He was +appalled. Deep in him, below any reasoning process or act of consciousness, +he had associated power with godhead. And never had the white +men seemed such marvellous gods as now, when he trod the slimy pavement +of San Francisco. The log cabins he had known were replaced by +towering buildings. The streets were crowded with perils—waggons, +carts, automobiles; great, straining horses pulling huge trucks; and +monstrous cable and electric ears hooting and clanging through the midst, +screeching their insistent menace after the manner of the lynxes he +had known in the northern woods.</p> +<p>All this was the manifestation of power. Through it all, behind +it all, was man, governing and controlling, expressing himself, as of +old, by his mastery over matter. It was colossal, stunning. +White Fang was awed. Fear sat upon him. As in his cubhood +he had been made to feel his smallness and puniness on the day he first +came in from the Wild to the village of Grey Beaver, so now, in his +full-grown stature and pride of strength, he was made to feel small +and puny. And there were so many gods! He was made dizzy +by the swarming of them. The thunder of the streets smote upon +his ears. He was bewildered by the tremendous and endless rush +and movement of things. As never before, he felt his dependence +on the love-master, close at whose heels he followed, no matter what +happened never losing sight of him.</p> +<p>But White Fang was to have no more than a nightmare vision of the +city—an experience that was like a bad dream, unreal and terrible, +that haunted him for long after in his dreams. He was put into +a baggage-car by the master, chained in a corner in the midst of heaped +trunks and valises. Here a squat and brawny god held sway, with +much noise, hurling trunks and boxes about, dragging them in through +the door and tossing them into the piles, or flinging them out of the +door, smashing and crashing, to other gods who awaited them.</p> +<p>And here, in this inferno of luggage, was White Fang deserted by +the master. Or at least White Fang thought he was deserted, until +he smelled out the master’s canvas clothes-bags alongside of him, +and proceeded to mount guard over them.</p> +<p>“‘Bout time you come,” growled the god of the car, +an hour later, when Weedon Scott appeared at the door. “That +dog of yourn won’t let me lay a finger on your stuff.”</p> +<p>White Fang emerged from the car. He was astonished. The +nightmare city was gone. The car had been to him no more than +a room in a house, and when he had entered it the city had been all +around him. In the interval the city had disappeared. The +roar of it no longer dinned upon his ears. Before him was smiling +country, streaming with sunshine, lazy with quietude. But he had +little time to marvel at the transformation. He accepted it as +he accepted all the unaccountable doings and manifestations of the gods. +It was their way.</p> +<p>There was a carriage waiting. A man and a woman approached +the master. The woman’s arms went out and clutched the master +around the neck—a hostile act! The next moment Weedon Scott +had torn loose from the embrace and closed with White Fang, who had +become a snarling, raging demon.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, mother,” Scott was saving as he +kept tight hold of White Fang and placated him. “He thought +you were going to injure me, and he wouldn’t stand for it. +It’s all right. It’s all right. He’ll +learn soon enough.”</p> +<p>“And in the meantime I may be permitted to love my son when +his dog is not around,” she laughed, though she was pale and weak +from the fright.</p> +<p>She looked at White Fang, who snarled and bristled and glared malevolently.</p> +<p>“He’ll have to learn, and he shall, without postponement,” +Scott said.</p> +<p>He spoke softly to White Fang until he had quieted him, then his +voice became firm.</p> +<p>“Down, sir! Down with you!”</p> +<p>This had been one of the things taught him by the master, and White +Fang obeyed, though he lay down reluctantly and sullenly.</p> +<p>“Now, mother.”</p> +<p>Scott opened his arms to her, but kept his eyes on White Fang.</p> +<p>“Down!” he warned. “Down!”</p> +<p>White Fang, bristling silently, half-crouching as he rose, sank back +and watched the hostile act repeated. But no harm came of it, +nor of the embrace from the strange man-god that followed. Then +the clothes-bags were taken into the carriage, the strange gods and +the love-master followed, and White Fang pursued, now running vigilantly +behind, now bristling up to the running horses and warning them that +he was there to see that no harm befell the god they dragged so swiftly +across the earth.</p> +<p>At the end of fifteen minutes, the carriage swung in through a stone +gateway and on between a double row of arched and interlacing walnut +trees. On either side stretched lawns, their broad sweep broken +here and there by great sturdy-limbed oaks. In the near distance, +in contrast with the young-green of the tended grass, sunburnt hay-fields +showed tan and gold; while beyond were the tawny hills and upland pastures. +From the head of the lawn, on the first soft swell from the valley-level, +looked down the deep-porched, many-windowed house.</p> +<p>Little opportunity was given White Fang to see all this. Hardly +had the carriage entered the grounds, when he was set upon by a sheep-dog, +bright-eyed, sharp-muzzled, righteously indignant and angry. It +was between him and the master, cutting him off. White Fang snarled +no warning, but his hair bristled as he made his silent and deadly rush. +This rush was never completed. He halted with awkward abruptness, +with stiff fore-legs bracing himself against his momentum, almost sitting +down on his haunches, so desirous was he of avoiding contact with the +dog he was in the act of attacking. It was a female, and the law +of his kind thrust a barrier between. For him to attack her would +require nothing less than a violation of his instinct.</p> +<p>But with the sheep-dog it was otherwise. Being a female, she +possessed no such instinct. On the other hand, being a sheep-dog, +her instinctive fear of the Wild, and especially of the wolf, was unusually +keen. White Fang was to her a wolf, the hereditary marauder who +had preyed upon her flocks from the time sheep were first herded and +guarded by some dim ancestor of hers. And so, as he abandoned +his rush at her and braced himself to avoid the contact, she sprang +upon him. He snarled involuntarily as he felt her teeth in his +shoulder, but beyond this made no offer to hurt her. He backed +away, stiff-legged with self-consciousness, and tried to go around her. +He dodged this way and that, and curved and turned, but to no purpose. +She remained always between him and the way he wanted to go.</p> +<p>“Here, Collie!” called the strange man in the carriage.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott laughed.</p> +<p>“Never mind, father. It is good discipline. White +Fang will have to learn many things, and it’s just as well that +he begins now. He’ll adjust himself all right.”</p> +<p>The carriage drove on, and still Collie blocked White Fang’s +way. He tried to outrun her by leaving the drive and circling +across the lawn but she ran on the inner and smaller circle, and was +always there, facing him with her two rows of gleaming teeth. +Back he circled, across the drive to the other lawn, and again she headed +him off.</p> +<p>The carriage was bearing the master away. White Fang caught +glimpses of it disappearing amongst the trees. The situation was +desperate. He essayed another circle. She followed, running +swiftly. And then, suddenly, he turned upon her. It was +his old fighting trick. Shoulder to shoulder, he struck her squarely. +Not only was she overthrown. So fast had she been running that +she rolled along, now on her back, now on her side, as she struggled +to stop, clawing gravel with her feet and crying shrilly her hurt pride +and indignation.</p> +<p>White Fang did not wait. The way was clear, and that was all +he had wanted. She took after him, never ceasing her outcry. +It was the straightaway now, and when it came to real running, White +Fang could teach her things. She ran frantically, hysterically, +straining to the utmost, advertising the effort she was making with +every leap: and all the time White Fang slid smoothly away from her +silently, without effort, gliding like a ghost over the ground.</p> +<p>As he rounded the house to the <i>porte-cochère</i>, he came +upon the carriage. It had stopped, and the master was alighting. +At this moment, still running at top speed, White Fang became suddenly +aware of an attack from the side. It was a deer-hound rushing +upon him. White Fang tried to face it. But he was going +too fast, and the hound was too close. It struck him on the side; +and such was his forward momentum and the unexpectedness of it, White +Fang was hurled to the ground and rolled clear over. He came out +of the tangle a spectacle of malignancy, ears flattened back, lips writhing, +nose wrinkling, his teeth clipping together as the fangs barely missed +the hound’s soft throat.</p> +<p>The master was running up, but was too far away; and it was Collie +that saved the hound’s life. Before White Fang could spring +in and deliver the fatal stroke, and just as he was in the act of springing +in, Collie arrived. She had been out-manoeuvred and out-run, to +say nothing of her having been unceremoniously tumbled in the gravel, +and her arrival was like that of a tornado—made up of offended +dignity, justifiable wrath, and instinctive hatred for this marauder +from the Wild. She struck White Fang at right angles in the midst +of his spring, and again he was knocked off his feet and rolled over.</p> +<p>The next moment the master arrived, and with one hand held White +Fang, while the father called off the dogs.</p> +<p>“I say, this is a pretty warm reception for a poor lone wolf +from the Arctic,” the master said, while White Fang calmed down +under his caressing hand. “In all his life he’s only +been known once to go off his feet, and here he’s been rolled +twice in thirty seconds.”</p> +<p>The carriage had driven away, and other strange gods had appeared +from out the house. Some of these stood respectfully at a distance; +but two of them, women, perpetrated the hostile act of clutching the +master around the neck. White Fang, however, was beginning to +tolerate this act. No harm seemed to come of it, while the noises +the gods made were certainly not threatening. These gods also +made overtures to White Fang, but he warned them off with a snarl, and +the master did likewise with word of mouth. At such times White +Fang leaned in close against the master’s legs and received reassuring +pats on the head.</p> +<p>The hound, under the command, “Dick! Lie down, sir!” +had gone up the steps and lain down to one side of the porch, still +growling and keeping a sullen watch on the intruder. Collie had +been taken in charge by one of the woman-gods, who held arms around +her neck and petted and caressed her; but Collie was very much perplexed +and worried, whining and restless, outraged by the permitted presence +of this wolf and confident that the gods were making a mistake.</p> +<p>All the gods started up the steps to enter the house. White +Fang followed closely at the master’s heels. Dick, on the +porch, growled, and White Fang, on the steps, bristled and growled back.</p> +<p>“Take Collie inside and leave the two of them to fight it out,” +suggested Scott’s father. “After that they’ll +be friends.”</p> +<p>“Then White Fang, to show his friendship, will have to be chief +mourner at the funeral,” laughed the master.</p> +<p>The elder Scott looked incredulously, first at White Fang, then at +Dick, and finally at his son.</p> +<p>“You mean . . .?”</p> +<p>Weedon nodded his head. “I mean just that. You’d +have a dead Dick inside one minute—two minutes at the farthest.”</p> +<p>He turned to White Fang. “Come on, you wolf. It’s +you that’ll have to come inside.”</p> +<p>White Fang walked stiff-legged up the steps and across the porch, +with tail rigidly erect, keeping his eyes on Dick to guard against a +flank attack, and at the same time prepared for whatever fierce manifestation +of the unknown that might pounce out upon him from the interior of the +house. But no thing of fear pounced out, and when he had gained +the inside he scouted carefully around, looking at it and finding it +not. Then he lay down with a contented grunt at the master’s +feet, observing all that went on, ever ready to spring to his feet and +fight for life with the terrors he felt must lurk under the trap-roof +of the dwelling.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE GOD’S DOMAIN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Not only was White Fang adaptable by nature, but he had travelled +much, and knew the meaning and necessity of adjustment. Here, +in Sierra Vista, which was the name of Judge Scott’s place, White +Fang quickly began to make himself at home. He had no further +serious trouble with the dogs. They knew more about the ways of +the Southland gods than did he, and in their eyes he had qualified when +he accompanied the gods inside the house. Wolf that he was, and +unprecedented as it was, the gods had sanctioned his presence, and they, +the dogs of the gods, could only recognise this sanction.</p> +<p>Dick, perforce, had to go through a few stiff formalities at first, +after which he calmly accepted White Fang as an addition to the premises. +Had Dick had his way, they would have been good friends. All but +White Fang was averse to friendship. All he asked of other dogs +was to be let alone. His whole life he had kept aloof from his +kind, and he still desired to keep aloof. Dick’s overtures +bothered him, so he snarled Dick away. In the north he had learned +the lesson that he must let the master’s dogs alone, and he did +not forget that lesson now. But he insisted on his own privacy +and self-seclusion, and so thoroughly ignored Dick that that good-natured +creature finally gave him up and scarcely took as much interest in him +as in the hitching-post near the stable.</p> +<p>Not so with Collie. While she accepted him because it was the +mandate of the gods, that was no reason that she should leave him in +peace. Woven into her being was the memory of countless crimes +he and his had perpetrated against her ancestry. Not in a day +nor a generation were the ravaged sheepfolds to be forgotten. +All this was a spur to her, pricking her to retaliation. She could +not fly in the face of the gods who permitted him, but that did not +prevent her from making life miserable for him in petty ways. +A feud, ages old, was between them, and she, for one, would see to it +that he was reminded.</p> +<p>So Collie took advantage of her sex to pick upon White Fang and maltreat +him. His instinct would not permit him to attack her, while her +persistence would not permit him to ignore her. When she rushed +at him he turned his fur-protected shoulder to her sharp teeth and walked +away stiff-legged and stately. When she forced him too hard, he +was compelled to go about in a circle, his shoulder presented to her, +his head turned from her, and on his face and in his eyes a patient +and bored expression. Sometimes, however, a nip on his hind-quarters +hastened his retreat and made it anything but stately. But as +a rule he managed to maintain a dignity that was almost solemnity. +He ignored her existence whenever it was possible, and made it a point +to keep out of her way. When he saw or heard her coming, he got +up and walked off.</p> +<p>There was much in other matters for White Fang to learn. Life +in the Northland was simplicity itself when compared with the complicated +affairs of Sierra Vista. First of all, he had to learn the family +of the master. In a way he was prepared to do this. As Mit-sah +and Kloo-kooch had belonged to Grey Beaver, sharing his food, his fire, +and his blankets, so now, at Sierra Vista, belonged to the love-master +all the denizens of the house.</p> +<p>But in this matter there was a difference, and many differences. +Sierra Vista was a far vaster affair than the tepee of Grey Beaver. +There were many persons to be considered. There was Judge Scott, +and there was his wife. There were the master’s two sisters, +Beth and Mary. There was his wife, Alice, and then there were +his children, Weedon and Maud, toddlers of four and six. There +was no way for anybody to tell him about all these people, and of blood-ties +and relationship he knew nothing whatever and never would be capable +of knowing. Yet he quickly worked it out that all of them belonged +to the master. Then, by observation, whenever opportunity offered, +by study of action, speech, and the very intonations of the voice, he +slowly learned the intimacy and the degree of favour they enjoyed with +the master. And by this ascertained standard, White Fang treated +them accordingly. What was of value to the master he valued; what +was dear to the master was to be cherished by White Fang and guarded +carefully.</p> +<p>Thus it was with the two children. All his life he had disliked +children. He hated and feared their hands. The lessons were +not tender that he had learned of their tyranny and cruelty in the days +of the Indian villages. When Weedon and Maud had first approached +him, he growled warningly and looked malignant. A cuff from the +master and a sharp word had then compelled him to permit their caresses, +though he growled and growled under their tiny hands, and in the growl +there was no crooning note. Later, he observed that the boy and +girl were of great value in the master’s eyes. Then it was +that no cuff nor sharp word was necessary before they could pat him.</p> +<p>Yet White Fang was never effusively affectionate. He yielded +to the master’s children with an ill but honest grace, and endured +their fooling as one would endure a painful operation. When he +could no longer endure, he would get up and stalk determinedly away +from them. But after a time, he grew even to like the children. +Still he was not demonstrative. He would not go up to them. +On the other hand, instead of walking away at sight of them, he waited +for them to come to him. And still later, it was noticed that +a pleased light came into his eyes when he saw them approaching, and +that he looked after them with an appearance of curious regret when +they left him for other amusements.</p> +<p>All this was a matter of development, and took time. Next in +his regard, after the children, was Judge Scott. There were two +reasons, possibly, for this. First, he was evidently a valuable +possession of the master’s, and next, he was undemonstrative. +White Fang liked to lie at his feet on the wide porch when he read the +newspaper, from time to time favouring White Fang with a look or a word—untroublesome +tokens that he recognised White Fang’s presence and existence. +But this was only when the master was not around. When the master +appeared, all other beings ceased to exist so far as White Fang was +concerned.</p> +<p>White Fang allowed all the members of the family to pet him and make +much of him; but he never gave to them what he gave to the master. +No caress of theirs could put the love-croon into his throat, and, try +as they would, they could never persuade him into snuggling against +them. This expression of abandon and surrender, of absolute trust, +he reserved for the master alone. In fact, he never regarded the +members of the family in any other light than possessions of the love-master.</p> +<p>Also White Fang had early come to differentiate between the family +and the servants of the household. The latter were afraid of him, +while he merely refrained from attacking them. This because he +considered that they were likewise possessions of the master. +Between White Fang and them existed a neutrality and no more. +They cooked for the master and washed the dishes and did other things +just as Matt had done up in the Klondike. They were, in short, +appurtenances of the household.</p> +<p>Outside the household there was even more for White Fang to learn. +The master’s domain was wide and complex, yet it had its metes +and bounds. The land itself ceased at the county road. Outside +was the common domain of all gods—the roads and streets. +Then inside other fences were the particular domains of other gods. +A myriad laws governed all these things and determined conduct; yet +he did not know the speech of the gods, nor was there any way for him +to learn save by experience. He obeyed his natural impulses until +they ran him counter to some law. When this had been done a few +times, he learned the law and after that observed it.</p> +<p>But most potent in his education was the cuff of the master’s +hand, the censure of the master’s voice. Because of White +Fang’s very great love, a cuff from the master hurt him far more +than any beating Grey Beaver or Beauty Smith had ever given him. +They had hurt only the flesh of him; beneath the flesh the spirit had +still raged, splendid and invincible. But with the master the +cuff was always too light to hurt the flesh. Yet it went deeper. +It was an expression of the master’s disapproval, and White Fang’s +spirit wilted under it.</p> +<p>In point of fact, the cuff was rarely administered. The master’s +voice was sufficient. By it White Fang knew whether he did right +or not. By it he trimmed his conduct and adjusted his actions. +It was the compass by which he steered and learned to chart the manners +of a new land and life.</p> +<p>In the Northland, the only domesticated animal was the dog. +All other animals lived in the Wild, and were, when not too formidable, +lawful spoil for any dog. All his days White Fang had foraged +among the live things for food. It did not enter his head that +in the Southland it was otherwise. But this he was to learn early +in his residence in Santa Clara Valley. Sauntering around the +corner of the house in the early morning, he came upon a chicken that +had escaped from the chicken-yard. White Fang’s natural +impulse was to eat it. A couple of bounds, a flash of teeth and +a frightened squawk, and he had scooped in the adventurous fowl. +It was farm-bred and fat and tender; and White Fang licked his chops +and decided that such fare was good.</p> +<p>Later in the day, he chanced upon another stray chicken near the +stables. One of the grooms ran to the rescue. He did not +know White Fang’s breed, so for weapon he took a light buggy-whip. +At the first cut of the whip, White Fang left the chicken for the man. +A club might have stopped White Fang, but not a whip. Silently, +without flinching, he took a second cut in his forward rush, and as +he leaped for the throat the groom cried out, “My God!” +and staggered backward. He dropped the whip and shielded his throat +with his arms. In consequence, his forearm was ripped open to +the bone.</p> +<p>The man was badly frightened. It was not so much White Fang’s +ferocity as it was his silence that unnerved the groom. Still +protecting his throat and face with his torn and bleeding arm, he tried +to retreat to the barn. And it would have gone hard with him had +not Collie appeared on the scene. As she had saved Dick’s +life, she now saved the groom’s. She rushed upon White Fang +in frenzied wrath. She had been right. She had known better +than the blundering gods. All her suspicions were justified. +Here was the ancient marauder up to his old tricks again.</p> +<p>The groom escaped into the stables, and White Fang backed away before +Collie’s wicked teeth, or presented his shoulder to them and circled +round and round. But Collie did not give over, as was her wont, +after a decent interval of chastisement. On the contrary, she +grew more excited and angry every moment, until, in the end, White Fang +flung dignity to the winds and frankly fled away from her across the +fields.</p> +<p>“He’ll learn to leave chickens alone,” the master +said. “But I can’t give him the lesson until I catch +him in the act.”</p> +<p>Two nights later came the act, but on a more generous scale than +the master had anticipated. White Fang had observed closely the +chicken-yards and the habits of the chickens. In the night-time, +after they had gone to roost, he climbed to the top of a pile of newly +hauled lumber. From there he gained the roof of a chicken-house, +passed over the ridgepole and dropped to the ground inside. A +moment later he was inside the house, and the slaughter began.</p> +<p>In the morning, when the master came out on to the porch, fifty white +Leghorn hens, laid out in a row by the groom, greeted his eyes. +He whistled to himself, softly, first with surprise, and then, at the +end, with admiration. His eyes were likewise greeted by White +Fang, but about the latter there were no signs of shame nor guilt. +He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved +a deed praiseworthy and meritorious. There was about him no consciousness +of sin. The master’s lips tightened as he faced the disagreeable +task. Then he talked harshly to the unwitting culprit, and in +his voice there was nothing but godlike wrath. Also, he held White +Fang’s nose down to the slain hens, and at the same time cuffed +him soundly.</p> +<p>White Fang never raided a chicken-roost again. It was against +the law, and he had learned it. Then the master took him into +the chicken-yards. White Fang’s natural impulse, when he +saw the live food fluttering about him and under his very nose, was +to spring upon it. He obeyed the impulse, but was checked by the +master’s voice. They continued in the yards for half an +hour. Time and again the impulse surged over White Fang, and each +time, as he yielded to it, he was checked by the master’s voice. +Thus it was he learned the law, and ere he left the domain of the chickens, +he had learned to ignore their existence.</p> +<p>“You can never cure a chicken-killer.” Judge Scott +shook his head sadly at luncheon table, when his son narrated the lesson +he had given White Fang. “Once they’ve got the habit +and the taste of blood . . .” Again he shook his head sadly.</p> +<p>But Weedon Scott did not agree with his father. “I’ll +tell you what I’ll do,” he challenged finally. “I’ll +lock White Fang in with the chickens all afternoon.”</p> +<p>“But think of the chickens,” objected the judge.</p> +<p>“And furthermore,” the son went on, “for every +chicken he kills, I’ll pay you one dollar gold coin of the realm.”</p> +<p>“But you should penalise father, too,” interpose Beth.</p> +<p>Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around +the table. Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement.</p> +<p>“All right.” Weedon Scott pondered for a moment. +“And if, at the end of the afternoon White Fang hasn’t harmed +a chicken, for every ten minutes of the time he has spent in the yard, +you will have to say to him, gravely and with deliberation, just as +if you were sitting on the bench and solemnly passing judgment, ‘White +Fang, you are smarter than I thought.’”</p> +<p>From hidden points of vantage the family watched the performance. +But it was a fizzle. Locked in the yard and there deserted by +the master, White Fang lay down and went to sleep. Once he got +up and walked over to the trough for a drink of water. The chickens +he calmly ignored. So far as he was concerned they did not exist. +At four o’clock he executed a running jump, gained the roof of +the chicken-house and leaped to the ground outside, whence he sauntered +gravely to the house. He had learned the law. And on the +porch, before the delighted family, Judge Scott, face to face with White +Fang, said slowly and solemnly, sixteen times, “White Fang, you +are smarter than I thought.”</p> +<p>But it was the multiplicity of laws that befuddled White Fang and +often brought him into disgrace. He had to learn that he must +not touch the chickens that belonged to other gods. Then there +were cats, and rabbits, and turkeys; all these he must let alone. +In fact, when he had but partly learned the law, his impression was +that he must leave all live things alone. Out in the back-pasture, +a quail could flutter up under his nose unharmed. All tense and +trembling with eagerness and desire, he mastered his instinct and stood +still. He was obeying the will of the gods.</p> +<p>And then, one day, again out in the back-pasture, he saw Dick start +a jackrabbit and run it. The master himself was looking on and +did not interfere. Nay, he encouraged White Fang to join in the +chase. And thus he learned that there was no taboo on jackrabbits. +In the end he worked out the complete law. Between him and all +domestic animals there must be no hostilities. If not amity, at +least neutrality must obtain. But the other animals—the +squirrels, and quail, and cottontails, were creatures of the Wild who +had never yielded allegiance to man. They were the lawful prey +of any dog. It was only the tame that the gods protected, and +between the tame deadly strife was not permitted. The gods held +the power of life and death over their subjects, and the gods were jealous +of their power.</p> +<p>Life was complex in the Santa Clara Valley after the simplicities +of the Northland. And the chief thing demanded by these intricacies +of civilisation was control, restraint—a poise of self that was +as delicate as the fluttering of gossamer wings and at the same time +as rigid as steel. Life had a thousand faces, and White Fang found +he must meet them all—thus, when he went to town, in to San Jose, +running behind the carriage or loafing about the streets when the carriage +stopped. Life flowed past him, deep and wide and varied, continually +impinging upon his senses, demanding of him instant and endless adjustments +and correspondences, and compelling him, almost always, to suppress +his natural impulses.</p> +<p>There were butcher-shops where meat hung within reach. This +meat he must not touch. There were cats at the houses the master +visited that must be let alone. And there were dogs everywhere +that snarled at him and that he must not attack. And then, on +the crowded sidewalks there were persons innumerable whose attention +he attracted. They would stop and look at him, point him out to +one another, examine him, talk of him, and, worst of all, pat him. +And these perilous contacts from all these strange hands he must endure. +Yet this endurance he achieved. Furthermore, he got over being +awkward and self-conscious. In a lofty way he received the attentions +of the multitudes of strange gods. With condescension he accepted +their condescension. On the other hand, there was something about +him that prevented great familiarity. They patted him on the head +and passed on, contented and pleased with their own daring.</p> +<p>But it was not all easy for White Fang. Running behind the +carriage in the outskirts of San Jose, he encountered certain small +boys who made a practice of flinging stones at him. Yet he knew +that it was not permitted him to pursue and drag them down. Here +he was compelled to violate his instinct of self-preservation, and violate +it he did, for he was becoming tame and qualifying himself for civilisation.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, White Fang was not quite satisfied with the arrangement. +He had no abstract ideas about justice and fair play. But there +is a certain sense of equity that resides in life, and it was this sense +in him that resented the unfairness of his being permitted no defence +against the stone-throwers. He forgot that in the covenant entered +into between him and the gods they were pledged to care for him and +defend him. But one day the master sprang from the carriage, whip +in hand, and gave the stone-throwers a thrashing. After that they +threw stones no more, and White Fang understood and was satisfied.</p> +<p>One other experience of similar nature was his. On the way +to town, hanging around the saloon at the cross-roads, were three dogs +that made a practice of rushing out upon him when he went by. +Knowing his deadly method of fighting, the master had never ceased impressing +upon White Fang the law that he must not fight. As a result, having +learned the lesson well, White Fang was hard put whenever he passed +the cross-roads saloon. After the first rush, each time, his snarl +kept the three dogs at a distance but they trailed along behind, yelping +and bickering and insulting him. This endured for some time. +The men at the saloon even urged the dogs on to attack White Fang. +One day they openly sicked the dogs on him. The master stopped +the carriage.</p> +<p>“Go to it,” he said to White Fang.</p> +<p>But White Fang could not believe. He looked at the master, +and he looked at the dogs. Then he looked back eagerly and questioningly +at the master.</p> +<p>The master nodded his head. “Go to them, old fellow. +Eat them up.”</p> +<p>White Fang no longer hesitated. He turned and leaped silently +among his enemies. All three faced him. There was a great +snarling and growling, a clashing of teeth and a flurry of bodies. +The dust of the road arose in a cloud and screened the battle. +But at the end of several minutes two dogs were struggling in the dirt +and the third was in full flight. He leaped a ditch, went through +a rail fence, and fled across a field. White Fang followed, sliding +over the ground in wolf fashion and with wolf speed, swiftly and without +noise, and in the centre of the field he dragged down and slew the dog.</p> +<p>With this triple killing his main troubles with dogs ceased. +The word went up and down the valley, and men saw to it that their dogs +did not molest the Fighting Wolf.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE CALL OF KIND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The months came and went. There was plenty of food and no work +in the Southland, and White Fang lived fat and prosperous and happy. +Not alone was he in the geographical Southland, for he was in the Southland +of life. Human kindness was like a sun shining upon him, and he +flourished like a flower planted in good soil.</p> +<p>And yet he remained somehow different from other dogs. He knew +the law even better than did the dogs that had known no other life, +and he observed the law more punctiliously; but still there was about +him a suggestion of lurking ferocity, as though the Wild still lingered +in him and the wolf in him merely slept.</p> +<p>He never chummed with other dogs. Lonely he had lived, so far +as his kind was concerned, and lonely he would continue to live. +In his puppyhood, under the persecution of Lip-lip and the puppy-pack, +and in his fighting days with Beauty Smith, he had acquired a fixed +aversion for dogs. The natural course of his life had been diverted, +and, recoiling from his kind, he had clung to the human.</p> +<p>Besides, all Southland dogs looked upon him with suspicion. +He aroused in them their instinctive fear of the Wild, and they greeted +him always with snarl and growl and belligerent hatred. He, on +the other hand, learned that it was not necessary to use his teeth upon +them. His naked fangs and writhing lips were uniformly efficacious, +rarely failing to send a bellowing on-rushing dog back on its haunches.</p> +<p>But there was one trial in White Fang’s life—Collie. +She never gave him a moment’s peace. She was not so amenable +to the law as he. She defied all efforts of the master to make +her become friends with White Fang. Ever in his ears was sounding +her sharp and nervous snarl. She had never forgiven him the chicken-killing +episode, and persistently held to the belief that his intentions were +bad. She found him guilty before the act, and treated him accordingly. +She became a pest to him, like a policeman following him around the +stable and the hounds, and, if he even so much as glanced curiously +at a pigeon or chicken, bursting into an outcry of indignation and wrath. +His favourite way of ignoring her was to lie down, with his head on +his fore-paws, and pretend sleep. This always dumfounded and silenced +her.</p> +<p>With the exception of Collie, all things went well with White Fang. +He had learned control and poise, and he knew the law. He achieved +a staidness, and calmness, and philosophic tolerance. He no longer +lived in a hostile environment. Danger and hurt and death did +not lurk everywhere about him. In time, the unknown, as a thing +of terror and menace ever impending, faded away. Life was soft +and easy. It flowed along smoothly, and neither fear nor foe lurked +by the way.</p> +<p>He missed the snow without being aware of it. “An unduly +long summer,” would have been his thought had he thought about +it; as it was, he merely missed the snow in a vague, subconscious way. +In the same fashion, especially in the heat of summer when he suffered +from the sun, he experienced faint longings for the Northland. +Their only effect upon him, however, was to make him uneasy and restless +without his knowing what was the matter.</p> +<p>White Fang had never been very demonstrative. Beyond his snuggling +and the throwing of a crooning note into his love-growl, he had no way +of expressing his love. Yet it was given him to discover a third +way. He had always been susceptible to the laughter of the gods. +Laughter had affected him with madness, made him frantic with rage. +But he did not have it in him to be angry with the love-master, and +when that god elected to laugh at him in a good-natured, bantering way, +he was nonplussed. He could feel the pricking and stinging of +the old anger as it strove to rise up in him, but it strove against +love. He could not be angry; yet he had to do something. +At first he was dignified, and the master laughed the harder. +Then he tried to be more dignified, and the master laughed harder than +before. In the end, the master laughed him out of his dignity. +His jaws slightly parted, his lips lifted a little, and a quizzical +expression that was more love than humour came into his eyes. +He had learned to laugh.</p> +<p>Likewise he learned to romp with the master, to be tumbled down and +rolled over, and be the victim of innumerable rough tricks. In +return he feigned anger, bristling and growling ferociously, and clipping +his teeth together in snaps that had all the seeming of deadly intention. +But he never forgot himself. Those snaps were always delivered +on the empty air. At the end of such a romp, when blow and cuff +and snap and snarl were last and furious, they would break off suddenly +and stand several feet apart, glaring at each other. And then, +just as suddenly, like the sun rising on a stormy sea, they would begin +to laugh. This would always culminate with the master’s +arms going around White Fang’s neck and shoulders while the latter +crooned and growled his love-song.</p> +<p>But nobody else ever romped with White Fang. He did not permit +it. He stood on his dignity, and when they attempted it, his warning +snarl and bristling mane were anything but playful. That he allowed +the master these liberties was no reason that he should be a common +dog, loving here and loving there, everybody’s property for a +romp and good time. He loved with single heart and refused to +cheapen himself or his love.</p> +<p>The master went out on horseback a great deal, and to accompany him +was one of White Fang’s chief duties in life. In the Northland +he had evidenced his fealty by toiling in the harness; but there were +no sleds in the Southland, nor did dogs pack burdens on their backs. +So he rendered fealty in the new way, by running with the master’s +horse. The longest day never played White Fang out. His +was the gait of the wolf, smooth, tireless and effortless, and at the +end of fifty miles he would come in jauntily ahead of the horse.</p> +<p>It was in connection with the riding, that White Fang achieved one +other mode of expression—remarkable in that he did it but twice +in all his life. The first time occurred when the master was trying +to teach a spirited thoroughbred the method of opening and closing gates +without the rider’s dismounting. Time and again and many +times he ranged the horse up to the gate in the effort to close it and +each time the horse became frightened and backed and plunged away. +It grew more nervous and excited every moment. When it reared, +the master put the spurs to it and made it drop its fore-legs back to +earth, whereupon it would begin kicking with its hind-legs. White +Fang watched the performance with increasing anxiety until he could +contain himself no longer, when he sprang in front of the horse and +barked savagely and warningly.</p> +<p>Though he often tried to bark thereafter, and the master encouraged +him, he succeeded only once, and then it was not in the master’s +presence. A scamper across the pasture, a jackrabbit rising suddenly +under the horse’s feet, a violent sheer, a stumble, a fall to +earth, and a broken leg for the master, was the cause of it. White +Fang sprang in a rage at the throat of the offending horse, but was +checked by the master’s voice.</p> +<p>“Home! Go home!” the master commanded when he had +ascertained his injury.</p> +<p>White Fang was disinclined to desert him. The master thought +of writing a note, but searched his pockets vainly for pencil and paper. +Again he commanded White Fang to go home.</p> +<p>The latter regarded him wistfully, started away, then returned and +whined softly. The master talked to him gently but seriously, +and he cocked his ears, and listened with painful intentness.</p> +<p>“That’s all right, old fellow, you just run along home,” +ran the talk. “Go on home and tell them what’s happened +to me. Home with you, you wolf. Get along home!”</p> +<p>White Fang knew the meaning of “home,” and though he +did not understand the remainder of the master’s language, he +knew it was his will that he should go home. He turned and trotted +reluctantly away. Then he stopped, undecided, and looked back +over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Go home!” came the sharp command, and this time he obeyed.</p> +<p>The family was on the porch, taking the cool of the afternoon, when +White Fang arrived. He came in among them, panting, covered with +dust.</p> +<p>“Weedon’s back,” Weedon’s mother announced.</p> +<p>The children welcomed White Fang with glad cries and ran to meet +him. He avoided them and passed down the porch, but they cornered +him against a rocking-chair and the railing. He growled and tried +to push by them. Their mother looked apprehensively in their direction.</p> +<p>“I confess, he makes me nervous around the children,” +she said. “I have a dread that he will turn upon them unexpectedly +some day.”</p> +<p>Growling savagely, White Fang sprang out of the corner, overturning +the boy and the girl. The mother called them to her and comforted +them, telling them not to bother White Fang.</p> +<p>“A wolf is a wolf!” commented Judge Scott. “There +is no trusting one.”</p> +<p>“But he is not all wolf,” interposed Beth, standing for +her brother in his absence.</p> +<p>“You have only Weedon’s opinion for that,” rejoined +the judge. “He merely surmises that there is some strain +of dog in White Fang; but as he will tell you himself, he knows nothing +about it. As for his appearance—”</p> +<p>He did not finish his sentence. White Fang stood before him, +growling fiercely.</p> +<p>“Go away! Lie down, sir!” Judge Scott commanded.</p> +<p>White Fang turned to the love-master’s wife. She screamed +with fright as he seized her dress in his teeth and dragged on it till +the frail fabric tore away. By this time he had become the centre +of interest.</p> +<p>He had ceased from his growling and stood, head up, looking into +their faces. His throat worked spasmodically, but made no sound, +while he struggled with all his body, convulsed with the effort to rid +himself of the incommunicable something that strained for utterance.</p> +<p>“I hope he is not going mad,” said Weedon’s mother. +“I told Weedon that I was afraid the warm climate would not agree +with an Arctic animal.”</p> +<p>“He’s trying to speak, I do believe,” Beth announced.</p> +<p>At this moment speech came to White Fang, rushing up in a great burst +of barking.</p> +<p>“Something has happened to Weedon,” his wife said decisively.</p> +<p>They were all on their feet now, and White Fang ran down the steps, +looking back for them to follow. For the second and last time +in his life he had barked and made himself understood.</p> +<p>After this event he found a warmer place in the hearts of the Sierra +Vista people, and even the groom whose arm he had slashed admitted that +he was a wise dog even if he was a wolf. Judge Scott still held +to the same opinion, and proved it to everybody’s dissatisfaction +by measurements and descriptions taken from the encyclopaedia and various +works on natural history.</p> +<p>The days came and went, streaming their unbroken sunshine over the +Santa Clara Valley. But as they grew shorter and White Fang’s +second winter in the Southland came on, he made a strange discovery. +Collie’s teeth were no longer sharp. There was a playfulness +about her nips and a gentleness that prevented them from really hurting +him. He forgot that she had made life a burden to him, and when +she disported herself around him he responded solemnly, striving to +be playful and becoming no more than ridiculous.</p> +<p>One day she led him off on a long chase through the back-pasture +land into the woods. It was the afternoon that the master was +to ride, and White Fang knew it. The horse stood saddled and waiting +at the door. White Fang hesitated. But there was that in +him deeper than all the law he had learned, than the customs that had +moulded him, than his love for the master, than the very will to live +of himself; and when, in the moment of his indecision, Collie nipped +him and scampered off, he turned and followed after. The master +rode alone that day; and in the woods, side by side, White Fang ran +with Collie, as his mother, Kiche, and old One Eye had run long years +before in the silent Northland forest.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE SLEEPING WOLF</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was about this time that the newspapers were full of the daring +escape of a convict from San Quentin prison. He was a ferocious +man. He had been ill-made in the making. He had not been +born right, and he had not been helped any by the moulding he had received +at the hands of society. The hands of society are harsh, and this +man was a striking sample of its handiwork. He was a beast—a +human beast, it is true, but nevertheless so terrible a beast that he +can best be characterised as carnivorous.</p> +<p>In San Quentin prison he had proved incorrigible. Punishment +failed to break his spirit. He could die dumb-mad and fighting +to the last, but he could not live and be beaten. The more fiercely +he fought, the more harshly society handled him, and the only effect +of harshness was to make him fiercer. Straight-jackets, starvation, +and beatings and clubbings were the wrong treatment for Jim Hall; but +it was the treatment he received. It was the treatment he had +received from the time he was a little pulpy boy in a San Francisco +slum—soft clay in the hands of society and ready to be formed +into something.</p> +<p>It was during Jim Hall’s third term in prison that he encountered +a guard that was almost as great a beast as he. The guard treated +him unfairly, lied about him to the warden, lost his credits, persecuted +him. The difference between them was that the guard carried a +bunch of keys and a revolver. Jim Hall had only his naked hands +and his teeth. But he sprang upon the guard one day and used his +teeth on the other’s throat just like any jungle animal.</p> +<p>After this, Jim Hall went to live in the incorrigible cell. +He lived there three years. The cell was of iron, the floor, the +walls, the roof. He never left this cell. He never saw the +sky nor the sunshine. Day was a twilight and night was a black +silence. He was in an iron tomb, buried alive. He saw no +human face, spoke to no human thing. When his food was shoved +in to him, he growled like a wild animal. He hated all things. +For days and nights he bellowed his rage at the universe. For +weeks and months he never made a sound, in the black silence eating +his very soul. He was a man and a monstrosity, as fearful a thing +of fear as ever gibbered in the visions of a maddened brain.</p> +<p>And then, one night, he escaped. The warders said it was impossible, +but nevertheless the cell was empty, and half in half out of it lay +the body of a dead guard. Two other dead guards marked his trail +through the prison to the outer walls, and he had killed with his hands +to avoid noise.</p> +<p>He was armed with the weapons of the slain guards—a live arsenal +that fled through the hills pursued by the organised might of society. +A heavy price of gold was upon his head. Avaricious farmers hunted +him with shot-guns. His blood might pay off a mortgage or send +a son to college. Public-spirited citizens took down their rifles +and went out after him. A pack of bloodhounds followed the way +of his bleeding feet. And the sleuth-hounds of the law, the paid +fighting animals of society, with telephone, and telegraph, and special +train, clung to his trail night and day.</p> +<p>Sometimes they came upon him, and men faced him like heroes, or stampeded +through barbed-wire fences to the delight of the commonwealth reading +the account at the breakfast table. It was after such encounters +that the dead and wounded were carted back to the towns, and their places +filled by men eager for the man-hunt.</p> +<p>And then Jim Hall disappeared. The bloodhounds vainly quested +on the lost trail. Inoffensive ranchers in remote valleys were +held up by armed men and compelled to identify themselves. While +the remains of Jim Hall were discovered on a dozen mountain-sides by +greedy claimants for blood-money.</p> +<p>In the meantime the newspapers were read at Sierra Vista, not so +much with interest as with anxiety. The women were afraid. +Judge Scott pooh-poohed and laughed, but not with reason, for it was +in his last days on the bench that Jim Hall had stood before him and +received sentence. And in open court-room, before all men, Jim +Hall had proclaimed that the day would come when he would wreak vengeance +on the Judge that sentenced him.</p> +<p>For once, Jim Hall was right. He was innocent of the crime +for which he was sentenced. It was a case, in the parlance of +thieves and police, of “rail-roading.” Jim Hall was +being “rail-roaded” to prison for a crime he had not committed. +Because of the two prior convictions against him, Judge Scott imposed +upon him a sentence of fifty years.</p> +<p>Judge Scott did not know all things, and he did not know that he +was party to a police conspiracy, that the evidence was hatched and +perjured, that Jim Hall was guiltless of the crime charged. And +Jim Hall, on the other hand, did not know that Judge Scott was merely +ignorant. Jim Hall believed that the judge knew all about it and +was hand in glove with the police in the perpetration of the monstrous +injustice. So it was, when the doom of fifty years of living death +was uttered by Judge Scott, that Jim Hall, hating all things in the +society that misused him, rose up and raged in the court-room until +dragged down by half a dozen of his blue-coated enemies. To him, +Judge Scott was the keystone in the arch of injustice, and upon Judge +Scott he emptied the vials of his wrath and hurled the threats of his +revenge yet to come. Then Jim Hall went to his living death . +. . and escaped.</p> +<p>Of all this White Fang knew nothing. But between him and Alice, +the master’s wife, there existed a secret. Each night, after +Sierra Vista had gone to bed, she rose and let in White Fang to sleep +in the big hall. Now White Fang was not a house-dog, nor was he +permitted to sleep in the house; so each morning, early, she slipped +down and let him out before the family was awake.</p> +<p>On one such night, while all the house slept, White Fang awoke and +lay very quietly. And very quietly he smelled the air and read +the message it bore of a strange god’s presence. And to +his ears came sounds of the strange god’s movements. White +Fang burst into no furious outcry. It was not his way. The +strange god walked softly, but more softly walked White Fang, for he +had no clothes to rub against the flesh of his body. He followed +silently. In the Wild he had hunted live meat that was infinitely +timid, and he knew the advantage of surprise.</p> +<p>The strange god paused at the foot of the great staircase and listened, +and White Fang was as dead, so without movement was he as he watched +and waited. Up that staircase the way led to the love-master and +to the love-master’s dearest possessions. White Fang bristled, +but waited. The strange god’s foot lifted. He was +beginning the ascent.</p> +<p>Then it was that White Fang struck. He gave no warning, with +no snarl anticipated his own action. Into the air he lifted his +body in the spring that landed him on the strange god’s back. +White Fang clung with his fore-paws to the man’s shoulders, at +the same time burying his fangs into the back of the man’s neck. +He clung on for a moment, long enough to drag the god over backward. +Together they crashed to the floor. White Fang leaped clear, and, +as the man struggled to rise, was in again with the slashing fangs.</p> +<p>Sierra Vista awoke in alarm. The noise from downstairs was +as that of a score of battling fiends. There were revolver shots. +A man’s voice screamed once in horror and anguish. There +was a great snarling and growling, and over all arose a smashing and +crashing of furniture and glass.</p> +<p>But almost as quickly as it had arisen, the commotion died away. +The struggle had not lasted more than three minutes. The frightened +household clustered at the top of the stairway. From below, as +from out an abyss of blackness, came up a gurgling sound, as of air +bubbling through water. Sometimes this gurgle became sibilant, +almost a whistle. But this, too, quickly died down and ceased. +Then naught came up out of the blackness save a heavy panting of some +creature struggling sorely for air.</p> +<p>Weedon Scott pressed a button, and the staircase and downstairs hall +were flooded with light. Then he and Judge Scott, revolvers in +hand, cautiously descended. There was no need for this caution. +White Fang had done his work. In the midst of the wreckage of +overthrown and smashed furniture, partly on his side, his face hidden +by an arm, lay a man. Weedon Scott bent over, removed the arm +and turned the man’s face upward. A gaping throat explained +the manner of his death.</p> +<p>“Jim Hall,” said Judge Scott, and father and son looked +significantly at each other.</p> +<p>Then they turned to White Fang. He, too, was lying on his side. +His eyes were closed, but the lids slightly lifted in an effort to look +at them as they bent over him, and the tail was perceptibly agitated +in a vain effort to wag. Weedon Scott patted him, and his throat +rumbled an acknowledging growl. But it was a weak growl at best, +and it quickly ceased. His eyelids drooped and went shut, and +his whole body seemed to relax and flatten out upon the floor.</p> +<p>“He’s all in, poor devil,” muttered the master.</p> +<p>“We’ll see about that,” asserted the Judge, as +he started for the telephone.</p> +<p>“Frankly, he has one chance in a thousand,” announced +the surgeon, after he had worked an hour and a half on White Fang.</p> +<p>Dawn was breaking through the windows and dimming the electric lights. +With the exception of the children, the whole family was gathered about +the surgeon to hear his verdict.</p> +<p>“One broken hind-leg,” he went on. “Three +broken ribs, one at least of which has pierced the lungs. He has +lost nearly all the blood in his body. There is a large likelihood +of internal injuries. He must have been jumped upon. To +say nothing of three bullet holes clear through him. One chance +in a thousand is really optimistic. He hasn’t a chance in +ten thousand.”</p> +<p>“But he mustn’t lose any chance that might be of help +to him,” Judge Scott exclaimed. “Never mind expense. +Put him under the X-ray—anything. Weedon, telegraph at once +to San Francisco for Doctor Nichols. No reflection on you, doctor, +you understand; but he must have the advantage of every chance.”</p> +<p>The surgeon smiled indulgently. “Of course I understand. +He deserves all that can be done for him. He must be nursed as +you would nurse a human being, a sick child. And don’t forget +what I told you about temperature. I’ll be back at ten o’clock +again.”</p> +<p>White Fang received the nursing. Judge Scott’s suggestion +of a trained nurse was indignantly clamoured down by the girls, who +themselves undertook the task. And White Fang won out on the one +chance in ten thousand denied him by the surgeon.</p> +<p>The latter was not to be censured for his misjudgment. All +his life he had tended and operated on the soft humans of civilisation, +who lived sheltered lives and had descended out of many sheltered generations. +Compared with White Fang, they were frail and flabby, and clutched life +without any strength in their grip. White Fang had come straight +from the Wild, where the weak perish early and shelter is vouchsafed +to none. In neither his father nor his mother was there any weakness, +nor in the generations before them. A constitution of iron and +the vitality of the Wild were White Fang’s inheritance, and he +clung to life, the whole of him and every part of him, in spirit and +in flesh, with the tenacity that of old belonged to all creatures.</p> +<p>Bound down a prisoner, denied even movement by the plaster casts +and bandages, White Fang lingered out the weeks. He slept long +hours and dreamed much, and through his mind passed an unending pageant +of Northland visions. All the ghosts of the past arose and were +with him. Once again he lived in the lair with Kiche, crept trembling +to the knees of Grey Beaver to tender his allegiance, ran for his life +before Lip-lip and all the howling bedlam of the puppy-pack.</p> +<p>He ran again through the silence, hunting his living food through +the months of famine; and again he ran at the head of the team, the +gut-whips of Mit-sah and Grey Beaver snapping behind, their voices crying +“Ra! Raa!” when they came to a narrow passage and the team +closed together like a fan to go through. He lived again all his +days with Beauty Smith and the fights he had fought. At such times +he whimpered and snarled in his sleep, and they that looked on said +that his dreams were bad.</p> +<p>But there was one particular nightmare from which he suffered—the +clanking, clanging monsters of electric cars that were to him colossal +screaming lynxes. He would lie in a screen of bushes, watching +for a squirrel to venture far enough out on the ground from its tree-refuge. +Then, when he sprang out upon it, it would transform itself into an +electric car, menacing and terrible, towering over him like a mountain, +screaming and clanging and spitting fire at him. It was the same +when he challenged the hawk down out of the sky. Down out of the +blue it would rush, as it dropped upon him changing itself into the +ubiquitous electric car. Or again, he would be in the pen of Beauty +Smith. Outside the pen, men would be gathering, and he knew that +a fight was on. He watched the door for his antagonist to enter. +The door would open, and thrust in upon him would come the awful electric +car. A thousand times this occurred, and each time the terror +it inspired was as vivid and great as ever.</p> +<p>Then came the day when the last bandage and the last plaster cast +were taken off. It was a gala day. All Sierra Vista was +gathered around. The master rubbed his ears, and he crooned his +love-growl. The master’s wife called him the “Blessed +Wolf,” which name was taken up with acclaim and all the women +called him the Blessed Wolf.</p> +<p>He tried to rise to his feet, and after several attempts fell down +from weakness. He had lain so long that his muscles had lost their +cunning, and all the strength had gone out of them. He felt a +little shame because of his weakness, as though, forsooth, he were failing +the gods in the service he owed them. Because of this he made +heroic efforts to arise and at last he stood on his four legs, tottering +and swaying back and forth.</p> +<p>“The Blessed Wolf!” chorused the women.</p> +<p>Judge Scott surveyed them triumphantly.</p> +<p>“Out of your own mouths be it,” he said. “Just +as I contended right along. No mere dog could have done what he +did. He’s a wolf.”</p> +<p>“A Blessed Wolf,” amended the Judge’s wife.</p> +<p>“Yes, Blessed Wolf,” agreed the Judge. “And +henceforth that shall be my name for him.”</p> +<p>“He’ll have to learn to walk again,” said the surgeon; +“so he might as well start in right now. It won’t +hurt him. Take him outside.”</p> +<p>And outside he went, like a king, with all Sierra Vista about him +and tending on him. He was very weak, and when he reached the +lawn he lay down and rested for a while.</p> +<p>Then the procession started on, little spurts of strength coming +into White Fang’s muscles as he used them and the blood began +to surge through them. The stables were reached, and there in +the doorway, lay Collie, a half-dozen pudgy puppies playing about her +in the sun.</p> +<p>White Fang looked on with a wondering eye. Collie snarled warningly +at him, and he was careful to keep his distance. The master with +his toe helped one sprawling puppy toward him. He bristled suspiciously, +but the master warned him that all was well. Collie, clasped in +the arms of one of the women, watched him jealously and with a snarl +warned him that all was not well.</p> +<p>The puppy sprawled in front of him. He cocked his ears and +watched it curiously. Then their noses touched, and he felt the +warm little tongue of the puppy on his jowl. White Fang’s +tongue went out, he knew not why, and he licked the puppy’s face.</p> +<p>Hand-clapping and pleased cries from the gods greeted the performance. +He was surprised, and looked at them in a puzzled way. Then his +weakness asserted itself, and he lay down, his ears cocked, his head +on one side, as he watched the puppy. The other puppies came sprawling +toward him, to Collie’s great disgust; and he gravely permitted +them to clamber and tumble over him. At first, amid the applause +of the gods, he betrayed a trifle of his old self-consciousness and +awkwardness. This passed away as the puppies’ antics and +mauling continued, and he lay with half-shut patient eyes, drowsing +in the sun.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, WHITE FANG ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named wtfng10h.htm or wtfng10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, wtfng11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wtfng10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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