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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Heard about that chicken-killing affair, mebbe, and none of them anxious to add a goose to the exhibit." "It would be right easy to give that surprise party a first-class surprise," chuckled Dick. "Shall I drop a pill or two down among them, just to let them know we're on the premises?" "Now, don't you, Dick. We'll have to put half of 'em out of biz, and get shot up by the rest, if you do."
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.
Stupid as he was, he learned this lesson with absolute thoroughness, as will almost any chicken-killing pup, and it seemed to be the only teaching that his unawakened young brain had the power to grasp. In looks, too, Bruce was a failure. His yellowish-and-white body was all but shapeless.
They couldn't afford to have a chicken-killing dog on the place it was too expensive. And that was just the beginning of his troubles and complications. Every afternoon since he could remember, he and his father and Frank had gone to the pasture to see about the cattle. But now old Frank was chained up. And when his father asked him to come along, he shook his head.
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