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Updated: June 25, 2025
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.
Grey Beaver clouted White Fang alongside the head, so that he cowered down close to the earth in respectful obedience. White Fang's suspicious eyes followed every movement. He saw Beauty Smith go away and return with a stout club. Then the end of the thong was given over to him by Grey Beaver. Beauty Smith started to walk away. The thong grew taut. White Fang resisted it.
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.
Any of its lower branches is capable of sustaining Fang's weight, should a reliable rope connect the two." "There is something about that which this person now learns is a willow that distinguishes it above all the other trees of the design," remarked Wei Chang admiringly. "It has a wild and yet a romantic aspect."
I managed to call the Secret Service men and they got Wu Fang's body up on the wharf. But I could not leave the spot. Where was Craig? There was not a sign of him. I could not realize it, even when the men brought grappling irons and began to search the black water. It was all a hideous dream. I saw and heard, in a daze. It was not until late that night that I returned to the Dodge house.
In the meantime the canoe had drifted down the stream. Grey Beaver picked up the paddle. White Fang was in his way. He spurned him savagely with his foot. In that moment White Fang's free nature flashed forth again, and he sank his teeth into the moccasined foot. The beating that had gone before was as nothing compared with the beating he now received.
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.
Not alone with their own eyes did they see the wolfish creature in the clear light of day, standing before them. They saw him with the eyes of their ancestors, and by their inherited memory they knew White Fang for the wolf, and they remembered the ancient feud. All of which served to make White Fang's days enjoyable.
"I'm agreein' with you," the dog-musher answered, and Weedon Scott was not quite sure whether or not the other had snickered. The next day White Fang's anxiety and restlessness were even more pronounced. He dogged his master's heels whenever he left the cabin, and haunted the front stoop when he remained inside. Through the open door he could catch glimpses of the luggage on the floor.
The master was still in the cabin. After a time, Matt returned. The master came to the door and called White Fang inside. "You poor devil," he said gently, rubbing White Fang's ears and tapping his spine. "I'm hitting the long trail, old man, where you cannot follow. Now give me a growl the last, good, good-bye growl." But White Fang refused to growl.
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