White Fang by Jack London (story books to read .txt) 📖

to White Fang, but he warned them off with a snarl, and the master did likewise with word of mouth.  At such times White Fang leaned in close against the master’s legs and received reassuring pats on the head.

The hound, under the command, “Dick!  Lie down, sir!” had gone up the steps and lain down to one side of the porch, still growling and keeping a sullen watch on the intruder.  Collie had been taken in charge by one of the woman-gods, who held arms around her neck and petted and caressed her; but Collie was very much perplexed and worried, whining and restless, outraged by the permitted presence of this wolf and confident that the gods were making a mistake.

All the gods started up the steps to enter the house.  White Fang followed closely at the master’s heels.  Dick, on the porch, growled, and White Fang, on the steps, bristled and growled back.

“Take Collie inside and leave the two of them to fight it out,” suggested Scott’s father.  “After that they’ll be friends.”

“Then White Fang, to show his friendship, will have to be chief mourner at the funeral,” laughed the master.

The elder Scott looked incredulously, first at White Fang, then at Dick, and finally at his son.

“You mean . . .?”

Weedon nodded his head.  “I mean just that.  You’d have a dead Dick inside one minute—two minutes at the farthest.”

He turned to White Fang.  “Come on, you wolf.  It’s you that’ll have to come inside.”

White Fang walked stiff-legged up the steps and across the porch, with tail rigidly erect, keeping his eyes on Dick to guard against a flank attack, and at the same time prepared for whatever fierce manifestation of the unknown that might pounce out upon him from the interior of the house.  But no thing of fear pounced out, and when he had gained the inside he scouted carefully around, looking at it and finding it not.  Then he lay down with a contented grunt at the master’s feet, observing all that went on, ever ready to spring to his feet and fight for life with the terrors he felt must lurk under the trap-roof of the dwelling.

CHAPTER III—THE GOD’S DOMAIN

Not only was White Fang adaptable by nature, but he had travelled much, and knew the meaning and necessity of adjustment.  Here, in Sierra Vista, which was the name of Judge Scott’s place, White Fang quickly began to make himself at home.  He had no further serious trouble with the dogs.  They knew more about the ways of the Southland gods than did he, and in their eyes he had qualified when he accompanied the gods inside the house.  Wolf that he was, and unprecedented as it was, the gods had sanctioned his presence, and they, the dogs of the gods, could only recognise this sanction.

Dick, perforce, had to go through a few stiff formalities at first, after which he calmly accepted White Fang as an addition to the premises.  Had Dick had his way, they would have been good friends.  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.

Not so with Collie.  While she accepted him because it was the mandate of the gods, that was no reason that she should leave him in peace.  Woven into her being was the memory of countless crimes he and his had perpetrated against her ancestry.  Not in a day nor a generation were the ravaged sheepfolds to be forgotten.  All this was a spur to her, pricking her to retaliation.  She could not fly in the face of the gods who permitted him, but that did not prevent her from making life miserable for him in petty ways.  A feud, ages old, was between them, and she, for one, would see to it that he was reminded.

So Collie took advantage of her sex to pick upon White Fang and maltreat him.  His instinct would not permit him to attack her, while her persistence would not permit him to ignore her.  When she rushed at him he turned his fur-protected shoulder to her sharp teeth and walked away stiff-legged and stately.  When she forced him too hard, he was compelled to go about in a circle, his shoulder presented to her, his head turned from her, and on his face and in his eyes a patient and bored expression.  Sometimes, however, a nip on his hind-quarters hastened his retreat and made it anything but stately.  But as a rule he managed to maintain a dignity that was almost solemnity.  He ignored her existence whenever it was possible, and made it a point to keep out of her way.  When he saw or heard her coming, he got up and walked off.

There was much in other matters for White Fang to learn.  Life in the Northland was simplicity itself when compared with the complicated affairs of Sierra Vista.  First of all, he had to learn the family of the master.  In a way he was prepared to do this.  As Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch had belonged to Grey Beaver, sharing his food, his fire, and his blankets, so now, at Sierra Vista, belonged to the love-master all the denizens of the house.

But in this matter there was a difference, and many differences.  Sierra Vista was a far vaster affair than the tepee of Grey Beaver.  There were many persons to be considered.  There was Judge Scott, and there was his wife.  There were the master’s two sisters, Beth and Mary.  There was his wife, Alice, and then there were his children, Weedon and Maud, toddlers of four and six.  There was no way for anybody to tell him about all these people, and of blood-ties and relationship he knew nothing whatever and never would be capable of knowing.  Yet he quickly worked it out that all of them belonged to the master.  Then, by observation, whenever opportunity offered, by study of action, speech, and the very intonations of the voice, he slowly learned the intimacy and the degree of favour they enjoyed with the master.  And by this ascertained standard, White Fang treated them accordingly.  What was of value to the master he valued; what was dear to the master was to be cherished by White Fang and guarded carefully.

Thus it was with the two children.  All his life he had disliked children.  He hated and feared their hands.  The lessons were not tender that he had learned of their tyranny and cruelty in the days of the Indian villages.  When Weedon and Maud had first approached him, he growled warningly and looked malignant.  A cuff from the master and a sharp word had then compelled him to permit their caresses, though he growled and growled under their tiny hands, and in the growl there was no crooning note.  Later, he observed that the boy and girl were of great value in the master’s eyes.  Then it was that no cuff nor sharp word was necessary before they could pat him.

Yet White Fang was never effusively affectionate.  He yielded to the master’s children with an ill but honest grace, and endured their fooling as one would endure a painful operation.  When he could no longer endure, he would get up and stalk determinedly away from them.  But after a time, he grew even to like the children.  Still he was not demonstrative.  He would not go up to them.  On the other hand, instead of walking away at sight of them, he waited for them to come to him.  And still later, it was noticed that a pleased light came into his eyes when he saw them approaching, and that he looked after them with an appearance of curious regret when they left him for other amusements.

All this was a matter of development, and took time.  Next in his regard, after the children, was Judge Scott.  There were two reasons, possibly, for this.  First, he was evidently a valuable possession of the master’s, and next, he was undemonstrative.  White Fang liked to lie at his feet on the wide porch when he read the newspaper, from time to time favouring White Fang with a look or a word—untroublesome tokens that he recognised White Fang’s presence and existence.  But this was only when the master was not around.  When the master appeared, all other beings ceased to exist so far as White Fang was concerned.

White Fang allowed all the members of the family to pet him and make much of him; but he never gave to them what he gave to the master.  No caress of theirs could put the love-croon into his throat, and, try as they would, they could never persuade him into snuggling against them.  This expression of abandon and surrender, of absolute trust, he reserved for the master alone.  In fact, he never regarded the members of the family in any other light than possessions of the love-master.

Also White Fang had early come to differentiate between the family and the servants of the household.  The latter were afraid of him, while he merely refrained from attacking them.  This because he considered that they were likewise possessions of the master.  Between White Fang and them existed a neutrality and no more.  They cooked for the master and washed the dishes and did other things just as Matt had done up in the Klondike.  They were, in short, appurtenances of the household.

Outside the household there was even more for White Fang to learn.  The master’s domain was wide and complex, yet it had its metes and bounds.  The land itself ceased at the county road.  Outside was the common domain of all gods—the roads and streets.  Then inside other fences were the particular domains of other gods.  A myriad laws governed all these things and determined conduct; yet he did not know the speech of the gods, nor was there any way for him to learn save by experience.  He obeyed his natural impulses until they ran him counter to some law.  When this had been done a few times, he learned the law and after that observed it.

But most potent in his education was the cuff of the master’s hand, the censure of the master’s voice.  Because of White Fang’s very great love, a cuff from the master hurt him far more than any beating Grey Beaver or Beauty Smith had ever given him.  They had hurt only the flesh of him; beneath the flesh the spirit had still raged, splendid and invincible.  But with the master the cuff was always too light to hurt the flesh.  Yet it went deeper.  It was an expression of the master’s disapproval, and White Fang’s spirit wilted under it.

In point of fact, the cuff was rarely administered.  The master’s voice was sufficient.  By it White Fang knew whether he did right or not.  By it he trimmed his conduct and adjusted his actions.  It was the compass by which he steered and learned to chart the manners of a new land and life.

In the Northland, the only domesticated animal was the dog.  All other animals lived in the Wild, and were, when not too formidable, lawful spoil for any dog.  All his days White Fang had foraged among the live things for food.  It did not enter his head that in the Southland it was otherwise.  But this he was to learn early in his residence in Santa Clara Valley.  Sauntering around the