One day, not long after, he came to the edge of the forest near the Mackenzie. He had been there before, when it was bare, but now a village occupied it. 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 during the famine. There was no whimpering nor wailing. When he heard the angry voice of a woman he knew it to be the anger that comes from a full stomach. And there was a smell of fish. The famine was gone. He came out boldly from the forest and trotted straight to Grey Beavers tepee. Grey Beaver was not there; but Kloo-kooch welcomed him with glad cries and fresh-caught fish, and he lay down to wait Grey Beavers coming.
Part IV
Chapter I. The Enemy of His Kind
Even if there had been any possibility of that White Fangs would be friendly with the dogs, such possibility was destroyed when he was made leader of the sled-team. For now the dogs hated him for the extra meat given to him, for all the real and fancied favours he received, for that he ran always at the head of the team, for his tail and hind legs. And White Fang hated them back. Being sled-leader was not gratifying to him. It was almost more than he could stand.
There was no defence for him. If he turned to them, Mit-sah would whip him. What remained to him was to run forward. So he ran, breaking his own nature and pride.
Unlike most leaders, who, when camp was made, lay near to the gods for protection, White Fang did not want such protection. He walked about the camp, giving punishment in the night for what he had suffered in the day. The dogs snarled at him with hatred. The very atmosphere he breathed was full of hatred and malice, and this increased the hatred and malice within him.
The sled-dogs understood 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. So White Fang never stopped without orders. He learned quickly.
But the dogs could never leave him alone in camp. Like him, they were domesticated wolves. But they had been domesticated for generations. In him the Wild was too strong. He symbolised it, was its personification: so that when they showed their teeth to him they were defending themselves against the wild destruction.
But there was one lesson the dogs did learn, and that was to keep together. They had quarrels among themselves, but these were forgotten when White Fang was coming nearer.
On the other hand, try as they would, they could not kill White Fang. He was too quick for them, too wise.
So he became the enemy of his kind. His clay was modelled this way. He declared a vendetta against all dogs. Grey Beaver, fierce savage himself, could not but marvel at White Fangs fury.
When White Fang was nearly five years old, Grey Beaver took him on another great journey, along the Mackenzie, across the Rockies, and down the Porcupine to the Yukon.
White Fang was a very special dog. He could not endure a prolonged contact with another body. It made him frantic. He must be away, free, on his own legs, touching no one. Since his puppyhood, the Wild within him had known that contacts were danger. Also he economized energy. He moved fast. He could correctly judge time and distance. In consequence, the dogs he met had no chance against him. They were ordinary and unsuspecting dogs, not prepared for his strategies. Body and brain, his was a more perfected mechanism. Not that he was to be praised for it. Nature had been more generous to him than to the average animal, that was all.
It was in the summer that White Fang arrived at Fort Yukon. Here stood the old Hudsons 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.
Here Grey Beaver stopped. A whisper of the gold-rush had reached his ears, and he had come with furs, gut-sewn mittens and moccasins for sale. But in his wildest dreams the profit had not exceeded a hundred per cent; he made a thousand per cent.
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, a race of superior gods. As, in his puppyhood, the tepees had seemed to him a manifestation of power, so was he affected now by the houses and the huge fort. Those white gods were strong. Even Grey Beaver was as a child-god among these white-skinned ones.
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, a race of superior gods. As, in his puppyhood, the tepees had seemed to him a manifestation of power, so was he affected now by the houses and the huge fort. Those white gods were strong. Even Grey Beaver was as a child-god among these white-skinned ones.
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. He was curious to observe them, but didnt want to be noticed by them. Then he saw that no harm was done to the dogs that were near to them, and he came in closer.
In turn he was an object of great curiosity to them. His wolfish appearance caught their eyes at once, and they pointed him out to one another. This act of pointing put White Fang on his guard, and when they tried to approach him he showed his teeth and backed away. Not one could touch him.
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, and the white men came from off these steamers and went away on them again. There were many of them. In the first day or so, he saw more of them than he had seen Indians in all his life.
But if the white gods were all-powerful, their dogs were not. This White Fang quickly discovered by mixing with those that came ashore with their masters. They were irregular shapes and sizes. Some were short-legged too short; others were long-legged too long. They had hair instead of fur, and a few had very little hair at that. And none of them knew how to fight.
As an enemy of his kind, it was White Fangs duty to fight with them. They were soft and helpless, made much noise, and moved around clumsily. He sprang to the side. They did not know what had happened; and in that moment he struck them on the shoulder, rolling them off their feet and delivering his stroke at the throat.
Sometimes he was successful, and a stricken dog rolled in the dirt, to be torn to pieces by the pack of Indian dogs that waited. White Fang was wise. He had long since learned that the gods were angry when their dogs were killed. The white men were no exception. So he did not kill, he just hurt and let the pack go and do the cruel finishing work. Then the white men rushed to the pack in wraith, while White Fang went free. He would stand off at a little distance and look on, while all sorts of weapons fell upon his fellows. White Fang was very wise.
After the first two or three strange dogs had been destroyed, the white men took their own animals back on board and revenged the offenders. One white man, having seen his dog, a setter, torn to pieces before his eyes, drew a revolver. He fired quickly, six times, and six of the pack lay dead or dying another manifestation of power that sank deep into White Fangs consciousness.
White Fang enjoyed it all. He did not love his kind, and he was smart enough to escape hurt himself. At first, the killing of the white mens 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 ran around with the gang of Indian dogs, waiting for steamers. With the arrival of a steamer the fun began. After a few minutes the gang scattered. The fun was over until the next steamer.
But White Fang was not a member of the gang. And when he had overthrown the strange dog the gang went in to finish it. But he then went away, leaving the gang to receive the punishment.
It wasnt difficult to start. 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 thing that was in the darkness around the fires of the early world when they, keeping close to the fires, were changing their instincts, learning to fear the Wild out of which they had come, and which they had betrayed. Generation by generation this fear of the Wild had grown into their natures. And during all this time free licence had been theirs, from their masters, to kill the things of the Wild, for protection. They looked upon him as legitimate prey, and as legitimate prey he looked upon them.
Not for nothing had he first seen the light of day in a lonely lair and fought his first fights with the ptarmigan, the weasel, and the lynx. And not for nothing had his puppyhood been made bitter by the persecution of Lip-lip and the whole puppy pack. He might have up more doglike and like the dogs more. If Grey Beaver had demonstrated affection and love, White Fang would have had some 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 angry, the enemy of all his kind.
Chapter II. The Mad God
A small number of white men lived in Fort Yukon. These men had been long in the country. They called themselves Sour-doughs. For other men, new in the land, they felt nothing but disdain. The men who came ashore from the steamers were newcomers. They were known as chechaquos. They made their bread with baking-powder. This was the difference between them and the Sour-doughs, who made their bread from sour-dough because they had no baking-powder.
The men in the fort disdained the newcomers and enjoyed seeing them in grief. Especially did they enjoy the newcomers dogs torn by White Fang and his gang. When a steamer arrived, the men of the fort always came down to see the fun.
But there was one man among them who particularly enjoyed it. He came at the first sound of a steamboats whistle; and when the last fight was over he returned slowly to the fort. Sometimes, when a dog was dying under the fangs of the pack, this man was unable to contain himself,[29] and leaped into the air and cried out with delight. And always he looked at White Fang.