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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。
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。
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。
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。
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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。
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。
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
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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。
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。
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。
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。
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
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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。
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