The days were thronged with experience for White Fang. During the timethat Kiche was tied by the stick, he ran about over all the camp,inquiring, investigating, learning. He quickly came to know much of theways of the man-animals, but familiarity did not breed contempt. Themore he came to know them, the more they vindicated their superiority,the more they displayed their mysterious powers, the greater loomed theirgod-likeness.

To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown andhis altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog that have come into crouch at man's feet, this grief has never come. Unlike man, whosegods are of the unseen and the overguessed, vapours and mists of fancyeluding the garmenture of reality, wandering wraiths of desired goodnessand power, intangible out-croppings of self into the realm ofspirit--unlike man, the wolf and the wild dog that have come in to thefire find their gods in the living flesh, solid to the touch, occupyingearth-space and requiring time for the accomplishment of their ends andtheir existence. No effort of faith is necessary to believe in such agod; no effort of will can possibly induce disbelief in such a god. Thereis no getting away from it. There it stands, on its two hind-legs, clubin hand, immensely potential, passionate and wrathful and loving, god andmystery and power all wrapped up and around by flesh that bleeds when itis torn and that is good to eat like any flesh.

And so it was with White Fang. The man-animals were gods unmistakableand unescapable. As his mother, Kiche, had rendered her allegiance tothem at the first cry of her name, so he was beginning to render hisallegiance. He gave them the trail as a privilege indubitably theirs.When they walked, he got out of their way. When they called, he came.When they threatened, he cowered down. When they commanded him to go, hewent away hurriedly. For behind any wish of theirs was power to enforcethat wish, power that hurt, power that expressed itself in clouts andclubs, in flying stones and stinging lashes of whips.

He belonged to them as all dogs belonged to them. His actions weretheirs to command. His body was theirs to maul, to stamp upon, totolerate. Such was the lesson that was quickly borne in upon him. Itcame hard, going as it did, counter to much that was strong and dominantin his own nature; and, while he disliked it in the learning of it,unknown to himself he was learning to like it. It was a placing of hisdestiny in another's hands, a shifting of the responsibilities ofexistence. This in itself was compensation, for it is always easier tolean upon another than to stand alone.

But it did not all happen in a day, this giving over of himself, body andsoul, to the man-animals. He could not immediately forego his wildheritage and his memories of the Wild. There were days when he crept tothe edge of the forest and stood and listened to something calling himfar and away. And always he returned, restless and uncomfortable, towhimper softly and wistfully at Kiche's side and to lick her face witheager, questioning tongue.

White Fang learned rapidly the ways of the camp. He knew the injusticeand greediness of the older dogs when meat or fish was thrown out to beeaten. He came to know that men were more just, children more cruel, andwomen more kindly and more likely to toss him a bit of meat or bone. Andafter two or three painful adventures with the mothers of part-grownpuppies, he came into the knowledge that it was always good policy to letsuch mothers alone, to keep away from them as far as possible, and toavoid them when he saw them coming.

But the bane of his life was Lip-lip. Larger, older, and stronger, Lip-lip had selected White Fang for his special object of persecution. WhileFang fought willingly enough, but he was outclassed. His enemy was toobig. Lip-lip became a nightmare to him. Whenever he ventured away fromhis mother, the bully was sure to appear, trailing at his heels, snarlingat him, picking upon him, and watchful of an opportunity, when no man-animal was near, to spring upon him and force a fight. As Lip-lipinvariably won, he enjoyed it hugely. It became his chief delight inlife, as it became White Fang's chief torment.

But the effect upon White Fang was not to cow him. Though he sufferedmost of the damage and was always defeated, his spirit remainedunsubdued. Yet a bad effect was produced. He became malignant andmorose. His temper had been savage by birth, but it became more savageunder this unending persecution. The genial, playful, puppyish side ofhim found little expression. He never played and gambolled about withthe other puppies of the camp. Lip-lip would not permit it. The momentWhite Fang appeared near them, Lip-lip was upon him, bullying andhectoring him, or fighting with him until he had driven him away.

The effect of all this was to rob White Fang of much of his puppyhood andto make him in his comportment older than his age. Denied the outlet,through play, of his energies, he recoiled upon himself and developed hismental processes. He became cunning; he had idle time in which to devotehimself to thoughts of trickery. Prevented from obtaining his share ofmeat and fish when a general feed was given to the camp-dogs, he became aclever thief. He had to forage for himself, and he foraged well, thoughhe was oft-times a plague to the squaws in consequence. He learned tosneak about camp, to be crafty, to know what was going on everywhere, tosee and to hear everything and to reason accordingly, and successfully todevise ways and means of avoiding his implacable persecutor.

It was early in the days of his persecution that he played his firstreally big crafty game and got there from his first taste of revenge. AsKiche, when with the wolves, had lured out to destruction dogs from thecamps of men, so White Fang, in manner somewhat similar, lured Lip-lipinto Kiche's avenging jaws. Retreating before Lip-lip, White Fang madean indirect flight that led in and out and around the various tepees ofthe camp. He was a good runner, swifter than any puppy of his size, andswifter than Lip-lip. But he did not run his best in this chase. Hebarely held his own, one leap ahead of his pursuer.

Lip-lip, excited by the chase and by the persistent nearness of hisvictim, forgot caution and locality. When he remembered locality, it wastoo late. Dashing at top speed around a tepee, he ran full tilt intoKiche lying at the end of her stick. He gave one yelp of consternation,and then her punishing jaws closed upon him. She was tied, but he couldnot get away from her easily. She rolled him off his legs so that hecould not run, while she repeatedly ripped and slashed him with herfangs.

When at last he succeeded in rolling clear of her, he crawled to hisfeet, badly dishevelled, hurt both in body and in spirit. His hair wasstanding out all over him in tufts where her teeth had mauled. He stoodwhere he had arisen, opened his mouth, and broke out the long,heart-broken puppy wail. But even this he was not allowed to complete.In the middle of it, White Fang, rushing in, sank his teeth intoLip-lip's hind leg. There was no fight left in Lip-lip, and he ran awayshamelessly, his victim hot on his heels and worrying him all the wayback to his own tepee. Here the squaws came to his aid, and White Fang,transformed into a raging demon, was finally driven off only by afusillade of stones.

Came the day when Grey Beaver, deciding that the liability of her runningaway was past, released Kiche. White Fang was delighted with hismother's freedom. He accompanied her joyfully about the camp; and, solong as he remained close by her side, Lip-lip kept a respectfuldistance. White-Fang even bristled up to him and walked stiff-legged,but Lip-lip ignored the challenge. He was no fool himself, and whatevervengeance he desired to wreak, he could wait until he caught White Fangalone.

Later on that day, Kiche and White Fang strayed into the edge of thewoods next to the camp. He had led his mother there, step by step, andnow when she stopped, he tried to inveigle her farther. The stream, thelair, and the quiet woods were calling to him, and he wanted her to come.He ran on a few steps, stopped, and looked back. She had not moved. Hewhined pleadingly, and scurried playfully in and out of the underbrush.He ran back to her, licked her face, and ran on again. And still she didnot move. He stopped and regarded her, all of an intentness andeagerness, physically expressed, that slowly faded out of him as sheturned her head and gazed back at the camp.

There was something calling to him out there in the open. His motherheard it too. But she heard also that other and louder call, the call ofthe fire and of man--the call which has been given alone of all animalsto the wolf to answer, to the wolf and the wild-dog, who are brothers.

Kiche turned and slowly trotted back toward camp. Stronger than thephysical restraint of the stick was the clutch of the camp upon her.Unseen and occultly, the gods still gripped with their power and wouldnot let her go. White Fang sat down in the shadow of a birch andwhimpered softly. There was a strong smell of pine, and subtle woodfragrances filled the air, reminding him of his old life of freedombefore the days of his bondage. But he was still only a part-grownpuppy, and stronger than the call either of man or of the Wild was thecall of his mother. All the hours of his short life he had depended uponher. The time was yet to come for independence. So he arose and trottedforlornly back to camp, pausing once, and twice, to sit down and whimperand to listen to the call that still sounded in the depths of the forest.

In the Wild the time of a mother with her young is short; but under thedominion of man it is sometimes even shorter. Thus it was with WhiteFang. Grey Beaver was in the debt of Three Eagles. Three Eagles wasgoing away on a trip up the Mackenzie to the Great Slave Lake. A stripof scarlet cloth, a bearskin, twenty cartridges, and Kiche, went to paythe debt. White Fang saw his mother taken aboard Three Eagles' canoe,and tried to follow her. A blow from Three Eagles knocked him backwardto the land. The canoe shoved off. He sprang into the water and swamafter it, deaf to the sharp cries of Grey Beaver to return. Even a man-animal, a god, White Fang ignored, such was the terror he was in oflosing his mother.

But gods are accustomed to being obeyed, and Grey Beaver wrathfullylaunched a canoe in pursuit. When he overtook White Fang, he reacheddown and by the nape of the neck lifted him clear of the water. He didnot deposit him at once in the bottom of the canoe. Holding himsuspended with one hand, with the other hand he proceeded to give him abeating. And it _was_ a beating. His hand was heavy. Every blow wasshrewd to hurt; and he delivered a multitude of blows.

Impelled by the blows that rained upon him, now from this side, now fromthat, White Fang swung back and forth like an erratic and jerky pendulum.Varying were the emotions that surged through him. At first, he hadknown surprise. Then came a momentary fear, when he yelped several timesto the impact of the hand. But this was quickly followed by anger. Hisfree nature asserted itself, and he showed his teeth and snarledfearlessly in the face of the wrathful god. This but served to make thegod more wrathful. The blows came faster, heavier, more shrewd to hurt.

Grey Beaver continued to beat, White Fang continued to snarl. But thiscould not last for ever. One or the other must give over, and that onewas White Fang. Fear surged through him again. For the first time hewas being really man-handled. The occasional blows of sticks and stoneshe had previously experienced were as caresses compared with this. Hebroke down and began to cry and yelp. For a time each blow brought ayelp from him; but fear passed into terror, until finally his yelps werevoiced in unbroken succession, unconnected with the rhythm of thepunishment.

At last Grey Beaver withheld his hand. White Fang, hanging limply,continued to cry. This seemed to satisfy his master, who flung him downroughly in the bottom of the canoe. In the meantime the canoe haddrifted down the stream. Grey Beaver picked up the paddle. White Fangwas in his way. He spurned him savagely with his foot. In that momentWhite Fang's free nature flashed forth again, and he sank his teeth intothe moccasined foot.

The beating that had gone before was as nothing compared with the beatinghe now received. Grey Beaver's wrath was terrible; likewise was WhiteFang's fright. Not only the hand, but the hard wooden paddle was usedupon him; and he was bruised and sore in all his small body when he wasagain flung down in the canoe. Again, and this time with purpose, didGrey Beaver kick him. White Fang did not repeat his attack on the foot.He had learned another lesson of his bondage. Never, no matter what thecircumstance, must he dare to bite the god who was lord and master overhim; the body of the lord and master was sacred, not to be defiled by theteeth of such as he. That was evidently the crime of crimes, the oneoffence there was no condoning nor overlooking.

When the canoe touched the shore, White Fang lay whimpering andmotionless, waiting the will of Grey Beaver. It was Grey Beaver's willthat he should go ashore, for ashore he was flung, striking heavily onhis side and hurting his bruises afresh. He crawled tremblingly to hisfeet and stood whimpering. Lip-lip, who had watched the whole proceedingfrom the bank, now rushed upon him, knocking him over and sinking histeeth into him. White Fang was too helpless to defend himself, and itwould have gone hard with him had not Grey Beaver's foot shot out,lifting Lip-lip into the air with its violence so that he smashed down toearth a dozen feet away. This was the man-animal's justice; and eventhen, in his own pitiable plight, White Fang experienced a littlegrateful thrill. At Grey Beaver's heels he limped obediently through thevillage to the tepee. And so it came that White Fang learned that theright to punish was something the gods reserved for themselves and deniedto the lesser creatures under them.

That night, when all was still, White Fang remembered his mother andsorrowed for her. He sorrowed too loudly and woke up Grey Beaver, whobeat him. After that he mourned gently when the gods were around. Butsometimes, straying off to the edge of the woods by himself, he gave ventto his grief, and cried it out with loud whimperings and wailings.

It was during this period that he might have harkened to the memories ofthe lair and the stream and run back to the Wild. But the memory of hismother held him. As the hunting man-animals went out and came back, soshe would come back to the village some time. So he remained in hisbondage waiting for her.

But it was not altogether an unhappy bondage. There was much to interesthim. Something was always happening. There was no end to the strangethings these gods did, and he was always curious to see. Besides, he waslearning how to get along with Grey Beaver. Obedience, rigid,undeviating obedience, was what was exacted of him; and in return heescaped beatings and his existence was tolerated.

Nay, Grey Beaver himself sometimes tossed him a piece of meat, anddefended him against the other dogs in the eating of it. And such apiece of meat was of value. It was worth more, in some strange way, thena dozen pieces of meat from the hand of a squaw. Grey Beaver neverpetted nor caressed. Perhaps it was the weight of his hand, perhaps hisjustice, perhaps the sheer power of him, and perhaps it was all thesethings that influenced White Fang; for a certain tie of attachment wasforming between him and his surly lord.

Insidiously, and by remote ways, as well as by the power of stick andstone and clout of hand, were the shackles of White Fang's bondage beingriveted upon him. The qualities in his kind that in the beginning madeit possible for them to come in to the fires of men, were qualitiescapable of development. They were developing in him, and the camp-life,replete with misery as it was, was secretly endearing itself to him allthe time. But White Fang was unaware of it. He knew only grief for theloss of Kiche, hope for her return, and a hungry yearning for the freelife that had been his.