ngerous; so White Fang prepared to meet him in a friendly spirit. But
when the strangers walk became stiff-legged and his lips lifted clear of
his teeth, White Fang stiffened too, and answered with lifted lips. They
half circled about each other, tentatively, snarling and bristling. This
lasted several minutes, and White Fang was beginning to enjoy it, as a
sort of game. But suddenly, with remarkable swiftness, Lip-lip leaped
in, delivering a slashing snap, and leaped away again. The snap had
taken effect on the shoulder that had been hurt by the lynx and that was
still sore deep down near the bone. The surprise and hurt of it brought
a yelp out of White Fang; but the next moment, in a rush of anger, he was
upon Lip-lip and snapping viciously.

But Lip-lip had lived his life in camp and had fought many puppy fights.
Three times, four times, and half a dozen times, his sharp little teeth
scored on the newcomer, until White Fang, yelping shamelessly, fled to
the protection of his mother. It was the first of the many fights he was
to have with Lip-lip, for they were enemies from the start, born so, with
natures destined perpetually to clash.

Kiche licked White Fang soothingly with her tongue, and tried to prevail
upon him to remain with her. But his curiosity was rampant, and several
minutes later he was venturing forth on a new quest. He came upon one of
the man-animals, Grey Beaver, who was squatting on his hams and doing
something with sticks and dry moss spread before him on the ground. White
Fang came near to him and watched. Grey Beaver made mouth-noises which
White Fang interpreted as not hostile, so he came still nearer.

Women and children were carrying more sticks and branches to Grey Beaver.
It was evidently an affair of moment. White Fang came in until he
touched Grey Beaver's knee, so curious was he, and already forgetful that
this was a terrible man-animal. Suddenly he saw a strange thing like
mist beginning to arise from the sticks and moss beneath Grey Beaver's
hands. Then, amongst the sticks themselves, appeared a live thing,
twisting and turning, of a colour like the colour of the sun in the sky.
White Fang knew nothing about fire. It drew him as the light, in the
mouth of the cave had drawn him in his early puppyhood. He crawled the
several steps toward the flame. He heard Grey Beaver chuckle above him,
and he knew the sound was not hostile. Then his nose touched the flame,
and at the