rown and slashed
wide the throat of one of their dogs, to drop back and let the pack go in
and do the cruel finishing work. It was then that the white men rushed
in, visiting their wrath heavily on the pack, while White Fang went free.
He would stand off at a little distance and look on, while stones, clubs,
axes, and all sorts of weapons fell upon his fellows. White Fang was
very wise.

But his fellows grew wise in their own way; and in this White Fang grew
wise with them. They learned that it was when a steamer first tied to
the bank that they had their fun. After the first two or three strange
dogs had been downed and destroyed, the white men hustled their own
animals back on board and wrecked savage vengeance on the offenders. One
white man, having seen his dog, a setter, torn to pieces before his eyes,
drew a revolver. He fired rapidly, six times, and six of the pack lay
dead or dying--another manifestation of power that sank deep into White
Fang's consciousness.

White Fang enjoyed it all. He did not love his kind, and he was shrewd
enough to escape hurt himself. At first, the killing of the white men's
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 hung around the landing with the disreputable
gang of Indian dogs, waiting for steamers. With the arrival of a steamer
the fun began. After a few minutes, by the time the white men had got
over their surprise, the gang scattered. The fun was over until the next
steamer should arrive.

But it can scarcely be said that White Fang was a member of the gang. He
did not mingle with it, but remained aloof, always himself, and was even
feared by it. It is true, he worked with it. He picked the quarrel with
the strange dog while the gang waited. And when he had overthrown the
strange dog the gang went in to finish it. But it is equally true that
he then withdrew, leaving the gang to receive the punishment of the
outraged gods.

It did not require much exertion to pick these quarrels. 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 ever-menacing, the thing that prowled in the
darkness around the fires of the primeval world when they, cowering close
to the fires, were reshaping their instincts, learning t