um all right," was his last word.

The bottles were delivered, but after two days. "You ketch um dog," were
Beauty Smith's words to Grey Beaver.

White Fang slunk into camp one evening and dropped down with a sigh of
content. The dreaded white god was not there. For days his
manifestations of desire to lay hands on him had been growing more
insistent, and during that time White Fang had been compelled to avoid
the camp. He did not know what evil was threatened by those insistent
hands. He knew only that they did threaten evil of some sort, and that
it was best for him to keep out of their reach.

But scarcely had he lain down when Grey Beaver staggered over to him and
tied a leather thong around his neck. He sat down beside White Fang,
holding the end of the thong in his hand. In the other hand he held a
bottle, which, from time to time, was inverted above his head to the
accompaniment of gurgling noises.

An hour of this passed, when the vibrations of feet in contact with the
ground foreran the one who approached. White Fang heard it first, and he
was bristling with recognition while Grey Beaver still nodded stupidly.
White Fang tried to draw the thong softly out of his master's hand; but
the relaxed fingers closed tightly and Grey Beaver roused himself.

Beauty Smith strode into camp and stood over White Fang. He snarled
softly up at the thing of fear, watching keenly the deportment of the
hands. One hand extended outward and began to descend upon his head. His
soft snarl grew tense and harsh. The hand continued slowly to descend,
while he crouched beneath it, eyeing it malignantly, his snarl growing
shorter and shorter as, with quickening breath, it approached its
culmination. Suddenly he snapped, striking with his fangs like a snake.
The hand was jerked back, and the teeth came together emptily with a
sharp click. Beauty Smith was frightened and angry. Grey Beaver clouted
White Fang alongside the head, so that he cowered down close to the earth
in respectful obedience.

White Fang's suspicious eyes followed every movement. He saw Beauty
Smith go away and return with a stout club. Then the end of the thong
was given over to him by Grey Beaver. Beauty Smith started to walk away.
The thong grew taut. White Fang resisted it. Grey Beaver clouted him
right and left to make him get up and follow. He obeyed, but with a
rush, hurling himself upon the stranger who was dragging him away. Beauty
Smit