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He
did
the
cooking
for
the
other
men
in
the
fort
,
the
dish-washing
and
the
drudgery
.
They
did
not
despise
him
.
Rather
did
they
tolerate
him
in
a
broad
human
way
,
as
one
tolerates
any
creature
evilly
treated
in
the
making
.
Also
,
they
feared
him
.
His
cowardly
rages
made
them
dread
a
shot
in
the
back
or
poison
in
their
coffee
.
But
somebody
had
to
do
the
cooking
,
and
whatever
else
his
shortcomings
,
Beauty
Smith
could
cook
.
This
was
the
man
that
looked
at
White
Fang
,
delighted
in
his
ferocious
prowess
,
and
desired
to
possess
him
.
He
made
overtures
to
White
Fang
from
the
first
.
White
Fang
began
by
ignoring
him
.
Later
on
,
when
the
overtures
became
more
insistent
,
White
Fang
bristled
and
bared
his
teeth
and
backed
away
.
He
did
not
like
the
man
.
The
feel
of
him
was
bad
.
He
sensed
the
evil
in
him
,
and
feared
the
extended
hand
and
the
attempts
at
soft-spoken
speech
.
Because
of
all
this
,
he
hated
the
man
.
With
the
simpler
creatures
,
good
and
bad
are
things
simply
understood
.
The
good
stands
for
all
things
that
bring
easement
and
satisfaction
and
surcease
from
pain
.
Therefore
,
the
good
is
liked
.
The
bad
stands
for
all
things
that
are
fraught
with
discomfort
,
menace
,
and
hurt
,
and
is
hated
accordingly
.
White
Fang
's
feel
of
Beauty
Smith
was
bad
.
From
the
man
's
distorted
body
and
twisted
mind
,
in
occult
ways
,
like
mists
rising
from
malarial
marshes
,
came
emanations
of
the
unhealth
within
.
Not
by
reasoning
,
not
by
the
five
senses
alone
,
but
by
other
and
remoter
and
uncharted
senses
,
came
the
feeling
to
White
Fang
that
the
man
was
ominous
with
evil
,
pregnant
with
hurtfulness
,
and
therefore
a
thing
bad
,
and
wisely
to
be
hated
.
White
Fang
was
in
Grey
Beaver
's
camp
when
Beauty
Smith
first
visited
it
.
At
the
faint
sound
of
his
distant
feet
,
before
he
came
in
sight
,
White
Fang
knew
who
was
coming
and
began
to
bristle
.
He
had
been
lying
down
in
an
abandon
of
comfort
,
but
he
arose
quickly
,
and
,
as
the
man
arrived
,
slid
away
in
true
wolf-fashion
to
the
edge
of
the
camp
.
He
did
not
know
what
they
said
,
but
he
could
see
the
man
and
Grey
Beaver
talking
together
.
Once
,
the
man
pointed
at
him
,
and
White
Fang
snarled
back
as
though
the
hand
were
just
descending
upon
him
instead
of
being
,
as
it
was
,
fifty
feet
away
.
The
man
laughed
at
this
;
and
White
Fang
slunk
away
to
the
sheltering
woods
,
his
head
turned
to
observe
as
he
glided
softly
over
the
ground
.
Grey
Beaver
refused
to
sell
the
dog
.
He
had
grown
rich
with
his
trading
and
stood
in
need
of
nothing
.
Besides
,
White
Fang
was
a
valuable
animal
,
the
strongest
sled-dog
he
had
ever
owned
,
and
the
best
leader
.
Furthermore
,
there
was
no
dog
like
him
on
the
Mackenzie
nor
the
Yukon
.
He
could
fight
.
He
killed
other
dogs
as
easily
as
men
killed
mosquitoes
.
(
Beauty
Smith
's
eyes
lighted
up
at
this
,
and
he
licked
his
thin
lips
with
an
eager
tongue
)
.
No
,
White
Fang
was
not
for
sale
at
any
price
.
But
Beauty
Smith
knew
the
ways
of
Indians
.
He
visited
Grey
Beaver
's
camp
often
,
and
hidden
under
his
coat
was
always
a
black
bottle
or
so
.
One
of
the
potencies
of
whisky
is
the
breeding
of
thirst
.
Grey
Beaver
got
the
thirst
.
His
fevered
membranes
and
burnt
stomach
began
to
clamour
for
more
and
more
of
the
scorching
fluid
;
while
his
brain
,
thrust
all
awry
by
the
unwonted
stimulant
,
permitted
him
to
go
any
length
to
obtain
it
.
The
money
he
had
received
for
his
furs
and
mittens
and
moccasins
began
to
go
.
It
went
faster
and
faster
,
and
the
shorter
his
money-sack
grew
,
the
shorter
grew
his
temper
.
In
the
end
his
money
and
goods
and
temper
were
all
gone
.
Nothing
remained
to
him
but
his
thirst
,
a
prodigious
possession
in
itself
that
grew
more
prodigious
with
every
sober
breath
he
drew
.
Then
it
was
that
Beauty
Smith
had
talk
with
him
again
about
the
sale
of
White
Fang
;
but
this
time
the
price
offered
was
in
bottles
,
not
dollars
,
and
Grey
Beaver
's
ears
were
more
eager
to
hear
.
"
You
ketch
um
dog
you
take
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
.
