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This
accomplished
,
he
pried
gently
and
carefully
,
loosening
the
jaws
a
bit
at
a
time
,
while
Matt
,
a
bit
at
a
time
,
extricated
White
Fang
's
mangled
neck
.
"
Stand
by
to
receive
your
dog
,
"
was
Scott
's
peremptory
order
to
Cherokee
's
owner
.
The
faro-dealer
stooped
down
obediently
and
got
a
firm
hold
on
Cherokee
.
"
Now
!
"
Scott
warned
,
giving
the
final
pry
.
The
dogs
were
drawn
apart
,
the
bull-dog
struggling
vigorously
.
"
Take
him
away
,
"
Scott
commanded
,
and
Tim
Keenan
dragged
Cherokee
back
into
the
crowd
.
White
Fang
made
several
ineffectual
efforts
to
get
up
.
Once
he
gained
his
feet
,
but
his
legs
were
too
weak
to
sustain
him
,
and
he
slowly
wilted
and
sank
back
into
the
snow
.
His
eyes
were
half
closed
,
and
the
surface
of
them
was
glassy
.
His
jaws
were
apart
,
and
through
them
the
tongue
protruded
,
draggled
and
limp
.
To
all
appearances
he
looked
like
a
dog
that
had
been
strangled
to
death
.
Matt
examined
him
.
"
Just
about
all
in
,
"
he
announced
;
"
but
he
's
breathin
'
all
right
.
"
Beauty
Smith
had
regained
his
feet
and
come
over
to
look
at
White
Fang
.
"
Matt
,
how
much
is
a
good
sled-dog
worth
?
"
Scott
asked
.
