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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 89/119
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It
was
the
beginning
of
the
end
for
White
Fang
--
the
ending
of
the
old
life
and
the
reign
of
hate
.
A
new
and
incomprehensibly
fairer
life
was
dawning
.
It
required
much
thinking
and
endless
patience
on
the
part
of
Weedon
Scott
to
accomplish
this
.
And
on
the
part
of
White
Fang
it
required
nothing
less
than
a
revolution
.
He
had
to
ignore
the
urges
and
promptings
of
instinct
and
reason
,
defy
experience
,
give
the
lie
to
life
itself
.
Life
,
as
he
had
known
it
,
not
only
had
had
no
place
in
it
for
much
that
he
now
did
;
but
all
the
currents
had
gone
counter
to
those
to
which
he
now
abandoned
himself
.
In
short
,
when
all
things
were
considered
,
he
had
to
achieve
an
orientation
far
vaster
than
the
one
he
had
achieved
at
the
time
he
came
voluntarily
in
from
the
Wild
and
accepted
Grey
Beaver
as
his
lord
.
At
that
time
he
was
a
mere
puppy
,
soft
from
the
making
,
without
form
,
ready
for
the
thumb
of
circumstance
to
begin
its
work
upon
him
.
But
now
it
was
different
.
The
thumb
of
circumstance
had
done
its
work
only
too
well
.
By
it
he
had
been
formed
and
hardened
into
the
Fighting
Wolf
,
fierce
and
implacable
,
unloving
and
unlovable
.
To
accomplish
the
change
was
like
a
reflux
of
being
,
and
this
when
the
plasticity
of
youth
was
no
longer
his
;
when
the
fibre
of
him
had
become
tough
and
knotty
;
when
the
warp
and
the
woof
of
him
had
made
of
him
an
adamantine
texture
,
harsh
and
unyielding
;
when
the
face
of
his
spirit
had
become
iron
and
all
his
instincts
and
axioms
had
crystallised
into
set
rules
,
cautions
,
dislikes
,
and
desires
.
Yet
again
,
in
this
new
orientation
,
it
was
the
thumb
of
circumstance
that
pressed
and
prodded
him
,
softening
that
which
had
become
hard
and
remoulding
it
into
fairer
form
.
Weedon
Scott
was
in
truth
this
thumb
.
He
had
gone
to
the
roots
of
White
Fang
's
nature
,
and
with
kindness
touched
to
life
potencies
that
had
languished
and
well-nigh
perished
.
One
such
potency
was
love
.
It
took
the
place
of
like
,
which
latter
had
been
the
highest
feeling
that
thrilled
him
in
his
intercourse
with
the
gods
.
But
this
love
did
not
come
in
a
day
.
It
began
with
like
and
out
of
it
slowly
developed
.
White
Fang
did
not
run
away
,
though
he
was
allowed
to
remain
loose
,
because
he
liked
this
new
god
.
This
was
certainly
better
than
the
life
he
had
lived
in
the
cage
of
Beauty
Smith
,
and
it
was
necessary
that
he
should
have
some
god
.
The
lordship
of
man
was
a
need
of
his
nature
.
The
seal
of
his
dependence
on
man
had
been
set
upon
him
in
that
early
day
when
he
turned
his
back
on
the
Wild
and
crawled
to
Grey
Beaver
's
feet
to
receive
the
expected
beating
.
This
seal
had
been
stamped
upon
him
again
,
and
ineradicably
,
on
his
second
return
from
the
Wild
,
when
the
long
famine
was
over
and
there
was
fish
once
more
in
the
village
of
Grey
Beaver
.
And
so
,
because
he
needed
a
god
and
because
he
preferred
Weedon
Scott
to
Beauty
Smith
,
White
Fang
remained
.
In
acknowledgment
of
fealty
,
he
proceeded
to
take
upon
himself
the
guardianship
of
his
master
's
property
.
He
prowled
about
the
cabin
while
the
sled-dogs
slept
,
and
the
first
night-visitor
to
the
cabin
fought
him
off
with
a
club
until
Weedon
Scott
came
to
the
rescue
.
But
White
Fang
soon
learned
to
differentiate
between
thieves
and
honest
men
,
to
appraise
the
true
value
of
step
and
carriage
.
The
man
who
travelled
,
loud-stepping
,
the
direct
line
to
the
cabin
door
,
he
let
alone
--
though
he
watched
him
vigilantly
until
the
door
opened
and
he
received
the
endorsement
of
the
master
.
But
the
man
who
went
softly
,
by
circuitous
ways
,
peering
with
caution
,
seeking
after
secrecy
--
that
was
the
man
who
received
no
suspension
of
judgment
from
White
Fang
,
and
who
went
away
abruptly
,
hurriedly
,
and
without
dignity
.
Weedon
Scott
had
set
himself
the
task
of
redeeming
White
Fang
--
or
rather
,
of
redeeming
mankind
from
the
wrong
it
had
done
White
Fang
.
It
was
a
matter
of
principle
and
conscience
.
He
felt
that
the
ill
done
White
Fang
was
a
debt
incurred
by
man
and
that
it
must
be
paid
.
So
he
went
out
of
his
way
to
be
especially
kind
to
the
Fighting
Wolf
.
Each
day
he
made
it
a
point
to
caress
and
pet
White
Fang
,
and
to
do
it
at
length
.
At
first
suspicious
and
hostile
,
White
Fang
grew
to
like
this
petting
.
But
there
was
one
thing
that
he
never
outgrew
--
his
growling
.
Growl
he
would
,
from
the
moment
the
petting
began
till
it
ended
.
But
it
was
a
growl
with
a
new
note
in
it
.
A
stranger
could
not
hear
this
note
,
and
to
such
a
stranger
the
growling
of
White
Fang
was
an
exhibition
of
primordial
savagery
,
nerve-racking
and
blood-curdling
.
But
White
Fang
's
throat
had
become
harsh-fibred
from
the
making
of
ferocious
sounds
through
the
many
years
since
his
first
little
rasp
of
anger
in
the
lair
of
his
cubhood
,
and
he
could
not
soften
the
sounds
of
that
throat
now
to
express
the
gentleness
he
felt
.
Nevertheless
,
Weedon
Scott
's
ear
and
sympathy
were
fine
enough
to
catch
the
new
note
all
but
drowned
in
the
fierceness
--
the
note
that
was
the
faintest
hint
of
a
croon
of
content
and
that
none
but
he
could
hear
.
