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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 93/119
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"
Give
'
m
hell
,
you
wolf
!
Give
'
m
hell
!
--
an
'
then
some
!
"
White
Fang
did
not
need
the
encouragement
.
The
return
of
the
love-master
was
enough
.
Life
was
flowing
through
him
again
,
splendid
and
indomitable
.
He
fought
from
sheer
joy
,
finding
in
it
an
expression
of
much
that
he
felt
and
that
otherwise
was
without
speech
.
There
could
be
but
one
ending
.
The
team
dispersed
in
ignominious
defeat
,
and
it
was
not
until
after
dark
that
the
dogs
came
sneaking
back
,
one
by
one
,
by
meekness
and
humility
signifying
their
fealty
to
White
Fang
.
Having
learned
to
snuggle
,
White
Fang
was
guilty
of
it
often
.
It
was
the
final
word
.
He
could
not
go
beyond
it
.
The
one
thing
of
which
he
had
always
been
particularly
jealous
was
his
head
.
He
had
always
disliked
to
have
it
touched
.
It
was
the
Wild
in
him
,
the
fear
of
hurt
and
of
the
trap
,
that
had
given
rise
to
the
panicky
impulses
to
avoid
contacts
.
It
was
the
mandate
of
his
instinct
that
that
head
must
be
free
.
And
now
,
with
the
love-master
,
his
snuggling
was
the
deliberate
act
of
putting
himself
into
a
position
of
hopeless
helplessness
.
It
was
an
expression
of
perfect
confidence
,
of
absolute
self-surrender
,
as
though
he
said
:
"
I
put
myself
into
thy
hands
.
Work
thou
thy
will
with
me
.
"
One
night
,
not
long
after
the
return
,
Scott
and
Matt
sat
at
a
game
of
cribbage
preliminary
to
going
to
bed
.
"
Fifteen-two
,
fifteen-four
an
'
a
pair
makes
six
,
"
Mat
was
pegging
up
,
when
there
was
an
outcry
and
sound
of
snarling
without
.
They
looked
at
each
other
as
they
started
to
rise
to
their
feet
.
"
The
wolf
's
nailed
somebody
,
"
Matt
said
.
A
wild
scream
of
fear
and
anguish
hastened
them
.
"
Bring
a
light
!
"
Scott
shouted
,
as
he
sprang
outside
.
Matt
followed
with
the
lamp
,
and
by
its
light
they
saw
a
man
lying
on
his
back
in
the
snow
.
His
arms
were
folded
,
one
above
the
other
,
across
his
face
and
throat
.
Thus
he
was
trying
to
shield
himself
from
White
Fang
's
teeth
.
And
there
was
need
for
it
.
White
Fang
was
in
a
rage
,
wickedly
making
his
attack
on
the
most
vulnerable
spot
.
From
shoulder
to
wrist
of
the
crossed
arms
,
the
coat-sleeve
,
blue
flannel
shirt
and
undershirt
were
ripped
in
rags
,
while
the
arms
themselves
were
terribly
slashed
and
streaming
blood
.
All
this
the
two
men
saw
in
the
first
instant
.
The
next
instant
Weedon
Scott
had
White
Fang
by
the
throat
and
was
dragging
him
clear
.
White
Fang
struggled
and
snarled
,
but
made
no
attempt
to
bite
,
while
he
quickly
quieted
down
at
a
sharp
word
from
the
master
.
