While he yelped and ki-yi’d and scrambled backward,he saw the mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into the neighbouring thicket.The cut of her teeth in his neck still hurt, but his feelings were hurt more grievously,and he sat down and weakly whimpered. This mother-weasel was so small and so savage.He was yet to learn that for size and weight the weasel was the most ferocious, vindictive,and terrible of all the killers of the Wild. But a portion of this knowledge was quickly to be his.
He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. She did not rush him,now that her young one was safe. She approached more cautiously,and the cub had full opportunity to observe her lean, snakelike body, and her head, erect, eager,and snake-like itself. Her sharp, menacing cry sent the hair bristling along his back,and he snarled warningly at her. She came closer and closer. There was a leap,swifter than his unpractised sight, and the lean,yellow body disappeared for a moment out of the field of his vision.The next moment she was at his throat, her teeth buried in his hair and flesh.
At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young,and this was only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a whimper,his fight a struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed her hold. She hung on,striving to press down with her teeth to the great vein where his life-blood bubbled.The weasel was a drinker of blood, and it was ever her preference to drink from the throat of life itself.
The grey cub would have died, and there would have been no story to write about him,had not the she-wolf come bounding through the bushes.The weasel let go the cub and flashed at the she-wolf’s throat, missing,but getting a hold on the jaw instead. The she-wolf flirted her head like the snap of a whip,breaking the weasel’s hold and flinging it high in the air. And, still in the air,the she-wolf’s jaws closed on the lean, yellow body,and the weasel knew death between the crunching teeth.
The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of his mother.Her joy at finding him seemed even greater than his joy at being found.She nozzled him and caressed him and licked the cuts made in him by the weasel’s teeth. Then,between them, mother and cub, they ate the blood-drinker,and after that went back to the cave and slept.
CHAPTER V THE LAW OF MEAT
The cub’s development was rapid. He rested for two days,and then ventured forth from the cave again.It was on this adventure that he found the young weasel whose mother he had helped eat,and he saw to it that the young weasel went the way of its mother.But on this trip he did not get lost. When he grew tired,he found his way back to the cave and slept.And every day thereafter found him out and ranging a wider area.
He began to get accurate measurement of his strength and his weakness,and to know when to be bold and when to be cautious.He found it expedient to be cautious all the time, except for the rare moments, when,assured of his own intrepidity, he abandoned himself to petty rages and lusts.
He was always a little demon of fury when he chanced upon a stray ptarmigan.Never did he fail to respond savagely to the chatter of the squirrel he had first met on the blasted pine.While the sight of a moose-bird almost invariably put him into the wildest of rages;for he never forgot the peck on the nose he had received from the first of that ilk he encountered.
But there were times when even a moose-bird failed to affect him,and those were times when he felt himself to be in danger from some other prowling meat hunter.He never forgot the hawk, and its moving shadow always sent him crouching into the nearest thicket.He no longer sprawled and straddled, and already he was developing the gait of his mother,slinking and furtive, apparently without exertion,yet sliding along with a swiftness that was as deceptive as it was imperceptible.
In the matter of meat, his luck had been all in the beginning.The seven ptarmigan chicks and the baby weasel represented the sum of his killings.His desire to kill strengthened with the days,and he cherished hungry ambitions for the squirrel that chattered so volubly and always informed all wild creatures that the wolf-cub was approaching.But as birds flew in the air, squirrels could climb trees,and the cub could only try to crawl unobserved upon the squirrel when it was on the ground.
The cub entertained a great respect for his mother. She could get meat,and she never failed to bring him his share. Further, she was unafraid of things.It did not occur to him that this fearlessness was founded upon experience and knowledge.Its effect on him was that of an impression of power. His mother represented power;and as he grew older he felt this power in the sharper admonishment of her paw;while the reproving nudge of her nose gave place to the slash of her fangs. For this, likewise,he respected his mother. She compelled obedience from him,and the older he grew the shorter grew her temper.
Famine came again, and the cub with clearer consciousness knew once more the bite of hunger.The she-wolf ran herself thin in the quest for meat. She rarely slept any more in the cave,spending most of her time on the meat-trail, and spending it vainly.This famine was not a long one, but it was severe while it lasted.The cub found no more milk in his mother’s breast, nor did he get one mouthful of meat for himself.
Before, he had hunted in play, for the sheer joyousness of it; now he hunted in deadly earnestness,and found nothing. Yet the failure of it accelerated his development.He studied the habits of the squirrel with greater carefulness,and strove with greater craft to steal upon it and surprise it.He studied the wood-mice and tried to dig them out of their burrows;and he learned much about the ways of moose-birds and woodpeckers.And there came a day when the hawk’s shadow did not drive him crouching into the bushes.He had grown stronger and wiser, and more confident. Also, he was desperate.So he sat on his haunches, conspicuously in an open space,and challenged the hawk down out of the sky. For he knew that there,floating in the blue above him, was meat, the meat his stomach yearned after so insistently.But the hawk refused to come down and give battle,and the cub crawled away into a thicket and whimpered his disappointment and hunger.
The famine broke. The she-wolf brought home meat. It was strange meat,different from any she had ever brought before. It was a lynx kitten, partly grown, like the cub,but not so large. And it was all for him. His mother had satisfied her hunger elsewhere;though he did not know that it was the rest of the lynx litter that had gone to satisfy her.Nor did he know the desperateness of her deed. He knew only that the velvet-furred kitten was meat,and he ate and waxed happier with every mouthful.
A full stomach conduces to inaction, and the cub lay in the cave,sleeping against his mother’s side. He was aroused by her snarling.Never had he heard her snarl so terribly.Possibly in her whole life it was the most terrible snarl she ever gave. There was reason for it,and none knew it better than she. A lynx’s lair is not despoiled with impunity.In the full glare of the afternoon light, crouching in the entrance of the cave,the cub saw the lynx-mother. The hair rippled up along his back at the sight. Here was fear,and it did not require his instinct to tell him of it. And if sight alone were not sufficient,the cry of rage the intruder gave, beginning with a snarl and rushing abruptly upward into a hoarse screech, was convincing enough in itself.
The cub felt the prod of the life that was in him,and stood up and snarled valiantly by his mother’s side.But she thrust him ignominiously away and behind her.Because of the low-roofed entrance the lynx could not leap in,and when she made a crawling rush of it the she-wolf sprang upon her and pinned her down.The cub saw little of the battle. There was a tremendous snarling and spitting and screeching.The two animals threshed about, the lynx ripping and tearing with her claws and using her teeth as well,while the she-wolf used her teeth alone.
Once, the cub sprang in and sank his teeth into the hind leg of the lynx. He clung on,growling savagely. Though he did not know it,by the weight of his body he clogged the action of the leg and thereby saved his mother much damage.A change in the battle crushed him under both their bodies and wrenched loose his hold.The next moment the two mothers separated, and, before they rushed together again,the lynx lashed out at the cub with a huge fore-paw that ripped his shoulder open to the bone and sent him hurtling sidewise against the wall.Then was added to the uproar the cub’s shrill yelp of pain and fright.But the fight lasted so long that he had time to cry himself out and to experience a second burst of courage;and the end of the battle found him again clinging to a hind-leg and furiously growling between his teeth.
The lynx was dead. But the she-wolf was very weak and sick.At first she caressed the cub and licked his wounded shoulder;but the blood she had lost had taken with it her strength,and for all of a day and a night she lay by her dead foe’s side, without movement,scarcely breathing. For a week she never left the cave, except for water,and then her movements were slow and painful. At the end of that time the lynx was devoured,while the she-wolf’s wounds had healed sufficiently to permit her to take the meat-trail again.
The cub’s shoulder was stiff and sore, and for some time he limped from the terrible slash he had received.But the world now seemed changed. He went about in it with greater confidence,with a feeling of prowess that had not been his in the days before the battle with the lynx.He had looked upon life in a more ferocious aspect; he had fought;he had buried his teeth in the flesh of a foe; and he had survived. And because of all this,he carried himself more boldly, with a touch of defiance that was new in him.He was no longer afraid of minor things, and much of his timidity had vanished,though the unknown never ceased to press upon him with its mysteries and terrors, intangible and ever-menacing.
He began to accompany his mother on the meat-trail,and he saw much of the killing of meat and began to play his part in it.And in his own dim way he learned the law of meat.There were two kinds of life—his own kind and the other kind.His own kind included his mother and himself. The other kind included all live things that moved.But the other kind was divided. One portion was what his own kind killed and ate.This portion was composed of the non-killers and the small killers.The other portion killed and ate his own kind, or was killed and eaten by his own kind.And out of this classification arose the law. The aim of life was meat. Life itself was meat.Life lived on life. There were the eaters and the eaten. The law was: EAT OR BE EATEN.He did not formulate the law in clear, set terms and moralise about it.He did not even think the law; he merely lived the law without thinking about it at all.
He saw the law operating around him on every side. He had eaten the ptarmigan chicks.The hawk had eaten the ptarmigan-mother. The hawk would also have eaten him. Later,when he had grown more formidable, he wanted to eat the hawk. He had eaten the lynx kitten.The lynx-mother would have eaten him had she not herself been killed and eaten. And so it went.The law was being lived about him by all live things,and he himself was part and parcel of the law. He was a killer. His only food was meat, live meat,that ran away swiftly before him, or flew into the air, or climbed trees, or hid in the ground,or faced him and fought with him, or turned the tables and ran after him.
Had the cub thought in man-fashion, he might have epitomised life as a voracious appetite and the world as a place wherein ranged a multitude of appetites,pursuing and being pursued, hunting and being hunted, eating and being eaten,all in blindness and confusion, with violence and disorder, a chaos of gluttony and slaughter,ruled over by chance, merciless, planless, endless.
But the cub did not think in man-fashion. He did not look at things with wide vision.He was single-purposed, and entertained but one thought or desire at a time.Besides the law of meat, there were a myriad other and lesser laws for him to learn and obey.The world was filled with surprise. The stir of the life that was in him, the play of his muscles,was an unending happiness. To run down meat was to experience thrills and elations.His rages and battles were pleasures. Terror itself, and the mystery of the unknown, led to his living.
And there were easements and satisfactions. To have a full stomach,to doze lazily in the sunshine—such things were remuneration in full for his ardours and toils,while his ardours and tolls were in themselves self-remunerative. They were expressions of life,and life is always happy when it is expressing itself.So the cub had no quarrel with his hostile environment. He was very much alive, very happy, and very proud of himself.
PART III
CHAPTER I THE MAKERS OF FIRE
The cub came upon it suddenly. It was his own fault. He had been careless.He had left the cave and run down to the stream to drink.It might have been that he took no notice because he was heavy with sleep.(He had been out all night on the meat-trail,and had but just then awakened.) And his carelessness might have been due to the familiarity of the trail to the pool.He had travelled it often, and nothing had ever happened on it.
He went down past the blasted pine, crossed the open space, and trotted in amongst the trees. Then,at the same instant, he saw and smelt. Before him, sitting silently on their haunches,were five live things, the like of which he had never seen before.It was his first glimpse of mankind. But at the sight of him the five men did not spring to their feet,nor show their teeth, nor snarl. They did not move, but sat there, silent and ominous.
Nor did the cub move. Every instinct of his nature would have impelled him to dash wildly away,had there not suddenly and for the first time arisen in him another and counter instinct.A great awe descended upon him. He was beaten down to movelessness by an overwhelming sense of his own weakness and littleness.Here was mastery and power, something far and away beyond him.
The cub had never seen man, yet the instinct concerning man was his.In dim ways he recognised in man the animal that had fought itself to primacy over the other animals of the Wild.Not alone out of his own eyes, but out of the eyes of all his ancestors was the cub now looking upon man—out of eyes that had circled in the darkness around countless winter camp-fires, that had peered from safe distances and from the hearts of thickets at the strange, two-legged animal that was lord over living things. The spell of the cub’s heritage was upon him, the fear and the respect born of the centuries of struggle and the accumulated experience of the generations. The heritage was too compelling for a wolf that was only a cub. Had he been full-grown, he would have run away. As it was, he cowered down in a paralysis of fear, already half proffering the submission that his kind had proffered from the first time a wolf came in to sit by man’s fire and be made warm.
One of the Indians arose and walked over to him and stooped above him.The cub cowered closer to the ground. It was the unknown, objectified at last,in concrete flesh and blood, bending over him and reaching down to seize hold of him.His hair bristled involuntarily; his lips writhed back and his little fangs were bared. The hand,poised like doom above him, hesitated, and the man spoke laughing, “_Wabam wabisca ip pit tah_. ” (“Look!The white fangs!”)
The other Indians laughed loudly, and urged the man on to pick up the cub.As the hand descended closer and closer, there raged within the cub a battle of the instincts.He experienced two great impulsions—to yield and to fight. The resulting action was a compromise.He did both. He yielded till the hand almost touched him. Then he fought,his teeth flashing in a snap that sank them into the hand.The next moment he received a clout alongside the head that knocked him over on his side.Then all fight fled out of him. His puppyhood and the instinct of submission took charge of him.He sat up on his haunches and ki-yi’d. But the man whose hand he had bitten was angry.The cub received a clout on the other side of his head.Whereupon he sat up and ki-yi’d louder than ever.
The four Indians laughed more loudly, while even the man who had been bitten began to laugh.They surrounded the cub and laughed at him, while he wailed out his terror and his hurt.In the midst of it, he heard something. The Indians heard it too. But the cub knew what it was,and with a last, long wail that had in it more of triumph than grief,he ceased his noise and waited for the coming of his mother,of his ferocious and indomitable mother who fought and killed all things and was never afraid.She was snarling as she ran. She had heard the cry of her cub and was dashing to save him.
She bounded in amongst them, her anxious and militant motherhood making her anything but a pretty sight.But to the cub the spectacle of her protective rage was pleasing.He uttered a glad little cry and bounded to meet her,while the man-animals went back hastily several steps. The she-wolf stood over against her cub,facing the men, with bristling hair, a snarl rumbling deep in her throat.Her face was distorted and malignant with menace,even the bridge of the nose wrinkling from tip to eyes so prodigious was her snarl.
Then it was that a cry went up from one of the men. “Kiche!” was what he uttered. It was an exclamation of surprise.The cub felt his mother wilting at the sound.
“Kiche!” the man cried again, this time with sharpness and authority.
And then the cub saw his mother, the she-wolf, the fearless one,crouching down till her belly touched the ground, whimpering, wagging her tail, making peace signs.The cub could not understand. He was appalled. The awe of man rushed over him again.His instinct had been true. His mother verified it. She, too, rendered submission to the man-animals.
The man who had spoken came over to her. He put his hand upon her head,and she only crouched closer. She did not snap, nor threaten to snap. The other men came up,and surrounded her, and felt her, and pawed her, which actions she made no attempt to resent.They were greatly excited, and made many noises with their mouths.These noises were not indication of danger, the cub decided,as he crouched near his mother still bristling from time to time but doing his best to submit.
“It is not strange,” an Indian was saying. “Her father was a wolf. It is true, her mother was a dog;but did not my brother tie her out in the woods all of three nights in the mating season?Therefore was the father of Kiche a wolf.”
“It is a year, Grey Beaver, since she ran away,” spoke a second Indian.
“It is not strange, Salmon Tongue,” Grey Beaver answered. “It was the time of the famine, and there was no meat for the dogs.”
“She has lived with the wolves,” said a third Indian.
“So it would seem, Three Eagles,” Grey Beaver answered, laying his hand on the cub; “and this be the sign of it.”
The cub snarled a little at the touch of the hand, and the hand flew back to administer a clout.Whereupon the cub covered its fangs, and sank down submissively, while the hand, returning,rubbed behind his ears, and up and down his back.
“This be the sign of it,” Grey Beaver went on. “It is plain that his mother is Kiche.But his father was a wolf. Wherefore is there in him little dog and much wolf. His fangs be white,and White Fang shall be his name. I have spoken. He is my dog. For was not Kiche my brother’s dog?And is not my brother dead?”
The cub, who had thus received a name in the world, lay and watched.For a time the man-animals continued to make their mouth-noises.Then Grey Beaver took a knife from a sheath that hung around his neck,and went into the thicket and cut a stick. White Fang watched him.He notched the stick at each end and in the notches fastened strings of raw-hide.One string he tied around the throat of Kiche. Then he led her to a small pine, around which he tied the other string.
White Fang followed and lay down beside her.Salmon Tongue’s hand reached out to him and rolled him over on his back. Kiche looked on anxiously.White Fang felt fear mounting in him again. He could not quite suppress a snarl,but he made no offer to snap. The hand, with fingers crooked and spread apart,rubbed his stomach in a playful way and rolled him from side to side.It was ridiculous and ungainly, lying there on his back with legs sprawling in the air. Besides,it was a position of such utter helplessness that White Fang’s whole nature revolted against it.He could do nothing to defend himself. If this man-animal intended harm,White Fang knew that he could not escape it.How could he spring away with his four legs in the air above him?Yet submission made him master his fear, and he only growled softly.This growl he could not suppress; nor did the man-animal resent it by giving him a blow on the head.And furthermore, such was the strangeness of it,White Fang experienced an unaccountable sensation of pleasure as the hand rubbed back and forth.When he was rolled on his side he ceased to growl,when the fingers pressed and prodded at the base of his ears the pleasurable sensation increased;and when, with a final rub and scratch, the man left him alone and went away,all fear had died out of White Fang. He was to know fear many times in his dealing with man;yet it was a token of the fearless companionship with man that was ultimately to be his.
After a time, White Fang heard strange noises approaching. He was quick in his classification,for he knew them at once for man-animal noises. A few minutes later the remainder of the tribe,strung out as it was on the march, trailed in. There were more men and many women and children,forty souls of them, and all heavily burdened with camp equipage and outfit.Also there were many dogs; and these, with the exception of the part-grown puppies,were likewise burdened with camp outfit. On their backs,in bags that fastened tightly around underneath,the dogs carried from twenty to thirty pounds of weight.
White Fang had never seen dogs before, but at sight of them he felt that they were his own kind,only somehow different. But they displayed little difference from the wolf when they discovered the cub and his mother.There was a rush. White Fang bristled and snarled and snapped in the face of the open-mouthed oncoming wave of dogs,and went down and under them, feeling the sharp slash of teeth in his body,himself biting and tearing at the legs and bellies above him. There was a great uproar.He could hear the snarl of Kiche as she fought for him;and he could hear the cries of the man-animals, the sound of clubs striking upon bodies,and the yelps of pain from the dogs so struck.
Only a few seconds elapsed before he was on his feet again.He could now see the man-animals driving back the dogs with clubs and stones, defending him,saving him from the savage teeth of his kind that somehow was not his kind.And though there was no reason in his brain for a clear conception of so abstract a thing as justice,nevertheless, in his own way, he felt the justice of the man-animals,and he knew them for what they were—makers of law and executors of law. Also,he appreciated the power with which they administered the law.Unlike any animals he had ever encountered, they did not bite nor claw.They enforced their live strength with the power of dead things. Dead things did their bidding.Thus, sticks and stones, directed by these strange creatures,leaped through the air like living things, inflicting grievous hurts upon the dogs.
To his mind this was power unusual, power inconceivable and beyond the natural,power that was godlike. White Fang, in the very nature of him,could never know anything about gods; at the best he could know only things that were beyond knowing—but the wonder and awe that he had of these man-animals in ways resembled what would be the wonder and awe of man at sight of some celestial creature, on a mountain top, hurling thunderbolts from either hand at an astonished world.
The last dog had been driven back. The hubbub died down.And White Fang licked his hurts and meditated upon this,his first taste of pack-cruelty and his introduction to the pack.He had never dreamed that his own kind consisted of more than One Eye, his mother, and himself.They had constituted a kind apart, and here, abruptly,he had discovered many more creatures apparently of his own kind.And there was a subconscious resentment that these, his kind,at first sight had pitched upon him and tried to destroy him.In the same way he resented his mother being tied with a stick,even though it was done by the superior man-animals. It savoured of the trap, of bondage.Yet of the trap and of bondage he knew nothing. Freedom to roam and run and lie down at will,had been his heritage; and here it was being infringed upon.His mother’s movements were restricted to the length of a stick,and by the length of that same stick was he restricted,for he had not yet got beyond the need of his mother’s side.
He did not like it. Nor did he like it when the man-animals arose and went on with their march;for a tiny man-animal took the other end of the stick and led Kiche captive behind him,and behind Kiche followed White Fang, greatly perturbed and worried by this new adventure he had entered upon.
They went down the valley of the stream, far beyond White Fang’s widest ranging,until they came to the end of the valley, where the stream ran into the Mackenzie River. Here,where canoes were cached on poles high in the air and where stood fish-racks for the drying of fish,camp was made; and White Fang looked on with wondering eyes.The superiority of these man-animals increased with every moment.There was their mastery over all these sharp-fanged dogs. It breathed of power.But greater than that, to the wolf-cub, was their mastery over things not alive;their capacity to communicate motion to unmoving things;their capacity to change the very face of the world.
It was this last that especially affected him. The elevation of frames of poles caught his eye;yet this in itself was not so remarkable,being done by the same creatures that flung sticks and stones to great distances.But when the frames of poles were made into tepees by being covered with cloth and skins,White Fang was astounded. It was the colossal bulk of them that impressed him.They arose around him, on every side, like some monstrous quick-growing form of life.They occupied nearly the whole circumference of his field of vision. He was afraid of them.They loomed ominously above him; and when the breeze stirred them into huge movements,he cowered down in fear, keeping his eyes warily upon them,and prepared to spring away if they attempted to precipitate themselves upon him.
But in a short while his fear of the tepees passed away.He saw the women and children passing in and out of them without harm,and he saw the dogs trying often to get into them,and being driven away with sharp words and flying stones. After a time,he left Kiche’s side and crawled cautiously toward the wall of the nearest tepee.It was the curiosity of growth that urged him on—the necessity of learning and living and doing that brings experience.The last few inches to the wall of the tepee were crawled with painful slowness and precaution.The day’s events had prepared him for the unknown to manifest itself in most stupendous and unthinkable ways.At last his nose touched the canvas. He waited. Nothing happened.Then he smelled the strange fabric, saturated with the man-smell.He closed on the canvas with his teeth and gave a gentle tug. Nothing happened,though the adjacent portions of the tepee moved. He tugged harder. There was a greater movement.It was delightful. He tugged still harder, and repeatedly, until the whole tepee was in motion.Then the sharp cry of a squaw inside sent him scampering back to Kiche.But after that he was afraid no more of the looming bulks of the tepees.
A moment later he was straying away again from his mother.Her stick was tied to a peg in the ground and she could not follow him. A part-grown puppy,somewhat larger and older than he, came toward him slowly,with ostentatious and belligerent importance. The puppy’s name,as White Fang was afterward to hear him called, was Lip-lip.He had had experience in puppy fights and was already something of a bully.