<h3>CHAPTER III—THE GOD’S DOMAIN</h3>
<p>Not only was White Fang adaptable by nature, but he had travelled
much, and knew the meaning and necessity of adjustment. Here,
in Sierra Vista, which was the name of Judge Scott’s place, White
Fang quickly began to make himself at home. He had no further
serious trouble with the dogs. They knew more about the ways of
the Southland gods than did he, and in their eyes he had qualified when
he accompanied the gods inside the house. Wolf that he was, and
unprecedented as it was, the gods had sanctioned his presence, and they,
the dogs of the gods, could only recognise this sanction.</p>
<p>Dick, perforce, had to go through a few stiff formalities at first,
after which he calmly accepted White Fang as an addition to the premises.
Had Dick had his way, they would have been good friends. All but
White Fang was averse to friendship. All he asked of other dogs
was to be let alone. His whole life he had kept aloof from his
kind, and he still desired to keep aloof. Dick’s overtures
bothered him, so he snarled Dick away. In the north he had learned
the lesson that he must let the master’s dogs alone, and he did
not forget that lesson now. But he insisted on his own privacy
and self-seclusion, and so thoroughly ignored Dick that that good-natured
creature finally gave him up and scarcely took as much interest in him
as in the hitching-post near the stable.</p>
<p>Not so with Collie. While she accepted him because it was the
mandate of the gods, that was no reason that she should leave him in
peace. Woven into her being was the memory of countless crimes
he and his had perpetrated against her ancestry. Not in a day
nor a generation were the ravaged sheepfolds to be forgotten.
All this was a spur to her, pricking her to retaliation. She could
not fly in the face of the gods who permitted him, but that did not
prevent her from making life miserable for him in petty ways.
A feud, ages old, was between them, and she, for one, would see to it
that he was reminded.</p>
<p>So Collie took advantage of her sex to pick upon White Fang and maltreat
him. His instinct would not permit him to attack her, while her
persistence would not permit him to ignore her. When she rushed
at him he turned his fur-protected shoulder to her sharp teeth and walked
away stiff-legged and stately. When she forced him too hard, he
was compelled to go about in a circle, his shoulder presented to her,
his head turned from her, and on his face and in his eyes a patient
and bored expression. Sometimes, however, a nip on his hind-quarters
hastened his retreat and made it anything but stately. But as
a rule he managed to maintain a dignity that was almost solemnity.
He ignored her existence whenever it was possible, and made it a point
to keep out of her way. When he saw or heard her coming, he got
up and walked off.</p>
<p>There was much in other matters for White Fang to learn. Life
in the Northland was simplicity itself when compared with the complicated
affairs of Sierra Vista. First of all, he had to learn the family
of the master. In a way he was prepared to do this. As Mit-sah
and Kloo-kooch had belonged to Grey Beaver, sharing his food, his fire,
and his blankets, so now, at Sierra Vista, belonged to the love-master
all the denizens of the house.</p>
<p>But in this matter there was a difference, and many differences.
Sierra Vista was a far vaster affair than the tepee of Grey Beaver.
There were many persons to be considered. There was Judge Scott,
and there was his wife. There were the master’s two sisters,
Beth and Mary. There was his wife, Alice, and then there were
his children, Weedon and Maud, toddlers of four and six. There
was no way for anybody to tell him about all these people, and of blood-ties
and relationship he knew nothing whatever and never would be capable
of knowing. Yet he quickly worked it out that all of them belonged
to the master. Then, by observation, whenever opportunity offered,
by study of action, speech, and the very intonations of the voice, he
slowly learned the intimacy and the degree of favour they enjoyed with
the master. And by this ascertained standard, White Fang treated
them accordingly. What was of value to the master he valued; what
was dear to the master was to be cherished by White Fang and guarded
<p>Thus it was with the two children. All his life he had disliked
children. He hated and feared their hands. The lessons were
not tender that he had learned of their tyranny and cruelty in the days
of the Indian villages. When Weedon and Maud had first approached
him, he growled warningly and looked malignant. A cuff from the
master and a sharp word had then compelled him to permit their caresses,
though he growled and growled under their tiny hands, and in the growl
there was no crooning note. Later, he observed that the boy and
girl were of great value in the master’s eyes. Then it was
that no cuff nor sharp word was necessary before they could pat him.</p>
<p>Yet White Fang was never effusively affectionate. He yielded
to the master’s children with an ill but honest grace, and endured
their fooling as one would endure a painful operation. When he
could no longer endure, he would get up and stalk determinedly away
from them. But after a time, he grew even to like the children.
Still he was not demonstrative. He would not go up to them.
On the other hand, instead of walking away at sight of them, he waited
for them to come to him. And still later, it was noticed that
a pleased light came into his eyes when he saw them approaching, and
that he looked after them with an appearance of curious regret when
they left him for other amusements.</p>
<p>All this was a matter of development, and took time. Next in
his regard, after the children, was Judge Scott. There were two
reasons, possibly, for this. First, he was evidently a valuable
possession of the master’s, and next, he was undemonstrative.
White Fang liked to lie at his feet on the wide porch when he read the
newspaper, from time to time favouring White Fang with a look or a word—untroublesome
tokens that he recognised White Fang’s presence and existence.
But this was only when the master was not around. When the master
appeared, all other beings ceased to exist so far as White Fang was
<p>White Fang allowed all the members of the family to pet him and make
much of him; but he never gave to them what he gave to the master.
No caress of theirs could put the love-croon into his throat, and, try
as they would, they could never persuade him into snuggling against
them. This expression of abandon and surrender, of absolute trust,
he reserved for the master alone. In fact, he never regarded the
members of the family in any other light than possessions of the love-master.</p>
<p>Also White Fang had early come to differentiate between the family
and the servants of the household. The latter were afraid of him,
while he merely refrained from attacking them. This because he
considered that they were likewise possessions of the master.
Between White Fang and them existed a neutrality and no more.
They cooked for the master and washed the dishes and did other things
just as Matt had done up in the Klondike. They were, in short,
appurtenances of the household.</p>
<p>Outside the household there was even more for White Fang to learn.
The master’s domain was wide and complex, yet it had its metes
and bounds. The land itself ceased at the county road. Outside
was the common domain of all gods—the roads and streets.
Then inside other fences were the particular domains of other gods.
A myriad laws governed all these things and determined conduct; yet
he did not know the speech of the gods, nor was there any way for him
to learn save by experience. He obeyed his natural impulses until
they ran him counter to some law. When this had been done a few
times, he learned the law and after that observed it.</p>
<p>But most potent in his education was the cuff of the master’s
hand, the censure of the master’s voice. Because of White
Fang’s very great love, a cuff from the master hurt him far more
than any beating Grey Beaver or Beauty Smith had ever given him.
They had hurt only the flesh of him; beneath the flesh the spirit had
still raged, splendid and invincible. But with the master the
cuff was always too light to hurt the flesh. Yet it went deeper.
It was an expression of the master’s disapproval, and White Fang’s
spirit wilted under it.</p>
<p>In point of fact, the cuff was rarely administered. The master’s
voice was sufficient. By it White Fang knew whether he did right
or not. By it he trimmed his conduct and adjusted his actions.
It was the compass by which he steered and learned to chart the manners
of a new land and life.</p>
<p>In the Northland, the only domesticated animal was the dog.
All other animals lived in the Wild, and were, when not too formidable,
lawful spoil for any dog. All his days White Fang had foraged
among the live things for food. It did not enter his head that
in the Southland it was otherwise. But this he was to learn early
in his residence in Santa Clara Valley. Sauntering around the
corner of the house in the early morning, he came upon a chicken that
had escaped from the chicken-yard. White Fang’s natural
impulse was to eat it. A couple of bounds, a flash of teeth and
a frightened squawk, and he had scooped in the adventurous fowl.
It was farm-bred and fat and tender; and White Fang licked his chops
and decided that such fare was good.</p>
<p>Later in the day, he chanced upon another stray chicken near the
stables. One of the grooms ran to the rescue. He did not
know White Fang’s breed, so for weapon he took a light buggy-whip.
At the first cut of the whip, White Fang left the chicken for the man.
A club might have stopped White Fang, but not a whip. Silently,
without flinching, he took a second cut in his forward rush, and as
he leaped for the throat the groom cried out, “My God!”
and staggered backward. He dropped the whip and shielded his throat
with his arms. In consequence, his forearm was ripped open to
<p>The man was badly frightened. It was not so much White Fang’s
ferocity as it was his silence that unnerved the groom. Still
protecting his throat and face with his torn and bleeding arm, he tried
to retreat to the barn. And it would have gone hard with him had
not Collie appeared on the scene. As she had saved Dick’s
life, she now saved the groom’s. She rushed upon White Fang
in frenzied wrath. She had been right. She had known better
than the blundering gods. All her suspicions were justified.
Here was the ancient marauder up to his old tricks again.</p>
<p>The groom escaped into the stables, and White Fang backed away before
Collie’s wicked teeth, or presented his shoulder to them and circled
round and round. But Collie did not give over, as was her wont,
after a decent interval of chastisement. On the contrary, she
grew more excited and angry every moment, until, in the end, White Fang
flung dignity to the winds and frankly fled away from her across the
<p>“He’ll learn to leave chickens alone,” the master
said. “But I can’t give him the lesson until I catch
him in the act.”</p>
<p>Two nights later came the act, but on a more generous scale than
the master had anticipated. White Fang had observed closely the
chicken-yards and the habits of the chickens. In the night-time,
after they had gone to roost, he climbed to the top of a pile of newly
hauled lumber. From there he gained the roof of a chicken-house,
passed over the ridgepole and dropped to the ground inside. A
moment later he was inside the house, and the slaughter began.</p>
<p>In the morning, when the master came out on to the porch, fifty white
Leghorn hens, laid out in a row by the groom, greeted his eyes.
He whistled to himself, softly, first with surprise, and then, at the
end, with admiration. His eyes were likewise greeted by White
Fang, but about the latter there were no signs of shame nor guilt.
He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved
a deed praiseworthy and meritorious. There was about him no consciousness
of sin. The master’s lips tightened as he faced the disagreeable
task. Then he talked harshly to the unwitting culprit, and in
his voice there was nothing but godlike wrath. Also, he held White
Fang’s nose down to the slain hens, and at the same time cuffed
<p>White Fang never raided a chicken-roost again. It was against
the law, and he had learned it. Then the master took him into
the chicken-yards. White Fang’s natural impulse, when he
saw the live food fluttering about him and under his very nose, was
to spring upon it. He obeyed the impulse, but was checked by the
master’s voice. They continued in the yards for half an
hour. Time and again the impulse surged over White Fang, and each
time, as he yielded to it, he was checked by the master’s voice.
Thus it was he learned the law, and ere he left the domain of the chickens,
he had learned to ignore their existence.</p>
<p>“You can never cure a chicken-killer.” Judge Scott
shook his head sadly at luncheon table, when his son narrated the lesson
he had given White Fang. “Once they’ve got the habit
and the taste of blood . . .” Again he shook his head sadly.</p>
<p>But Weedon Scott did not agree with his father. “I’ll
tell you what I’ll do,” he challenged finally. “I’ll
lock White Fang in with the chickens all afternoon.”</p>
<p>“But think of the chickens,” objected the judge.</p>
<p>“And furthermore,” the son went on, “for every
chicken he kills, I’ll pay you one dollar gold coin of the realm.”</p>
<p>“But you should penalise father, too,” interpose Beth.</p>
<p>Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around
the table. Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement.</p>
<p>“All right.” Weedon Scott pondered for a moment.
“And if, at the end of the afternoon White Fang hasn’t harmed
a chicken, for every ten minutes of the time he has spent in the yard,
you will have to say to him, gravely and with deliberation, just as
if you were sitting on the bench and solemnly passing judgment, ‘White
Fang, you are smarter than I thought.’”</p>
<p>From hidden points of vantage the family watched the performance.
But it was a fizzle. Locked in the yard and there deserted by
the master, White Fang lay down and went to sleep. Once he got
up and walked over to the trough for a drink of water. The chickens
he calmly ignored. So far as he was concerned they did not exist.
At four o’clock he executed a running jump, gained the roof of
the chicken-house and leaped to the ground outside, whence he sauntered
gravely to the house. He had learned the law. And on the
porch, before the delighted family, Judge Scott, face to face with White
Fang, said slowly and solemnly, sixteen times, “White Fang, you
are smarter than I thought.”</p>
<p>But it was the multiplicity of laws that befuddled White Fang and
often brought him into disgrace. He had to learn that he must
not touch the chickens that belonged to other gods. Then there
were cats, and rabbits, and turkeys; all these he must let alone.
In fact, when he had but partly learned the law, his impression was
that he must leave all live things alone. Out in the back-pasture,
a quail could flutter up under his nose unharmed. All tense and
trembling with eagerness and desire, he mastered his instinct and stood
still. He was obeying the will of the gods.</p>
<p>And then, one day, again out in the back-pasture, he saw Dick start
a jackrabbit and run it. The master himself was looking on and
did not interfere. Nay, he encouraged White Fang to join in the
chase. And thus he learned that there was no taboo on jackrabbits.
In the end he worked out the complete law. Between him and all
domestic animals there must be no hostilities. If not amity, at
least neutrality must obtain. But the other animals—the
squirrels, and quail, and cottontails, were creatures of the Wild who
had never yielded allegiance to man. They were the lawful prey
of any dog. It was only the tame that the gods protected, and
between the tame deadly strife was not permitted. The gods held
the power of life and death over their subjects, and the gods were jealous
of their power.</p>
<p>Life was complex in the Santa Clara Valley after the simplicities
of the Northland. And the chief thing demanded by these intricacies
of civilisation was control, restraint—a poise of self that was
as delicate as the fluttering of gossamer wings and at the same time
as rigid as steel. Life had a thousand faces, and White Fang found
he must meet them all—thus, when he went to town, in to San Jose,
running behind the carriage or loafing about the streets when the carriage
stopped. Life flowed past him, deep and wide and varied, continually
impinging upon his senses, demanding of him instant and endless adjustments
and correspondences, and compelling him, almost always, to suppress
his natural impulses.</p>
<p>There were butcher-shops where meat hung within reach. This
meat he must not touch. There were cats at the houses the master
visited that must be let alone. And there were dogs everywhere
that snarled at him and that he must not attack. And then, on
the crowded sidewalks there were persons innumerable whose attention
he attracted. They would stop and look at him, point him out to
one another, examine him, talk of him, and, worst of all, pat him.
And these perilous contacts from all these strange hands he must endure.
Yet this endurance he achieved. Furthermore, he got over being
awkward and self-conscious. In a lofty way he received the attentions
of the multitudes of strange gods. With condescension he accepted
their condescension. On the other hand, there was something about
him that prevented great familiarity. They patted him on the head
and passed on, contented and pleased with their own daring.</p>
<p>But it was not all easy for White Fang. Running behind the
carriage in the outskirts of San Jose, he encountered certain small
boys who made a practice of flinging stones at him. Yet he knew
that it was not permitted him to pursue and drag them down. Here
he was compelled to violate his instinct of self-preservation, and violate
it he did, for he was becoming tame and qualifying himself for civilisation.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, White Fang was not quite satisfied with the arrangement.
He had no abstract ideas about justice and fair play. But there
is a certain sense of equity that resides in life, and it was this sense
in him that resented the unfairness of his being permitted no defence
against the stone-throwers. He forgot that in the covenant entered
into between him and the gods they were pledged to care for him and
defend him. But one day the master sprang from the carriage, whip
in hand, and gave the stone-throwers a thrashing. After that they
threw stones no more, and White Fang understood and was satisfied.</p>
<p>One other experience of similar nature was his. On the way
to town, hanging around the saloon at the cross-roads, were three dogs
that made a practice of rushing out upon him when he went by.
Knowing his deadly method of fighting, the master had never ceased impressing
upon White Fang the law that he must not fight. As a result, having
learned the lesson well, White Fang was hard put whenever he passed
the cross-roads saloon. After the first rush, each time, his snarl
kept the three dogs at a distance but they trailed along behind, yelping
and bickering and insulting him. This endured for some time.
The men at the saloon even urged the dogs on to attack White Fang.
One day they openly sicked the dogs on him. The master stopped
<p>“Go to it,” he said to White Fang.</p>
<p>But White Fang could not believe. He looked at the master,
and he looked at the dogs. Then he looked back eagerly and questioningly
at the master.</p>
<p>The master nodded his head. “Go to them, old fellow.
Eat them up.”</p>
<p>White Fang no longer hesitated. He turned and leaped silently
among his enemies. All three faced him. There was a great
snarling and growling, a clashing of teeth and a flurry of bodies.
The dust of the road arose in a cloud and screened the battle.
But at the end of several minutes two dogs were struggling in the dirt
and the third was in full flight. He leaped a ditch, went through
a rail fence, and fled across a field. White Fang followed, sliding
over the ground in wolf fashion and with wolf speed, swiftly and without
noise, and in the centre of the field he dragged down and slew the dog.</p>
<p>With this triple killing his main troubles with dogs ceased.
The word went up and down the valley, and men saw to it that their dogs
did not molest the Fighting Wolf.</p>
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