CHAPTER III

THE GOD'S DOMAIN



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.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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 carefully.



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.



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.



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 concerned.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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 the

bone.



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.



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 fields.



"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."



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.



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 him soundly.



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.



"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.



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."



"But think of the chickens," objected the judge.



"And furthermore," the son went on, "for every chicken he kills,

I'll pay you one dollar gold coin of the realm."



"But you should penalise father, too," interpose Beth.



Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around

the table. Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement.



"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.'"



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."



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.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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.



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 the carriage.



"Go to it," he said to White Fang.



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.



The master nodded his head. "Go to them, old fellow. Eat them up."



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.



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.

****

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