Chapter: 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; 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.

 As White Fang must adapt to life at Sierra Vista, so must the Scotts' other dogs adapt to him. Collie especially is in no hurry to accept him, for she is fighting against her sheepdog instincts: "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." Collie exploits White Fang's instinctual deference to the female to persecute him-in gentler ways than did Lip-lip, to be sure -yet persecution all the same. At the same time, he is learning to receive expressions of affection from the Scott family. He must also, however, learn to negotiate another series of laws and restraints. When White Fang comes across a chicken who has escaped from the coop, he yields to instinct, attacking it, eating it, and enjoying it. Scott must teach him not to eat the chickens. The rest of the family, particularly Judge Scott, is dubious that the wolf-dog can learn this lesson-but learn it he does, eventually able to stay in the chicken coop without attacking any of the fowl. On the other hand, on one visit to San Jose, Weedon Scott eventually gives White Fang license to attack dogs who abuse him. White Fang kills three such dogs-and receives fearful respect from the residents, and their dogs, thereafter.

