1906 white fang jack london - pinkmonke - Pink Monkey

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savage vengeance on the offenders. One white man, having seen
his dog, a setter, torn to pieces before his eyes, drew a revolver. He
fired rapidly, six times, and six of the pack lay dead or dyinganother
manifestation of power that sank deep into White Fang’s
consciousness.
White Fang enjoyed it all. He did not love his kind, and he was
shrewd enough to escape hurt himself. At first, the killing of the
white men’s dogs had been a diversion. After a time it became his
occupation. There was no work for him to do. Gray Beaver was
busy trading and getting wealthy. So White Fang hung around the
landing with the disreputable gang of Indian dogs, waiting for
steamers. With the arrival of a steamer the fun began. After a few
minutes, by the time the white men had got over their surprise, the
gang scattered. The fun was over until the next steamer should
arrive.
But it can scarcely be said that White Fang was a member of the
gang. He did not mingle with it, but remained aloof, always
himself, and was even feared by it.
It is true, he worked with it. He picked the quarrel with the strange
dog while the gang waited. And when he had overthrown the
strange dog the gang went to finish it. But it is equally true that he
then withdrew, leaving the gang to receive the punishment of the
outraged gods.
It did not require much exertion to pick these quarrels. All he had
to do, when the strange dogs came ashore, was to show himself.
When they saw him they rushed for him. It was their instinct. He
was the Wild- the unknown, the terrible, the ever menacing, the
thing that prowled in the darkness around the fires of the primeval
world when they, cowering close to the fires, were reshaping their
instincts, learning to fear the Wild out of which they had come, and
which they had deserted and betrayed. Generation by generation,
down all the generations, had this fear of the Wild been stamped
into their natures. For centuries the Wild had stood for terror and
destruction. And during all this time free license had been theirs,
from their masters, to kill the things of the Wild. In doing this they
had protected both themselves and the gods whose companionship
they shared.
And so fresh from the soft southern world, these dogs, trotting
down the gangplank and out upon the Yukon shore, had but to see
White Fang to experience the irresistible impulse to rush upon him
and destroy him. They might be townreared dogs, but the
instinctive fear of the Wild was theirs just the same. Not alone with
their own eyes did they see the wolfish creature in the clear light of
the day, standing before them. They saw him with the eyes of their