1906 white fang jack london - pinkmonke - Pink Monkey

93
Baseek was surprised by the other’s temerity and swiftness of
attack. He stood, gazing stupidly across at White Fang, the raw,
red shin-bone between them.
Baseek was old, and already he had come to know the increasing
valor of the dogs it had been his wont to bully. Bitter experiences
these, which, perforce, he swallowed, calling upon all his wisdom
to cope with them. In the old days, he would have sprung upon
White Fang in a fury of righteous wrath. But now his waning
powers would not permit such a course. He bristled fiercely and
looked ominously across the shin-bone at White Fang. And White
Fang, resurrecting quite a deal of the old awe, seemed to wilt and
to shrink in upon himself and grow small, as he cast about in his
mind for a way to beat a retreat not too inglorious.
And right here Baseek erred. Had he contented himself with
looking fierce and ominous, all would have been well. White Fang,
on the verge of retreat, would have retreated, leaving the meat to
him. But Baseek did not wait. He considered the victory already
his and stepped forward to the meat. As he bent his head carelessly
to smell it, White Fang bristled slightly. Even then it was not too
late for Baseek to retrieve the situation. Had he merely stood over
the meat, head up and glowering, White Fang would ultimately
have slunk away. But the fresh meat was strong in Baseek’s
nostrils, and greed urged him to take a bite of it.
This was too much for White Fang. Fresh upon his months of
mastery over his own teammates, it was beyond his self-control to
stand idly by while another devoured the meat that belonged to
him. He struck, after his custom, without warning. With the first
slash, Baseek’s right ear was ripped into ribbons. He was
astounded at the suddenness of it. But more things, and most
grievous ones, were happening with equal suddenness. He was
knocked off his feet. His throat was bitten. While he was struggling
to his feet the young dog sank teeth twice into his shoulder. The
swiftness of it was bewildering. He made a futile rush at White
Fang, clipping the empty air with an outraged snap. The next
moment his nose was laid open and he was staggering backward
away from the meat.
The situation was now reversed. White Fang stood over the shinbone,
bristling and menacing, while Baseek stood a little way off,
preparing to retreat. He dared not risk a fight with this young
lightning-flash, again he knew, and more bitterly, the enfeeblement
of oncoming age. His attempt to maintain his dignity was heroic.
Calmly turning his back upon young dog and shin-bone, as though
both were beneath his notice and unworthy of consideration, he