CHAPTER V

THE COVENANT

When December was well along, Grey Beaver went on a journey up the

Mackenzie. Mit-sah and Kloo-kooch went with him. One sled he drove

himself, drawn by dogs he had traded for or borrowed. A second and

smaller sled was driven by Mit-sah, and to this was harnessed a team of

puppies. It was more of a toy affair than anything else, yet it was the

delight of Mit-sah, who felt that he was beginning to do a man’s work

in the world. Also, he was learning to drive dogs and to train dogs;

while the puppies themselves were being broken in to the harness.

Furthermore, the sled was of some service, for it carried nearly two

hundred pounds of outfit and food.

White Fang had seen the camp-dogs toiling in the harness, so that he

did not resent overmuch the first placing of the harness upon himself.

About his neck was put a moss-stuffed collar, which was connected by

two pulling-traces to a strap that passed around his chest and over his

back. It was to this that was fastened the long rope by which he pulled

at the sled.

There were seven puppies in the team. The others had been born earlier

in the year and were nine and ten months old, while White Fang was only

eight months old. Each dog was fastened to the sled by a single rope.

No two ropes were of the same length, while the difference in length

between any two ropes was at least that of a dog’s body. Every rope was

brought to a ring at the front end of the sled. The sled itself was

without runners, being a birch-bark toboggan, with upturned forward end

to keep it from ploughing under the snow. This construction enabled the

weight of the sled and load to be distributed over the largest

snow-surface; for the snow was crystal-powder and very soft. Observing

the same principle of widest distribution of weight, the dogs at the

ends of their ropes radiated fan-fashion from the nose of the sled, so

that no dog trod in another’s footsteps.

There was, furthermore, another virtue in the fan-formation. The ropes

of varying length prevented the dogs attacking from the rear those that

ran in front of them. For a dog to attack another, it would have to

turn upon one at a shorter rope. In which case it would find itself

face to face with the dog attacked, and also it would find itself

facing the whip of the driver. But the most peculiar virtue of all lay

in the fact that the dog that strove to attack one in front of him must

pull the sled faster, and that the faster the sled travelled, the

faster could the dog attacked run away. Thus, the dog behind could

never catch up with the one in front. The faster he ran, the faster ran

the one he was after, and the faster ran all the dogs. Incidentally,

the sled went faster, and thus, by cunning indirection, did man

increase his mastery over the beasts.

Mit-sah resembled his father, much of whose grey wisdom he possessed.

In the past he had observed Lip-lip’s persecution of White Fang; but at

that time Lip-lip was another man’s dog, and Mit-sah had never dared

more than to shy an occasional stone at him. But now Lip-lip was his

dog, and he proceeded to wreak his vengeance on him by putting him at

the end of the longest rope. This made Lip-lip the leader, and was

apparently an honour! but in reality it took away from him all honour,

and instead of being bully and master of the pack, he now found himself

hated and persecuted by the pack.

Because he ran at the end of the longest rope, the dogs had always the

view of him running away before them. All that they saw of him was his

bushy tail and fleeing hind legs—a view far less ferocious and

intimidating than his bristling mane and gleaming fangs. Also, dogs

being so constituted in their mental ways, the sight of him running

away gave desire to run after him and a feeling that he ran away from

them.

The moment the sled started, the team took after Lip-lip in a chase

that extended throughout the day. At first he had been prone to turn

upon his pursuers, jealous of his dignity and wrathful; but at such

times Mit-sah would throw the stinging lash of the thirty-foot

cariboo-gut whip into his face and compel him to turn tail and run on.

Lip-lip might face the pack, but he could not face that whip, and all

that was left him to do was to keep his long rope taut and his flanks

ahead of the teeth of his mates.

But a still greater cunning lurked in the recesses of the Indian mind.

To give point to unending pursuit of the leader, Mit-sah favoured him

over the other dogs. These favours aroused in them jealousy and hatred.

In their presence Mit-sah would give him meat and would give it to him

only. This was maddening to them. They would rage around just outside

the throwing-distance of the whip, while Lip-lip devoured the meat and

Mit-sah protected him. And when there was no meat to give, Mit-sah

would keep the team at a distance and make believe to give meat to

Lip-lip.

White Fang took kindly to the work. He had travelled a greater distance

than the other dogs in the yielding of himself to the rule of the gods,

and he had learned more thoroughly the futility of opposing their will.

In addition, the persecution he had suffered from the pack had made the

pack less to him in the scheme of things, and man more. He had not

learned to be dependent on his kind for companionship. Besides, Kiche

was well-nigh forgotten; and the chief outlet of expression that

remained to him was in the allegiance he tendered the gods he had

accepted as masters. So he worked hard, learned discipline, and was

obedient. Faithfulness and willingness characterised his toil. These

are essential traits of the wolf and the wild-dog when they have become

domesticated, and these traits White Fang possessed in unusual measure.

A companionship did exist between White Fang and the other dogs, but it

was one of warfare and enmity. He had never learned to play with them.

He knew only how to fight, and fight with them he did, returning to

them a hundred-fold the snaps and slashes they had given him in the

days when Lip-lip was leader of the pack. But Lip-lip was no longer

leader—except when he fled away before his mates at the end of his

rope, the sled bounding along behind. In camp he kept close to Mit-sah

or Grey Beaver or Kloo-kooch. He did not dare venture away from the

gods, for now the fangs of all dogs were against him, and he tasted to

the dregs the persecution that had been White Fang’s.

With the overthrow of Lip-lip, White Fang could have become leader of

the pack. But he was too morose and solitary for that. He merely

thrashed his team-mates. Otherwise he ignored them. They got out of his

way when he came along; nor did the boldest of them ever dare to rob

him of his meat. On the contrary, they devoured their own meat

hurriedly, for fear that he would take it away from them. White Fang

knew the law well: _to oppress the weak and obey the strong_. He ate

his share of meat as rapidly as he could. And then woe the dog that had

not yet finished! A snarl and a flash of fangs, and that dog would wail

his indignation to the uncomforting stars while White Fang finished his

portion for him.

Every little while, however, one dog or another would flame up in

revolt and be promptly subdued. Thus White Fang was kept in training.

He was jealous of the isolation in which he kept himself in the midst

of the pack, and he fought often to maintain it. But such fights were

of brief duration. He was too quick for the others. They were slashed

open and bleeding before they knew what had happened, were whipped

almost before they had begun to fight.

As rigid as the sled-discipline of the gods, was the discipline

maintained by White Fang amongst his fellows. He never allowed them any

latitude. He compelled them to an unremitting respect for him. They

might do as they pleased amongst themselves. That was no concern of

his. But it _was_ his concern that they leave him alone in his

isolation, get out of his way when he elected to walk among them, and

at all times acknowledge his mastery over them. A hint of

stiff-leggedness on their part, a lifted lip or a bristle of hair, and

he would be upon them, merciless and cruel, swiftly convincing them of

the error of their way.

He was a monstrous tyrant. His mastery was rigid as steel. He oppressed

the weak with a vengeance. Not for nothing had he been exposed to the

pitiless struggles for life in the day of his cubhood, when his mother

and he, alone and unaided, held their own and survived in the ferocious

environment of the Wild. And not for nothing had he learned to walk

softly when superior strength went by. He oppressed the weak, but he

respected the strong. And in the course of the long journey with Grey

Beaver he walked softly indeed amongst the full-grown dogs in the camps

of the strange man-animals they encountered.

The months passed by. Still continued the journey of Grey Beaver. White

Fang’s strength was developed by the long hours on trail and the steady

toil at the sled; and it would have seemed that his mental development

was well-nigh complete. He had come to know quite thoroughly the world

in which he lived. His outlook was bleak and materialistic. The world

as he saw it was a fierce and brutal world, a world without warmth, a

world in which caresses and affection and the bright sweetnesses of the

spirit did not exist.

He had no affection for Grey Beaver. True, he was a god, but a most

savage god. White Fang was glad to acknowledge his lordship, but it was

a lordship based upon superior intelligence and brute strength. There

was something in the fibre of White Fang’s being that made his lordship

a thing to be desired, else he would not have come back from the Wild

when he did to tender his allegiance. There were deeps in his nature

which had never been sounded. A kind word, a caressing touch of the

hand, on the part of Grey Beaver, might have sounded these deeps; but

Grey Beaver did not caress, nor speak kind words. It was not his way.

His primacy was savage, and savagely he ruled, administering justice

with a club, punishing transgression with the pain of a blow, and

rewarding merit, not by kindness, but by withholding a blow.

So White Fang knew nothing of the heaven a man’s hand might contain for

him. Besides, he did not like the hands of the man-animals. He was

suspicious of them. It was true that they sometimes gave meat, but more

often they gave hurt. Hands were things to keep away from. They hurled

stones, wielded sticks and clubs and whips, administered slaps and

clouts, and, when they touched him, were cunning to hurt with pinch and

twist and wrench. In strange villages he had encountered the hands of

the children and learned that they were cruel to hurt. Also, he had

once nearly had an eye poked out by a toddling papoose. From these

experiences he became suspicious of all children. He could not tolerate

them. When they came near with their ominous hands, he got up.

It was in a village at the Great Slave Lake, that, in the course of

resenting the evil of the hands of the man-animals, he came to modify

the law that he had learned from Grey Beaver: namely, that the

unpardonable crime was to bite one of the gods. In this village, after

the custom of all dogs in all villages, White Fang went foraging, for

food. A boy was chopping frozen moose-meat with an axe, and the chips

were flying in the snow. White Fang, sliding by in quest of meat,

stopped and began to eat the chips. He observed the boy lay down the

axe and take up a stout club. White Fang sprang clear, just in time to

escape the descending blow. The boy pursued him, and he, a stranger in

the village, fled between two tepees to find himself cornered against a

high earth bank.

There was no escape for White Fang. The only way out was between the

two tepees, and this the boy guarded. Holding his club prepared to

strike, he drew in on his cornered quarry. White Fang was furious. He

faced the boy, bristling and snarling, his sense of justice outraged.

He knew the law of forage. All the wastage of meat, such as the frozen

chips, belonged to the dog that found it. He had done no wrong, broken

no law, yet here was this boy preparing to give him a beating. White

Fang scarcely knew what happened. He did it in a surge of rage. And he

did it so quickly that the boy did not know either. All the boy knew

was that he had in some unaccountable way been overturned into the

snow, and that his club-hand had been ripped wide open by White Fang’s

teeth.

But White Fang knew that he had broken the law of the gods. He had

driven his teeth into the sacred flesh of one of them, and could expect

nothing but a most terrible punishment. He fled away to Grey Beaver,

behind whose protecting legs he crouched when the bitten boy and the

boy’s family came, demanding vengeance. But they went away with

vengeance unsatisfied. Grey Beaver defended White Fang. So did Mit-sah

and Kloo-kooch. White Fang, listening to the wordy war and watching the

angry gestures, knew that his act was justified. And so it came that he

learned there were gods and gods. There were his gods, and there were

other gods, and between them there was a difference. Justice or

injustice, it was all the same, he must take all things from the hands

of his own gods. But he was not compelled to take injustice from the

other gods. It was his privilege to resent it with his teeth. And this

also was a law of the gods.

Before the day was out, White Fang was to learn more about this law.

Mit-sah, alone, gathering firewood in the forest, encountered the boy

that had been bitten. With him were other boys. Hot words passed. Then

all the boys attacked Mit-sah. It was going hard with him. Blows were

raining upon him from all sides. White Fang looked on at first. This

was an affair of the gods, and no concern of his. Then he realised that

this was Mit-sah, one of his own particular gods, who was being

maltreated. It was no reasoned impulse that made White Fang do what he

then did. A mad rush of anger sent him leaping in amongst the

combatants. Five minutes later the landscape was covered with fleeing

boys, many of whom dripped blood upon the snow in token that White

Fang’s teeth had not been idle. When Mit-sah told the story in camp,

Grey Beaver ordered meat to be given to White Fang. He ordered much

meat to be given, and White Fang, gorged and sleepy by the fire, knew

that the law had received its verification.

It was in line with these experiences that White Fang came to learn the

law of property and the duty of the defence of property. From the

protection of his god’s body to the protection of his god’s possessions

was a step, and this step he made. What was his god’s was to be

defended against all the world—even to the extent of biting other gods.

Not only was such an act sacrilegious in its nature, but it was fraught

with peril. The gods were all-powerful, and a dog was no match against

them; yet White Fang learned to face them, fiercely belligerent and

unafraid. Duty rose above fear, and thieving gods learned to leave Grey

Beaver’s property alone.

One thing, in this connection, White Fang quickly learnt, and that was

that a thieving god was usually a cowardly god and prone to run away at

the sounding of the alarm. Also, he learned that but brief time elapsed

between his sounding of the alarm and Grey Beaver coming to his aid. He

came to know that it was not fear of him that drove the thief away, but

fear of Grey Beaver. White Fang did not give the alarm by barking. He

never barked. His method was to drive straight at the intruder, and to

sink his teeth in if he could. Because he was morose and solitary,

having nothing to do with the other dogs, he was unusually fitted to

guard his master’s property; and in this he was encouraged and trained

by Grey Beaver. One result of this was to make White Fang more

ferocious and indomitable, and more solitary.

The months went by, binding stronger and stronger the covenant between

dog and man. This was the ancient covenant that the first wolf that

came in from the Wild entered into with man. And, like all succeeding

wolves and wild dogs that had done likewise, White Fang worked the

covenant out for himself. The terms were simple. For the possession of

a flesh-and-blood god, he exchanged his own liberty. Food and fire,

protection and companionship, were some of the things he received from

the god. In return, he guarded the god’s property, defended his body,

worked for him, and obeyed him.

The possession of a god implies service. White Fang’s was a service of

duty and awe, but not of love. He did not know what love was. He had no

experience of love. Kiche was a remote memory. Besides, not only had he

abandoned the Wild and his kind when he gave himself up to man, but the

terms of the covenant were such that if ever he met Kiche again he

would not desert his god to go with her. His allegiance to man seemed

somehow a law of his being greater than the love of liberty, of kind

and kin.