Білий ікол

           "Youketchumdogyoutakeumallright,"washislastword. 

           Thebottlesweredelivered,butaftertwodays. "Youketchumdog,"wereBeautySmith’swordstoGreyBeaver. 

           WhiteFangslunkintocamponeeveninganddroppeddownwithasighofcontent. Thedreadedwhitegodwasnotthere. Fordayshismanifestationsofdesiretolayhandsonhimhadbeengrowingmoreinsistent,andduringthattimeWhiteFanghadbeencompelledtoavoidthecamp. Hedidnotknowwhatevilwasthreatenedbythoseinsistenthands. Heknewonlythattheydidthreatenevilofsomesort,andthatitwasbestforhimtokeepoutoftheirreach. 

           ButscarcelyhadhelaindownwhenGreyBeaverstaggeredovertohimandtiedaleatherthongaroundhisneck. HesatdownbesideWhiteFang,holdingtheendofthethonginhishand. Intheotherhandheheldabottle,which,fromtimetotime,wasinvertedabovehisheadtotheaccompanimentofgurglingnoises. 

           Anhourofthispassed,whenthevibrationsoffeetincontactwiththegroundforerantheonewhoapproached. WhiteFanghearditfirst,andhewasbristlingwithrecognitionwhileGreyBeaverstillnoddedstupidly. WhiteFangtriedtodrawthethongsoftlyoutofhismaster’shand;buttherelaxedfingersclosedtightlyandGreyBeaverrousedhimself. 

           BeautySmithstrodeintocampandstoodoverWhiteFang. Hesnarledsoftlyupatthethingoffear,watchingkeenlythedeportmentofthehands. Onehandextendedoutwardandbegantodescenduponhishead. Hissoftsnarlgrewtenseandharsh. Thehandcontinuedslowlytodescend,whilehecrouchedbeneathit,eyeingitmalignantly,hissnarlgrowingshorterandshorteras,withquickeningbreath,itapproacheditsculmination.