Білий ікол

           "It’stoobad,butitservedhimright,"Scottsaidhastily. 

           ButMatt’sfoothadalreadystartedonitswaytokickWhiteFang.Therewasaleap,aflashofteeth,asharpexclamation.WhiteFang,snarlingfiercely,scrambledbackwardforseveralyards,whileMattstoopedandinvestigatedhisleg. 

           "Hegotmeallright,"heannounced,pointingtothetorntrousersandundercloths,andthegrowingstainofred. 

           "Itoldyouitwashopeless,Matt,"Scottsaidinadiscouragedvoice."I’vethoughtaboutitoffandon,whilenotwantingtothinkofit.Butwe’vecometoitnow.It’stheonlythingtodo." 

           Ashetalked,withreluctantmovementshedrewhisrevolver,threwopenthecylinder,andassuredhimselfofitscontents. 

           "Lookhere,Mr.Scott,"Mattobjected;"thatdog’sbenthroughhell.Youcan’texpect‘mtocomeoutawhitean’shinin’angel.Give‘mtime." 

           "LookatMajor,"theotherrejoined. 

           Thedog-mushersurveyedthestrickendog.Hehadsunkdownonthesnowinthecircleofhisbloodandwasplainlyinthelastgasp. 

           "Served‘mright.Yousaidsoyourself,Mr.Scott.HetriedtotakeWhiteFang’smeat,an’he’sdead-O.Thatwastobeexpected.Iwouldn’tgivetwowhoopsinhellforadogthatwouldn’tfightforhisownmeat." 

           "Butlookatyourself,Matt.It’sallrightaboutthedogs,butwemustdrawthelinesomewhere."