Білий ікол

           WhiteFangdidnotneedtheencouragement. Thereturnofthelove-masterwasenough. Lifewasflowingthroughhimagain,splendidandindomitable. Hefoughtfromsheerjoy,findinginitanexpressionofmuchthathefeltandthatotherwisewaswithoutspeech. Therecouldbebutoneending. Theteamdispersedinignominiousdefeat,anditwasnotuntilafterdarkthatthedogscamesneakingback,onebyone,bymeeknessandhumilitysignifyingtheirfealtytoWhiteFang. 

           Havinglearnedtosnuggle,WhiteFangwasguiltyofitoften. Itwasthefinalword.Hecouldnotgobeyondit. Theonethingofwhichhehadalwaysbeenparticularlyjealouswashishead.Hehadalwaysdislikedtohaveittouched. ItwastheWildinhim,thefearofhurtandofthetrap,thathadgivenrisetothepanickyimpulsestoavoidcontacts. Itwasthemandateofhisinstinctthatthatheadmustbefree. Andnow,withthelove-master,hissnugglingwasthedeliberateactofputtinghimselfintoapositionofhopelesshelplessness. Itwasanexpressionofperfectconfidence,ofabsoluteself-surrender,asthoughhesaid: "Iputmyselfintothyhands. Workthouthywillwithme." 

           Onenight,notlongafterthereturn,ScottandMattsatatagameofcribbagepreliminarytogoingtobed. "Fifteen-two,fifteen-fouran’apairmakessix,"Matwaspeggingup,whentherewasanoutcryandsoundofsnarlingwithout. Theylookedateachotherastheystartedtorisetotheirfeet. 

           "Thewolf’snailedsomebody,"Mattsaid. 

           Awildscreamoffearandanguishhastenedthem. 

           "Bringalight!"Scottshouted,ashesprangoutside. 

           Mattfollowedwiththelamp,andbyitslighttheysawamanlyingonhisbackinthesnow.