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Lundi 10 janvier 2011 à 3:52

"Served 'm right. You said so yourself, Mr. Scott. He tried to takeWhite Fang's meat, an' he's dead-O. That was to be expected. I wouldn'tgive two whoops in hell for a dog that wouldn't fight for his own meat.""But look at yourself, Matt. It's all right about the A-line Wedding Dresses, but we mustdraw the line somewhere.""Served me right," Matt argued stubbornly. "What'd I want to kick 'mfor? You said yourself that he'd done right. Then I had no right to kick 'm.""It would be a mercy to kill him," Scott insisted. "He's untamable.""Now look here, Mr. Scott, give the poor devil a fightin' chance. Heain't had no chance yet. He's just come through hell, an' this is the firsttime he's ben loose. Give 'm a fair chance, an' if he don't deliver the goods,I'll kill 'm myself. There!""God knows I don't want to kill him or have him killed," Scottanswered, putting away the revolver. "We'll let him run loose and see whatkindness can do for him. And here's a try at it."He walked over to White Fang and began talking to him gently and soothingly.

  "Better have a club handy," Matt warned.

  Scott shook his head and went on trying to win White Fang's confidence.

  White Fang was suspicious. Something was impending. He had killedthis god's dog, bitten his companion god, and what else was to be expectedthan some terrible punishment? But in the face of it he was indomitable.

  He bristled and showed his teeth, his eyes vigilant, his whole body waryand prepared for anything. The god had no club, so he suffered him toapproach quite near. The god's hand had come out and was descendingupon his head. White Fang shrank together and grew tense as he crouchedunder it. Here was danger, some treachery or something. He knew Column Wedding Dresses of the gods, their proved mastery, their cunning to hurt. Besides,there was his old antipathy to being touched. He snarled more menacingly,crouched still lower, and still the hand descended. He did not want to bitethe hand, and he endured the peril of it until his instinct surged up in him,mastering him with its insatiable yearning for life.

  Weedon Scott had believed that he was quick enough to avoid anysnap or slash. But he had yet to learn the remarkable quickness of WhiteFang, who struck with the certainty and swiftness of a coiled snake.

  Scott cried out sharply with surprise, catching his torn hand andholding it tightly in his other hand. Matt uttered a great oath and sprang tohis side. White Fang crouched down, and backed away, bristling, showinghis fangs, his eyes malignant with menace. Now he could expect a beatingas fearful as any he had received from Beauty Smith.
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Lundi 10 janvier 2011 à 3:51

He did not know what to make of it. Perhaps some new devilry of thegods was about to be perpetrated on him. He walked slowly and cautiously,prepared to be assailed at any  Wedding Dresses He did not know what to do, it wasall so unprecedented. He took the precaution to sheer off from the twowatching gods, and walked carefully to the corner of the cabin. Nothinghappened. He was plainly perplexed, and he came back again, pausing adozen feet away and regarding the two men intently.

  "Won't he run away?" his new owner asked.

  Matt shrugged his shoulders. "Got to take a gamble. Only way to findout is to find out.""Poor devil," Scott murmured pityingly. "What he needs is some showof human kindness," he added, turning and going into the cabin.

  He came out with a piece of meat, which he tossed to White Fang. Hesprang away from it, and from a distance studied it suspiciously.

  "Hi-yu, Major!" Matt shouted warningly, but too late.

  Major had made a spring for the meat. At the instant his jaws closed onit, White Fang struck him. He was overthrown. Matt rushed in, but quickerthan he was White Fang. Major staggered to his feet, but the bloodspouting from his throat reddened the snow in a widening path.

  "It's too bad, but it served him right," Scott said hastily.

  But Matt's foot had already started on its way to kick White Fang.

  There was a leap, a flash of teeth, a sharp exclamation. White Fang,snarling fiercely, scrambled backward for several yards, while Mattstooped and investigated his leg.

  "He got me all right," he announced, pointing to the torn trousers andundercloths, and the growing stain of red.

  "I told you it was hopeless, Matt," Scott said in a discouraged voice.

  "I've thought about it off and on, while not wanting to think of it. Butwe've come to it now. It's the only thing to do."As he talked, with reluctant movements he drew his revolver, threwopen the cylinder, and assured himself of its 2010 Wedding Dresses.

  "Look here, Mr. Scott," Matt objected; "that dog's ben through hell.

  You can't expect 'm to come out a white an' shinin' angel. Give 'm time.""Look at Major," the other rejoined.

  The dog-musher surveyed the stricken dog. He had sunk down on thesnow in the circle of his blood and was plainly in the last gasp.
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Lundi 10 janvier 2011 à 3:50

He sat on the step of his cabin and stared at the dog-musher, whoresponded with a shrug that was equally hopeless.

  Together they looked at White Fang at the end of his stretched chain,bristling, snarling, ferocious, straining to get at the sled-dogs. Havingreceived sundry lessons from Matt, said lessons being imparted by meansof a club, the  Quinceanera dresses had learned to leave White Fang alone; and eventhen they were lying down at a distance, apparently oblivious of his existence.

  "It's a wolf and there's no taming it," Weedon Scott announced.

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Matt objected. "Might be a lot of dog in'm, for all you can tell. But there's one thing I know sure, an' that there's nogettin' away from."The dog-musher paused and nodded his head confidentially atMoosehide Mountain.

  "Well, don't be a miser with what you know," Scott said sharply, afterwaiting a suitable length of time. "Spit it out. What is it?"The dog-musher indicated White Fang with a backward thrust of his thumb.

  "Wolf or dog, it's all the same - he's ben tamed 'ready.""No!""I tell you yes, an' broke to harness. Look close there. D'ye see themmarks across the chest?""You're right, Matt. He was a sled-dog before Beauty Smith got hold of him.""And there's not much reason against his bein' a sled-dog again.""What d'ye think?" Scott queried eagerly. Then the hope died down ashe added, shaking his head, "We've had him two weeks now, and ifanything he's wilder than ever at the present moment.""Give 'm a chance," Matt counselled. "Turn 'm loose for a spell."The other looked at him incredulously.

  "Yes," Matt went on, "I know you've tried to, but you didn't take a club.""You try it then."The dog-musher secured a club and went over to the chained animal.

  White Fang watched the club after the manner of a caged lion watchingthe whip of its trainer.

  "See 'm keep his eye on that club," Matt said. "That's a good sign. He'sno fool. Don't dast tackle me so long as I got that club handy. He's notclean crazy, sure."As the man's hand approached his neck, White Fang bristled andsnarled and crouched down. But while he eyed the approaching hand, he atthe same time contrived to keep track of the club in the other hand,suspended threateningly above him. Matt unsnapped the chain from thecollar and stepped back.

  White Fang could scarcely realise that he was free. Many Wedding Accessorieshadgone by since he passed into the possession of Beauty Smith, and in allthat period he had never known a moment of freedom except at the timeshe had been loosed to fight with other dogs. Immediately after such fightshe had always been imprisoned again.
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Lundi 10 janvier 2011 à 3:49

"Ain't bleedin' much," Matt announced. "Ain't got all the way in yet.""But he's liable to any moment," Scott answered. "There, did you seethat! He shifted his grip in a bit."The younger man's excitement and apprehension for  Mother of the bride dresses wasgrowing. He struck Cherokee about the head savagely again and again.

  But that did not loosen the jaws. Cherokee wagged the stump of his tail inadvertisement that he understood the meaning of the blows, but that heknew he was himself in the right and only doing his duty by keeping hisgrip.

  "Won't some of you help?" Scott cried desperately at the crowd.

  But no help was offered. Instead, the crowd began sarcastically tocheer him on and showered him with facetious advice.

  "You'll have to get a pry," Matt counselled.

  The other reached into the holster at his hip, drew his revolver, andtried to thrust its muzzle between the bull-dog's jaws. He shoved, andshoved hard, till the grating of the steel against the locked teeth could bedistinctly heard. Both men were on their knees, bending over the dogs.

  Tim Keenan strode into the ring. He paused beside Scott and touched himon the shoulder, saying ominously:

  "Don't break them teeth, stranger.""Then I'll break his neck," Scott retorted, continuing his shoving andwedging with the revolver muzzle.

  "I said don't break them teeth," the faro-dealer repeated moreominously than before.

  But if it was a bluff he intended, it did not work. Scott never desistedfrom his efforts, though he looked up coolly and asked:

  "Your dog?"The faro-dealer grunted.

  "Then get in here and break this grip.""Well, stranger," the other drawled irritatingly, "I don't mind tellingyou that's something I ain't worked out for myself. I don't know how toturn the trick.""Then get out of theFlower girl dresses ," was the reply, "and don't bother me. I'mbusy."Tim Keenan continued standing over him, but Scott took no furthernotice of his presence. He had managed to get the muzzle in between thejaws on one side, and was trying to get it out between the jaws on theother side. This accomplished, he pried gently and carefully, loosening thejaws a bit at a time, while Matt, a bit at a time, extricated White Fang'smangled neck.
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Lundi 10 janvier 2011 à 3:47

 It was at this time that a diversion came to the spectators. There was ajingle of bells. Dog-mushers' cries were heard. Everybody, save BeautySmith, looked apprehensively, the fear of the police strong upon them. Butthey saw, up theEvening dresses and not down, two men running with sled and dogs.

  They were evidently coming down the creek from some prospecting trip.

  At sight of the crowd they stopped their dogs and came over and joined it,curious to see the cause of the excitement. The dog-musher wore amoustache, but the other, a taller and younger man, was smooth-shaven,his skin rosy from the pounding of his blood and the running in the frostyair.

  White Fang had practically ceased struggling. Now and again heresisted spasmodically and to no purpose. He could get little air, and thatlittle grew less and less under the merciless grip that ever tightened. Inspite of his armour of fur, the great vein of his throat would have longsince been torn open, had not the first grip of the bull-dog been so lowdown as to be practically on the chest. It had taken Cherokee a long timeto shift that grip upward, and this had also tended further to clog his jawswith fur and skin-fold.

  In the meantime, the abysmal brute in Beauty Smith had been risinginto his brain and mastering the small bit of sanity that he possessed atbest. When he saw White Fang's eyes beginning to glaze, he knew beyonddoubt that the fight was lost. Then he broke loose. He sprang upon WhiteFang and began savagely to kick him. There were hisses from the crowdand cries of protest, but that was all. While this went on, and Beauty Smithcontinued to kick White Fang, there was a commotion in the crowd. Thetall young newcomer was forcing his way through, shouldering men rightand left without ceremony or gentleness. When he broke through into thering, Beauty Smith was just in the act of delivering another kick. All hisweight was on one loot, and he was in a state of unstable equilibrium. Atthat moment the newcomer's fist landed a smashing blow full in his face.

  Beauty Smith's remaining leg left the ground, and his whole body seemedto lift into the air as he turned over backward and struck the snow. Thenewcomer turned upon the crowd."You cowards!" he cried. "You beasts!"He was in a rage himself - a sane rage. His grey eyes seemed metallicand steel-like as they flashed upon the crowd. Beauty Smith regained his Cocktail dressesand came toward him, sniffling and cowardly. The new-comer did notunderstand. He did not know how abject a coward the other was, andthought he was coming back intent on fighting. So, with a "You beast!" hesmashed Beauty Smith over backward with a second blow in the face.

  Beauty Smith decided that the snow was the safest place for him, and laywhere he had fallen, making no effort to get up.

  "Come on, Matt, lend a hand," the newcomer called the dog-musher,who had followed him into the ring.

  Both men bent over the dogs. Matt took hold of White Fang, ready topull when Cherokee's jaws should be loosened. This the younger manendeavoured to accomplish by clutching the bulldog's jaws in his handsand trying to spread them. It was a vain undertaking. As he pulled andtugged and wrenched, he kept exclaiming with every expulsion of breath, Bridesmaid dresse"The crowd began to grow unruly, and some of the men were protestingagainst the spoiling of the sport; but they were silenced when thenewcomer lifted his head from his work for a moment and glared at them.

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