This jaw gave the impression of ferocious determination. Butsomething lacked. Perhaps it was from excess. Perhaps the jaw was toolarge. At any rate, it was a lie. Beauty Smith was known far and wide asthe weakest of weak-kneed and snivelling  scala prom dresses 2010 To complete hisdescription, his teeth were large and yellow, while the two eye-teeth,larger than their fellows, showed under his lean lips like fangs. His eyeswere yellow and muddy, as though Nature had run short on pigments andsqueezed together the dregs of all her tubes. It was the same with his hair,sparse and irregular of growth, muddy-yellow and dirty-yellow, rising onhis head and sprouting out of his face in unexpected tufts and bunches, inappearance like clumped and wind-blown grain.

　　In short, Beauty Smith was a monstrosity, and the blame of it layelsewhere. He was not responsible. The clay of him had been so mouldedin the making. He did the cooking for the other men in the fort, the dish-washing and the drudgery. They did not despise him. Rather did theytolerate him in a broad human way, as one tolerates any creature evillytreated in the making. Also, they feared him. His cowardly rages madethem dread a shot in the back or poison in their coffee. But somebody hadto do the cooking, and whatever else his shortcomings, Beauty Smithcould cook.

　　This was the man that looked at White Fang, delighted in his ferociousprowess, and desired to possess him. He made overtures to White Fangfrom the first. White Fang began by ignoring him. Later on, when theovertures became more insistent, White Fang bristled and bared his teethand backed away. He did not like the man. The feel of him was bad. Hesensed the evil in him, and feared the extended hand and the attempts atsoft-spoken speech. Because of all this, he hated the man.

　　With the simpler creatures, good and bad are things simply understood.

　　The good stands for all things that bring easement and satisfaction andsurcease from pain. Therefore, the good is liked. The bad stands for allthings that are fraught with discomfort, menace, and hurt, and is hatedaccordingly. White Fang's feel of yellow prom dressesSmith was bad. From the man'sdistorted body and twisted mind, in occult ways, like mists rising frommalarial marshes, came emanations of the unhealth within. Not byreasoning, not by the five senses alone, but by other and remoter anduncharted senses, came the feeling to White Fang that the man wasominous with evil, pregnant with hurtfulness, and therefore a thing bad,and wisely to be hated.

He did not mingle with it, but remained aloof, always himself, and waseven feared by it. It is true, he worked with it. He picked the quarrel withthe strange dog while the gang waited. And when he had overthrown thestrange dog the cheap prom dresswent into finish it. But it is equally true that he thenwithdrew, leaving the gang to receive the punishment of the outragedgods.

　　It did not require much exertion to pick these quarrels. All he had to do,when the strange dogs came ashore, was to show himself. When they sawhim they rushed for him. It was their instinct. He was the Wild - theunknown, the terrible, the ever-menacing, the thing that prowled in thedarkness around the fires of the primeval world when they, cowering closeto the fires, were reshaping their instincts, learning to fear the Wild out ofwhich they had come, and which they had deserted and betrayed.

　　Generation by generation, down all the generations, had this fear of theWild been stamped into their natures. For centuries the Wild had stood forterror and destruction. And during all this time free licence had been theirs,from their masters, to kill the things of the Wild. In doing this they hadprotected both themselves and the gods whose companionship they sharedAnd so, fresh from the soft southern world, these dogs, trotting downthe gang-plank and out upon the Yukon shore had but to see White Fang toexperience the irresistible impulse to rush upon him and destroy him. Theymight be town-reared dogs, but the instinctive fear of the Wild was theirsjust the same. Not alone with their own eyes did they see the wolfishcreature in the clear light of day, standing before them. They saw him withthe eyes of their ancestors, and by their inherited memory they knewWhite Fang for the wolf, and they remembered the ancient feud.

　　All of which served to make White Fang's days enjoyable. If the sightof him drove these strange dogs upon him, so much the better for him, somuch the worse for them. They looked upon him as legitimate prey, and aslegitimate prey he looked upon them.

　　Not for nothing had he first seen the light of day in a lonely lair andfought his first fights with the ptarmigan, the weasel, and the lynx. Andnot for nothing had his puppyhood been made bitter by the persecution ofLip-lip and the whole puppy pack. It might have been otherwise, and hewould then have been otherwise. Had Lip-lip not existed, he would havepassed his puppyhood with the other  orange prom dress and grown up more doglikeand with more liking for dogs. Had Grey Beaver possessed the plummet ofaffection and love, he might have sounded the deeps of White Fang'snature and brought up to the surface all manner of kindly qualities.

He became an adept at fighting. He economised. He never wasted hisstrength, never tussled. He was in too quickly for that, and, if he missed,was out again too quickly. The dislike of the wolf for close quarters washis to an unusual degree. He could not endure a prolonged contact withanother body. It smacked of danger. It made him frantic. He must be away,free, on his own  black prom dress, touching no living thing. It was the Wild stillclinging to him, asserting itself through him. This feeling had beenaccentuated by the Ishmaelite life he had led from his puppyhood. Dangerlurked in contacts. It was the trap, ever the trap, the fear of it lurking deepin the life of him, woven into the fibre of himIn consequence, the strange dogs he encountered had no chanceagainst him. He eluded their fangs. He got them, or got away, himselfuntouched in either event. In the natural course of things there wereexceptions to this. There were times when several dogs, pitching on to him,punished him before he could get away; and there were times when asingle dog scored deeply on him. But these were accidents. In the main, soefficient a fighter had he become, he went his way unscathed.

　　Another advantage he possessed was that of correctly judging time anddistance. Not that he did this consciously, however. He did not calculatesuch things. It was all automatic. His eyes saw correctly, and the nervescarried the vision correctly to his brain. The parts of him were betteradjusted than those of the average dog. They worked together moresmoothly and steadily. His was a better, far better, nervous, mental, andmuscular co- ordination. When his eyes conveyed to his brain the movingimage of an tiffany designs prom dressesn, his brain without conscious effort, knew the space thatlimited that action and the time required for its completion. Thus, he couldavoid the leap of another dog, or the drive of its fangs, and at the samemoment could seize the infinitesimal fraction of time in which to deliverhis own attack. Body and brain, his was a more perfected mechanism. Notthat he was to be praised for it. Nature had been more generous to himthan to the average animal, that was all.

　　It was in the summer that White Fang arrived at Fort Yukon. GreyBeaver had crossed the great watershed between Mackenzie and theYukon in the late winter, and spent the spring in hunting among thewestern outlying spurs of the Rockies. Then, after the break-up of the iceon the Porcupine, he had built a canoe and paddled down that stream towhere it effected its junction with the Yukon just under the Artic circle.

　　Here stood the old Hudson's Bay Company fort; and here were manyIndians, much food, and unprecedented excitement. It was the summer of1898, and thousands of gold- hunters were going up the Yukon to Dawsonand the Klondike. Still hundreds of miles from their goal, neverthelessmany of them had been on the way for a year, and the least any of themhad travelled to get that far was five thousand miles, while some had comefrom the other side of the world.

　　Here Grey Beaver stopped. A whisper of the gold-rush had reached hisears, and he had come with several bales of furs, and another of gut-sewnmittens and moccasins. He would not have ventured so long a trip had henot expected generous profits. But what he had expected was nothing towhat he realised. His wildest dreams had not exceeded a hundred per cent.

　　profit; he made a thousand per cent. And like a true Indian, he settleddown to trade carefully and slowly, even if it took all summer and the restof the winter to dispose of his goods.

　　It was at Fort Yukon that White Fang saw his first white men. Ascompared with the Indians he had known, they were to him another race ofbeings, a race of superior gods. They impressed him as possessingsuperior power, and it is on power that godhead rests. White Fang did notreason it out, did not in his mind make the sharp generalisation that thewhite gods were more powerful. It was a feeling, nothing more, and yetnone the less potent. As, in his puppyhood, the looming bulks of the tepees,man-reared, had affected him as manifestations of power, so was heaffected now by the houses and the huge fort all of massive logs. Here waspower.

　　Those white gods were strong. They possessed greater masteryover matter than the gods he had known, most powerful among which wasGrey Beaver. And yet Grey Beaver was as a child-god among these white-skinned ones.

　　To be sure, White Fang only felt these things. He was not conscious ofthem. Yet it is upon feeling, more often than thinking, that animals act; andevery act White Fang now performed was based upon the feeling that thewhite men were the superior gods. In the first place he was very suspiciousof them. There was no telling what unknown terrors were theirs, whatunknown hurts they could administer. He was curious to observe them,fearful of being noticed by them. For the first few hours he was contentwith slinking around and watching them from a safe distance. Then he sawthat no harm befell the dogs that were near to them, and he came in closer.

　　In turn he was an object of great curiosity to them. His wolfishappearance caught their eyes at once, and they pointed him out to oneanother. This act of pointing put White Fang on his guard, and when theytried to approach him he showed his teeth and backed away. Not onesucceeded in laying a hand on him, and it was well that they did not.

　　White Fang soon learned that very few of these gods - not more than adozen - lived at this place. Every two or three days a steamer (another andcolossal manifestation of power) came into the bank and stopped forseveral hours. The white men came from off these steamers and wentaway on them again. There seemed untold numbers of these white men. Inthe first day or so, he saw more of them than he had seen Indians in all hislife; and as the days went by they continued to come up the river, stop, andthen go on up the river out of sight.

　　But if the white gods were all-powerful, their short prom dresses did not amount tomuch. This White Fang quickly discovered by mixing with those thatcame ashore with their masters. They were irregular shapes and sizes.

White Fang just as bitterly hated them back. Being sled-leaderwas anything but gratifying to him. To be compelled to run away beforethe yelling pack, every dog of  designer prom dresses, for three years, he had thrashed andmastered, was almost more than he could endure. But endure it he must, orperish, and the life that was in him had no desire to perish out. Themoment Mit-sah gave his order for the start, that moment the whole team,with eager, savage cries, sprang forward at White Fang.

　　There was no defence for him. If he turned upon them, Mit-sah wouldthrow the stinging lash of the whip into his face. Only remained to him torun away. He could not encounter that howling horde with his tail andhind-quarters. These were scarcely fit weapons with which to meet themany merciless fangs. So run away he did, violating his own nature andpride with every leap he made, and leaping all day long.

　　One cannot violate the promptings of one's nature without having thatnature recoil upon itself. Such a recoil is like that of a hair, made to growout from the body, turning unnaturally upon the direction of its growth andgrowing into the body - a rankling, festering thing of hurt. And so withWhite Fang. Every urge of his being impelled him to spring upon the packthat cried at his heels, but it was the will of the gods that this should not be;and behind the will, to enforce it, was the whip of cariboo-gut with itsbiting thirty-foot lash. So White Fang could only eat his heart in bitternessand develop a hatred and malice commensurate with the ferocity andindomitability of his nature.

　　If ever a creature was the enemy of its kind, White Fang was thatcreature. He asked no quarter, gave none. He was continually marred andscarred by the teeth of the pack, and as continually he left his own marksupon the  gold prom dresses Unlike most leaders, who, when camp was made and thedogs were unhitched, huddled near to the gods for protection, White Fangdisdained such protection. He walked boldly about the camp, inflictingpunishment in the night for what he had suffered in the day. In the timebefore he was made leader of the team, the pack had learned to get out ofhis way. But now it was different. Excited by the day-long pursuit of him,swayed subconsciously by the insistent iteration on their brains of thesight of him fleeing away, mastered by the feeling of mastery enjoyed allday, the dogs could not bring themselves to give way to him. When heappeared amongst them, there was always a squabble. His progress wasmarked by snarl and snap and growl. The very atmosphere he breathedwas surcharged with hatred and malice, and this but served to increase thehatred and malice within him.

　　When Mit-sah cried out his command for the team to stop, White Fangobeyed. At first this caused trouble for the other dogs. All of them wouldspring upon the hated leader only to find the tables turned. Behind himwould be Mit-sah, the great whip singing in his hand. So the dogs came tounderstand that when the Jessica McClintock prom dressesstopped by order, White Fang was to be letalone. But when White Fang stopped without orders, then it was allowedthem to spring upon him and destroy him if they could. After severalexperiences, White Fang never stopped without orders. He learned quickly.

He was still standing, stupid and bewildered, the memories forgotten,wondering what it was all about, when Kiche attacked him a third time,intent on driving him away altogether from the vicinity. And White Fangallowed himself to be driven away. This was a female of his white maternity wedding dresses and itwas a law of his kind that the males must not fight the females. He did notknow anything about this law, for it was no generalisation of the mind, nota something acquired by experience of the world. He knew it as a secretprompting, as an urge of instinct - of the same instinct that made him howlat the moon and stars of nights, and that made him fear death and theunknown.

　　The months went by. White Fang grew stronger, heavier, and morecompact, while his character was developing along the lines laid down byhis heredity and his environment. His heredity was a life- stuff that may belikened to clay. It possessed many possibilities, was capable of beingmoulded into many different forms. Environment served to model the clay,to give it a particular form. Thus, had White Fang never come in to thefires of man, the Wild would have moulded him into a true wolf. But thegods had given him a different environment, and he was moulded into adog that was rather wolfish, but that was a dog and not a wolf.

　　And so, according to the clay of his nature and the pressure of hissurroundings, his character was being moulded into a certain particularshape. There was no escaping it. He was becoming more morose, moreuncompanionable, more solitary, more ferocious; while the dogs werelearning more and more that it was better to be at peace with him than atwar, and Grey Beaver was coming to prize him more greatly with thepassage of each day.

　　White Fang, seeming to sum up strength in all his qualities,nevertheless suffered from one besetting weakness. He could not standbeing laughed at. The laughter of men was a hateful thing. They mightlaugh among themselves about anything they pleased except himself, andhe did not mind. But the moment laughter was turned upon him he wouldfly into a most terrible rage. Grave, dignified, sombre, a laugh made himfrantic to ridiculousness. It so outraged him and upset him that for hourshe would behave like Grecian wedding dressAnd woe to the dog that at such times ranfoul of him. He knew the law too well to take it out of Grey Beaver;behind Grey Beaver were a club and godhead. But behind the dogs therewas nothing but space, and into this space they flew when White Fangcame on the scene, made mad by laughter.

　　In the third year of his life there came a great famine to the MackenzieIndians. In the summer the fish failed. In the winter the cariboo forsooktheir accustomed track. Moose were scarce, the rabbits almost disappeared,hunting and preying animals perished. Denied their usual food-supply,weakened by hunger, they fell upon and devoured one another. Only thestrong survived. White Fang's gods were always hunting animals. The oldand the weak of them died of hunger. There was wailing in the village,where the women and children went without in order that what little theyhad might go into the bellies of the lean and hollow-eyed hunters who trodthe forest in the vain pursuit of meat.

　　To such extremity were the gods driven that they ate the soft- tannedleather of their mocassins and mittens, while the dogs ate the harnesses offtheir backs and the very whip-lashes. Also, the dogs ate one another, andalso the gods ate the dogs. The weakest and the more worthless were eatenfirst. The dogs that still lived, looked on and understood. A few of theboldest and wisest forsook the fires of the gods, which had now become ashambles, and fled into the forest, where, in the end, they starved to deathor were eaten by wolves.

　　In this time of misery, White Fang, too, stole away into the woods. Hewas better fitted for the life than the other dogs, for he had the training ofhis cubhood to guide him. Especially adept did he become in stalkingsmall living things. He would lie concealed for hours, following everymovement of a cautious tree-squirrel, waiting, with a patience as huge asthe hunger he suffered from, until the squirrel ventured out upon theground. Even then, White Fang was not premature. He waited until he wassure of striking before the squirrel could gain a tree-refuge. Then, and notuntil then, would he flash from his hiding-place, a grey projectile,incredibly swift, never failing its mark - the fleeing squirrel that fled notfast enough.

　　Successful as he was with squirrels, there was one difficulty thatprevented him from living and growing fat on them. There were notenough squirrels. So he was driven to hunt still smaller things. So acutedid his hunger become at times that he was not above rooting out wood-mice from their burrows in the ground. Nor did he scorn to do battle with aweasel as hungry as himself and many times more ferocious. In the worstpinches of the famine he stole back to the fires of the gods. But he did notgo into the fires. He lurked in the forest, avoiding discovery and robbingthe snares at the rare intervals when game was caught. He even robbedGrey Beaver's snare of a rabbit at a time when Grey Beaver staggered andtottered through the forest, sitting down often to rest, what of weaknessand of shortness of breath.

　　One day While Fang encountered a young wolf, gaunt and scrawny,loose-jointed with famine. Had he not been hungry himself, White Fangmight have gone with him and eventually found his way into the packamongst his wild brethren. As it was, he ran the young wolf down andkilled and ate him.

　　Fortune seemed to favour perfect prom dress. Always, when hardest pressed for food,he found something to kill. Again, when he was weak, it was his luck thatnone of the larger preying animals chanced upon him. Thus, he was strongfrom the two days' eating a lynx had afforded him when the hungry wolf-pack ran full tilt upon him. It was a long, cruel chase, but he was betternourished than they, and in the end outran them. And not only did heoutrun them, but, circling widely back on his track, he gathered in one ofhis exhausted pursuers.