Grey Beaver refused to sell the dog. He had grown rich with histrading and stood in need of nothing. Besides, White Fang was a valuableanimal, the strongest sled-dog he had ever owned, and the best leader.
Furthermore, there was no dog like him on the Mackenzie nor the Yukon.
He could fight. He killed other dogs as easily as men killed mosquitoes.
(Beauty Smith's eyes lighted up at this, and he licked his thin lips with aneager tongue). No, White Fang was not for sale at any price.
But Beauty Smith knew the ways of Indians. He visited Grey Beaver'scamp often, and hidden under his coat was always a black bottle or so.
One of the potencies of whisky is the breeding of thirst. Grey Beaver gotthe thirst. His fevered membranes and burnt stomach began to clamour formore and more of the scorching fluid; while his brain, thrust all plus size prom dresses bythe unwonted stimulant, permitted him to go any length to obtain it. Themoney he had received for his furs and mittens and moccasins began to go.
It went faster and faster, and the shorter his money-sack grew, the shortergrew his temper.
In the end his money and goods and temper were all gone. Nothingremained to him but his thirst, a prodigious possession in itself that grewmore prodigious with every sober breath he drew. Then it was that BeautySmith had talk with him again about the sale of White Fang; but this timethe price offered was in bottles, not dollars, and Grey Beaver's ears weremore eager to hear.
"You ketch um dog you take um all right," was his last word.
The bottles were delivered, but after two days. "You ketch um dog,"were Beauty Smith's words to Grey Beaver.
White Fang slunk into camp one evening and dropped down with asigh of content. The dreaded white god was not there. For days hismanifestations of desire to lay hands on him had been growing moreinsistent, and during that time White Fang had been compelled to avoidthe camp. He did not know what evil was threatened by those insistenthands. He knew only that they did threaten evil of some sort, and that itwas best for him to keep out of their reach.
But scarcely had he lain down when Grey Beaver staggered over tohim and tied a leather thong around his neck. He sat down beside WhiteFang, holding the end of the thong in his hand. In the other hand he held long prom dresses, which, from time to time, was inverted above his head to theaccompaniment of gurgling noises.
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