Beauty Smith had estimated his powers well, for he was invariably thevictor. One day, three dogs were turned in upon him in succession.
Another day a full- grown wolf, fresh-caught from the Wild, was shovedin through the door of the pen. And on still another day two dogs were setagainst him at the same time. This was his severest fight, and though in theend he killed them both he was himself half killed in doing it.
In the fall of the year, when the first snows were falling and mush-icewas running in the river, Beauty Smith took passage for himself and WhiteFang on a steamboat bound up the Yukon to Dawson. White Fang had nowachieved a reputation in the land. As "the Fighting Wolf" he was knownfar and wide, and the cage in which he was kept on the steam-boat's deckwas usually surrounded by curious men. He raged and snarled at them, orlay quietly and studied them with cold hatred. Why should he not hatethem? He never asked himself the question. He knew only hate and losthimself in the passion of it. Life had become a hell to him. He had notbeen made for the close confinement wild beasts endure at the hands ofmen. And yet it was in precisely this way that he was treated. Men staredat him, poked sticks between the bars to make him snarl, and then laughed at him.
They were his environment, these men, and they were moulding theclay of him into a more ferocious thing than had been intended by Nature.
Nevertheless, Nature had given him plasticity. Where many another jovani prom dresses would have died or had its spirit broken, he adjusted himself andlived, and at no expense of the spirit. Possibly Beauty Smith, arch-fiendand tormentor, was capable of breaking White Fang's spirit, but as yetthere were no signs of his succeeding.
If Beauty Smith had in him a devil, White Fang had another; and thetwo of them raged against each other unceasingly. In the days before,White Fang had had the wisdom to cower down and submit to a man witha club in his hand; but this wisdom now left him. The mere sight of BeautySmith was sufficient to send him into transports of fury. And when theycame to close quarters, and he had been beaten back by the club, he wenton growling and snarling, and showing his fangs. The last growl couldnever be extracted from modest pink prom dresses . No matter how terribly he was beaten, hehad always another growl; and when Beauty Smith gave up and withdrew,the defiant growl followed after him, or White Fang sprang at the bars ofthe cage bellowing his hatred.