"It's hopeless," Weedon Scott confessed.

　　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 sled-dogs 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 months hadgone 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.

　　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 moment. 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 contents.

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

　　You can't expect 'm to come out ............