The months came and went. There was plenty of food and no work inthe Southland, and White Fang lived fat and prosperous and happy. Notalone was he in the geographical Southland, for he was in the Southland oflife. Human kindness was like a sun shining upon him, and he flourishedlike a flower planted in good soil.

　　And yet he remained somehow different from other dogs. He knew thelaw even better than did the dogs that had known no other life, and heobserved the law more punctiliously; but still there was about him asuggestion of lurking ferocity, as though the Wild still lingered in him andthe wolf in him merely slept.

　　He never chummed with other dogs. Lonely he had lived, so far as hiskind was concerned, and lonely he would continue to live. In hispuppyhood, under the persecution of Lip-lip and the puppy-pack, and inhis fighting days with Beauty Smith, he had acquired a fixed aversion fordogs. The natural course of his life had been diverted, and, recoiling fromhis kind, he had clung to the human.

　　Besides, all Southland dogs looked upon him with suspicion. Hearoused in them their instinctive fear of the Wild, and they greeted himalways with snarl and growl and belligerent hatred. He, on the other hand,learned that it was not necessary to use his teeth upon them. His nakedfangs and writhing lips were uniformly efficacious, rarely failing to send abellowing on-rushing dog back on its haunches.

　　But there was one trial in White Fang's life - Collie. She never gavehim a moment's peace. She was not so amenable to the law as he. Shedefied all efforts of the master to make her become friends with WhiteFang. Ever in his ears was sounding her sharp and nervous snarl. She hadnever forgiven him the chicken-killing episode, and persistently held tothe belief that his intentions were bad. She found him guilty before the act,and treated him accordingly. She became a pest to him, like a policemanfollowing him around the stable and the hounds, and, if he even so muchas glanced curiously at a pigeon or chicken, bursting into an outcry ofindignation and wrath. His favourite way of ignoring her was to lie down,with his head on his fore-paws, and pretend sleep. This alwaysdumfounded and silenced her.

　　With the exception of Collie, all things went well with White Fang. Hehad learned control and poise, and he knew the law. He achieved astaidness, and calmness, and philosophic tolerance. He no longer lived in ahostile environment. Danger and hurt and death did not lurk everywhereabout him. In time, the unknown, as a thing of terror and menace everimpending, faded away. Life was soft and easy. It flowed along smoothly,and neither fear nor foe lurked by the way.

　　He missed the snow without being aware of it. "An unduly longsummer," would have been his thought had he thought about it; as it was,he merely missed the snow in a vague, subconscious way. In the samefashion, especially in the heat of summer when he suffered from the sun,he experienced faint longings for the Northland. Their only effect uponhim, however, was to make him uneasy and restless without his knowingwhat was the matter.

　　White Fang had never been very demonstrative. Beyond his snugglingand the throwing of a crooning note into his love-growl, he had no way ofexpressing his love. Yet it was given him to discover a third way. He hadalways been susceptible to the laughter of the gods. Laughter had affectedhim with madness, made him frantic with rage. But he did not have it inhim to be angry with the love-master, and when that god elected to laughat him in a good- natured, bantering way, he was nonplussed. He couldfeel the pricking and stinging of the old anger as it strove to rise up in him,but it strove against love. He could not be angry; yet he had to dosomething. At first he was dignified, and the master laughed the harder.

　　Then he tried to be more dignified, and the master laughed harder thanbefore. In the end, the master laughed him out of his dignity. His jawsslightly parted, his lips lifted a little, and a quizzical expression that wasmore love than humour came into his eyes. He had learned to laugh.

　　Likewise he learned to romp with the master, to be tumbled down androlled over, and be the victim of innumerable rough tricks. In return hefeigned anger, bristling and growling ferociously, and clipping his teethtogether in snaps that had all the seeming of deadly intention. But he neverforgot himself. Those snaps were always delivered on the empty air. At theend of such a romp, when blow and cuff and snap and snarl were last andfurious, they would break off suddenly and stand several feet apart,glaring at each other. And then, just as suddenly, like the sun rising on astormy sea, they would begin to laugh. This would always culminate withthe master's arms going around White Fang's neck and shoulders while thelatter crooned and growled his love-song.

　　But nobody else ever romped with White Fang. He did not permit it.

　　He stood on his dignity, and when they attempted it, his warning snarl andbristling mane were anything but playful. That he allowed the master theseliberties was no reason that he should be a common dog, loving here andloving there, everybody's property for a romp and good time. He lovedwith single heart and refused to cheapen himself or his love.

　　The master went out on horseback a great deal, and to accompany himwas one of White Fang's chief duties in life. In the Northland he hadevidenced his fealty by toiling in the harness; but there were no sleds inthe Southland, nor did dogs pack burdens on their backs. So he renderedfealty in the new way, by running with the master's horse. The longest daynever played White Fang out. His was the gait of the wolf, smooth, tirelessand effortless, and at the end of fifty miles he would come in jauntilyahead of the horse.

　　It was in connection with the riding, that White Fang achieved oneother mode of expression - remarkable in that he did it but twice in all hislife. The first time oc............