The days went by, and White Fang learned more about the ways of people. When they walked, he got out of their way. When they called, he came. And when they threatened, he cowered. He knew these godly and superior creatures had the power to enforce—with club or stone—any command they made.
He was getting used to his new life, but the wild still called to him. He often crept to the edge of the forest and listened, wishing to be out there. But he always returned to camp, restless and confused, and lay by his mother. She was still tied up.
The worst part of the cub's life was the puppy Lip-lip. Whenever White Fang ventured away from his mother, Lip-lip was waiting for him, ready to bully and torment him. The puppy was bigger than White Fang, so even though the wolf cub always fought back, he never won any of these battles. The other young dogs in camp let out their energy by running and playing with one another. This activity, however, was denied to White Fang. Any time the cub tried to play with the others, Lip-lip drove him away with growls and fangs. As a result, White Fang became withdrawn and antisocial, and his life in the camp was miserable. Older dogs often took his food, so he became crafty, sneaking around the camp and stealing from people when they weren't looking.
A day came when Gray Beaver decided to untie White Fang's mother.
"I do not believe you will run away, Kiche," he said.
Once again Kiche could roam freely with White Fang. That afternoon they went to the edge of the woods. The cub ran a short distance among the trees, stopped, and looked back. He called to his mother, begging her to follow. She didn't move. He whined and scurried playfully in and out of the underbrush. He ran back to her, licked her face, and went back into the trees. But still she wouldn't follow. He stopped and regarded her eagerly, but that eagerness faded when she turned her head and trotted back toward camp.
White Fang sat down in the shadow of a birch tree, and whimpered softly. He was still only a cub, and he needed his mother. At last he got up and followed her back into the camp, pausing now and again to listen to the sounds of the forest.
In the wild a wolf cub only stays with its mother for a short time. When living with people, the cub's time with its mother can be even shorter. Gray Beaver was in debt to a man named Three Eagles. Three Eagles was leaving the camp, so Gray Beaver gave him a bearskin, some ammunition—and Kiche. When White Fang saw his mother taken aboard Three Eagles' canoe, he tried to follow her. A blow from Three Eagles knocked him backward. The canoe departed. Horrified of losing his mother, White Fang plunged into the water and swam after the canoe.
Gray Beaver shouted angrily, "White Fang! Get back here!"
But the young cub ignored him. Gray Beaver launched a canoe and quickly caught up to White Fang. He grabbed the cub by the nape of the neck and beat him. Finally Gray Beaver flung the cub into the canoe and started to paddle back to camp. When the man's foot bumped into White Fang, the cub bit it.
White Fang knew immediately that he'd made a terrible mistake. Gray Beaver beat him more savagely this time. The cub cried in pain and fright under the angry blows, and then he fell silent.
Back on land, White Fang was bruised and limping. Right away, Lip-lip lunged, knocking him over and sinking sharp fangs into him. White Fang was too helpless to defend himself, and would have died if Gray Beaver hadn't intervened.
The man kicked Lip-lip hard, sending him hurtling more than a dozen feet away. In his pitiful state, White Fang felt a sense of gratitude. He'd also learned another law: never bite the flesh of his gods.
White Fang again tried to settle into his new life with these gods. They demanded strict obedience, and as long as White Fang submitted to that one law, he would avoid pain. He still missed his old life in the wild, and he missed Kiche terribly. Every now and then he wandered into the forest to cry out and mourn the loss of her. He'd seen people leave the camp and then come back, so he held onto the hope that one day she too might return.
Day after day, with Lip-lip leading the charge, the dogs attacked White Fang. The cub knew that if he lost his footing, he'd lose his life, so he became an expert at keeping his feet beneath him at all times. White Fang's feet skidded across the dirt as the dogs threw the weight of their bodies into him. But they never succeeded in knocking him over. His fighting skills improved, and he fought viciously. When he attacked, he did so without warning, leaping in, slashing, and leaping back out.
The dogs grew to fear White Fang, but when they were in a large group, they chased him. If one unlucky dog accidentally ran ahead of the pack, White Fang spun around and attacked. Then he'd start running again before the rest of the dogs caught up. He often led these chases into the forest, where his knowledge of the wild helped him to outsmart the camp dogs. Gliding silently among the twisted shrubs and fallen trees, he'd quickly throw the camp dogs off his trail. Then he'd lie in a thicket, surrounded by their confused cries.
Any lone dog who wandered too close to White Fang found itself bitten and slashed, or worse—dead. When the wolf cub killed his first victim, there was a great commotion in the camp. Some men were furious and demanded vengeance. But Gray Beaver hid the cub in his tepee and wouldn't let anyone get near him.
White Fang was an outcast, hated by nearly everyone—dog and human. Almost no kindness or affection was ever shown to him, and none was allowed to grow in him. He stalked about snarling, with his ears flattened and his lips curled up, always ready for an attack. He became quicker, craftier, and deadlier than the other dogs. He was lean, with muscles like iron, and he was cruel. He had to be this way—it was the only way he could survive in such a harsh environment.