Beauty Smith kept White Fang chained in a pen behind the fort. Day after day the evil god tormented the wolf.
"You miserable dog!" Beauty shouted as he swung his club.
When White Fang was worked into a rage, Beauty laughed. This made the wolf angrier still. After noticing this, Beauty made it a point to laugh at the wolf at every opportunity.
More ferocious than ever, White Fang was in a constant state of fury. His hatred used to be reserved for other dogs. Now the hatred extended to all things, both living and nonliving. He hated the chain that bound him. He hated the wooden slats of his pen. And he hated the men who came to look at him. But most of all, above anything else, he hated Beauty Smith.
Beauty had a reason for this harsh treatment. White Fang did not know it, but the god was training him for something.
One day a group of men gathered outside the pen. Beauty entered, club in hand, and removed the chain from White Fang's neck. After Beauty left the pen, White Fang tore around, growling and snapping, trying to get at the men outside.
The door of the pen opened again. White Fang paused. Something unexpected was happening. The door opened wider. Then a mastiff was thrust inside, and the door was slammed shut. White Fang had never seen such a huge dog before, but he was not scared. Here was something living, made of flesh—not wood or iron—that he could attack!
He leaped toward the mastiff, and with a flash of fangs, he ripped down the side of the mastiff's neck. The mastiff shook his head, growled hoarsely, and lunged at White Fang. But the wolf was too fast. He leaped to the side and struck again. He slashed with his fangs, and then leaped away, avoiding any attempt at a counterattack.
The men outside shouted and applauded, while Beauty grinned at White Fang’s ferocious attack.
"There's no hope for the mastiff!" Beauty called gleefully. "That dog is too big and slow!"
In the end, while Beauty beat White Fang back with a club, the owner dragged out the dead mastiff. There was a payment of bets, and money dropped into Beauty's hand.
Beauty laughed. "This wolf will make me rich!"
After that, there were more fights. White Fang began to enjoy the times when men gathered around his pen. Locked up and separated from other living things, White Fang could satisfy his desire to cause harm and kill during these fights.
White Fang won more and more fights, and Beauty made lots of money. The wolf became well-known around Fort Yukon as a vicious fighter. As his fame grew, the fights became more challenging.
One day White Fang was made to fight three dogs, one after the other. Each time he killed one dog, another dog was pushed into the pen. Another day Beauty opened the pen, and someone pushed in a wolf, which had just been captured from the wild. White Fang finished the animal off quickly. But then there was a day when two dogs were set on White Fang at once. Though he managed to kill both of them, he was nearly killed in the process.
In the fall of that year, when the first snow was falling, Beauty boarded a steamer with White Fang and headed upriver to Dawson City, in the Klondike territory. By now White Fang had acquired quite a reputation. He was known as "the Fighting Wolf," and his cage on the steamer's deck was usually surrounded by curious men. They stared at him, poked sticks between the bars to make him snarl, and then laughed at him.
Life for White Fang had become horrible. He raged at the men and showed them his teeth, or he lay quietly and studied them with cold hatred. As a wild animal, White Fang was not meant to be held captive in such a confined space. His captivity and terrible treatment at the hands of Beauty were transforming the wolf into something much more ferocious than nature had intended. Weaker animals might have died from such a life, but White Fang endured.
In the past White Fang had known to cower down and submit to a man holding a club, but this wisdom had left the wolf. The mere sight of Beauty Smith filled the wolf with rage. White Fang used to fall silent after being beaten. Now, regardless of how terrible the beating was, he remained defiant. It didn't matter how hard Beauty hit, or for how long; White Fang continued to growl and show his teeth. And when Beauty finally walked away, the wolf sprang at the bars of his cage, snapping and snarling still.
When the steamer arrived in Dawson City, Beauty exhibited White Fang as "the Fighting Wolf." Men paid fifty cents to see the wolf, and White Fang was given no rest. If he lay down to sleep, he was prodded with a sharp stick.
"Wake up!" Beauty shouted. "These people paid money to see you snarl!"
Whenever a fight could be arranged, Beauty took White Fang out of his cage and led him into the woods outside of town. In order to avoid the police, this usually occurred at night. The audience arrived in the morning, along with White Fang's opponent. The wolf fought dogs of all sizes, and most of these battles were to the death. Not White Fang's death, of course, but that of any poor dog pitted against him. His method of fighting was based on quickness and surprise. When the other dogs showed their fangs and started to threaten him, White Fang struck with lightning speed.
Over time White Fang's fights grew rarer. Most men became unwilling to pit their dogs against the legendary "Fighting Wolf," who was sure to win. Beauty began pitting more wolves against White Fang, and then one day, a full-grown female lynx. Fangs and claws slashed at the wolf, who fought desperately just to stay alive. And in the end, he did.
After that, all fighting ceased for White Fang. There were no more animals with which to fight—at least there weren't any who stood a chance against him. So the wolf remained on exhibition until spring, when a man named Tim Keenan arrived in Dawson City. With him was a bulldog, the first of its kind to ever step foot in the Klondike.
As soon as this bulldog arrived, people began waiting for the day when it would fight White Fang.