The cub left the cave and ran down to the stream. Still half-asleep, he headed for the water automatically, without thinking much about the trail. So by the time his nose caught the unfamiliar scent, it was too late. Sitting in front of him were five live things, a species he'd never seen before—mankind.
The cub's first instinct was to run. But a second instinct sensed great power in these creatures and filled him with awe, a sense of his own smallness. This instinct had been passed down from the wolves who, many generations ago, first wandered into a camp in order to sit by a warm fire. The cub did not move.
The men didn't seem to be afraid of the cub. One of the Indians approached him. The cub instantly cowered, his lips curled, and sunlight sparkled on his little fangs.
The man laughed. "Look at the white fangs!"
The other men laughed too.
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"Pick him up, Gray Beaver," one man said.
As the man named Gray Beaver reached out, the cub snapped, biting the man's hand. Immediately the cub felt a sharp blow to the side of his head. Frightened, the cub cried out for his mother. The man hit him again, and the cub cried louder. Then he heard the she-wolf approaching fast. The cub stopped his crying, waiting for the arrival of his mother—his fierce protector who fought and killed all things and was never afraid.
When the she-wolf bounded into view, the men moved backward, clearly scared. The cub uttered a glad little cry and ran to meet her. The she-wolf faced the men, her hair bristling and a snarl rumbling deep in her throat.
Gray Beaver's eyes opened wide in surprise. He cried out, "Kiche!" Then his look grew stern, and again he said, "Kiche!" But this time he spoke with authority and sharpness.
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The cub watched in horror as his mother crouched down, whimpering and wagging her tail. Gray Beaver stepped forward and put his hand on her head. The she-wolf didn't growl or snap. The cub could not understand this.
The other men moved closer.
"It's been a year since she ran away," one man said.
Gray Beaver nodded. "There was a famine, and we had no meat for the dogs. She ran off to take care of herself. It's not surprising. She's half-wolf."
"And she's been living with wolves," a third man said, pointing at the wolf cub.
Gray Beaver nodded. "This cub's father must be a wolf, so there is little dog in him. His fangs are white. He will be called White Fang."
The man put his hand on the cub's head, and out of fear of another beating, the cub allowed it.
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As the big hand rubbed behind his ears, the cub almost enjoyed the sensation.
"Kiche was my brother's dog," Gray Beaver said. "And now my brother is dead. So Kiche and this cub are mine. I have spoken."
Gray Beaver tied Kiche to a stick, and then the group made their way through the woods until they met up with other people. A group of dogs immediately rushed at White Fang, slashing and biting him with their fangs. The cub cried out for help. He heard his mother growl, and then the sounds of the men yelling. Using stones and heavy clubs, the men drove away the attacking dogs.
Until this time the cub had thought his mother, his siblings, and One Eye were the only others of his kind. But now there were more, and they'd attacked him! Yet the men had saved him. So the cub decided that these men had the power to make and enforce laws.
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Unlike other animals, they didn't use fangs or claws. They had the power to make dead things—sticks and stones—do their bidding.
The group headed downstream until they arrived at a clearing. Kiche was tied to a stick in the ground, and the cub sat by her. He watched with fear and awe as the people raised poles and wrapped them in cloth and skins. Soon massive tepees filled the cub's field of vision. At first these enormous objects scared the young wolf. But then his fear subsided, and he left his mother's side to explore.
White Fang saw other dogs try to enter tepees, only to be chased away by the women inside. The cub grabbed the side of one tepee with his teeth and pulled hard. It shook, which gave the cub a thrill until he heard an angry voice shout from inside. After that he left the tepees alone.
White Fang encountered another puppy, a bit larger than himself.
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The puppy didn't seem dangerous, so White Fang approached him in a friendly way. But then the puppy bared his fangs, and White Fang did the same. The two circled each other, snarling until the puppy leaped in, slashed the cub, and leaped back away. White Fang charged at the puppy, snapping viciously. But the puppy had fought many fights. He bit White Fang repeatedly until the cub ran back to his mother. The cub would later hear the men call the puppy Lip-lip.
After recovering from his fight, White Fang left his mother's side to explore some more. He found Gray Beaver squatting over a pile of sticks. Other people sat nearby. The cub approached cautiously.
A strange mist rose from the sticks beneath Gray Beaver's hands. Then a thing that appeared to be alive flickered into view. Bright as the sun, it danced and twisted before White Fang's eyes.
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This was fire, and curiosity about it drew the cub closer. After poking his nose into the flames, the cub fell backward, crying in pain. Gray Beaver laughed loudly and slapped his thighs, and soon others laughed too. White Fang felt ashamed. He knew he was being laughed at, and the pain of that was worse than the burn he'd received. He fled to Kiche, the one creature in the camp who was not laughing at him.
That night White Fang lay by his mother's side, feeling homesick. The camp had a continuous buzz of movement, and he missed the quiet and stillness of the wilderness. And the people—they were not like other animals. They built tepees and changed the surface of the land. From dead sticks, Gray Beaver had also made a moving, burning thing—fire—appear. These people held power over dogs and demanded obedience. They were not ordinary animals; these fire-makers were gods.