he don't
deliver the goods, I'll kill 'm myself. There!"

"God knows I don't want to kill him or have him killed," Scott answered,
putting away the revolver. "We'll let him run loose and see what
kindness can do for him. And here's a try at it."

He walked over to White Fang and began talking to him gently and
soothingly.

"Better have a club handy," Matt warned.

Scott shook his head and went on trying to win White Fang's confidence.

White Fang was suspicious. Something was impending. He had killed this
god's dog, bitten his companion god, and what else was to be expected
than some terrible punishment? But in the face of it he was indomitable.
He bristled and showed his teeth, his eyes vigilant, his whole body wary
and prepared for anything. The god had no club, so he suffered him to
approach quite near. The god's hand had come out and was descending upon
his head. White Fang shrank together and grew tense as he crouched under
it. Here was danger, some treachery or something. He knew the hands of
the gods, their proved mastery, their cunning to hurt. Besides, there
was his old antipathy to being touched. He snarled more menacingly,
crouched still lower, and still the hand descended. He did not want to
bite the hand, and he endured the peril of it until his instinct surged
up in him, mastering him with its insatiable yearning for life.

Weedon Scott had believed that he was quick enough to avoid any snap or
slash. But he had yet to learn the remarkable quickness of White Fang,
who struck with the certainty and swiftness of a coiled snake.

Scott cried out sharply with surprise, catching his torn hand and holding
it tightly in his other hand. Matt uttered a great oath and sprang to
his side. White Fang crouched down, and backed away, bristling, showing
his fangs, his eyes malignant with menace. Now he could expect a beating
as fearful as any he had received from Beauty Smith.

"Here! What are you doing?" Scott cried suddenly.

Matt had dashed into the cabin and come out with a rifle.

"Nothin'," he said slowly, with a careless calmness that was assumed,
"only goin' to keep that promise I made. I reckon it's up to me to kill
'm as I said I'd do."

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do. Watch me."

As Matt had pleaded for White Fang when he had been bitten, it was now
Weedon Scott's turn to plead.

"You said to give him a chance. Well, give it to him. We've only just
started, and we can't qui