hat he begins now. He'll
adjust himself all right."

The carriage drove on, and still Collie blocked White Fang's way. He
tried to outrun her by leaving the drive and circling across the lawn but
she ran on the inner and smaller circle, and was always there, facing him
with her two rows of gleaming teeth. Back he circled, across the drive
to the other lawn, and again she headed him off.

The carriage was bearing the master away. White Fang caught glimpses of
it disappearing amongst the trees. The situation was desperate. He
essayed another circle. She followed, running swiftly. And then,
suddenly, he turned upon her. It was his old fighting trick. Shoulder
to shoulder, he struck her squarely. Not only was she overthrown. So
fast had she been running that she rolled along, now on her back, now on
her side, as she struggled to stop, clawing gravel with her feet and
crying shrilly her hurt pride and indignation.

White Fang did not wait. The way was clear, and that was all he had
wanted. She took after him, never ceasing her outcry. It was the
straightaway now, and when it came to real running, White Fang could
teach her things. She ran frantically, hysterically, straining to the
utmost, advertising the effort she was making with every leap: and all
the time White Fang slid smoothly away from her silently, without effort,
gliding like a ghost over the ground.

As he rounded the house to the _porte-cochere_, he came upon the
carriage. It had stopped, and the master was alighting. At this moment,
still running at top speed, White Fang became suddenly aware of an attack
from the side. It was a deer-hound rushing upon him. White Fang tried
to face it. But he was going too fast, and the hound was too close. It
struck him on the side; and such was his forward momentum and the
unexpectedness of it, White Fang was hurled to the ground and rolled
clear over. He came out of the tangle a spectacle of malignancy, ears
flattened back, lips writhing, nose wrinkling, his teeth clipping
together as the fangs barely missed the hound's soft throat.

The master was running up, but was too far away; and it was Collie that
saved the hound's life. Before White Fang could spring in and deliver
the fatal stroke, and just as he was in the act of springing in, Collie
arrived. She had been out-manoeuvred and out-run, to say nothing of her
having been unceremoniously tumbled in the gravel, and her arrival was
like that o