white fang(白牙)-第43节
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a point to caress and pet White Fang； and to do it at length。
At first suspicious and hostile； White Fang grew to like this petting。
But there was one thing that he never outgrew … his growling。 Growl he
would； from the moment the petting began till it ended。 But it was a growl
with a new note in it。 A stranger could not hear this note； and to such a
stranger the growling of White Fang was an exhibition of primordial
savagery； nerve…racking and blood…curdling。 But White Fang's throat had
become harsh… fibred from the making of ferocious sounds through the
many years since his first little rasp of anger in the lair of his cubhood； and
he could not soften the sounds of that throat now to express the gentleness
he felt。 Nevertheless； Weedon Scott's ear and sympathy were fine enough
to catch the new note all but drowned in the fierceness … the note that was
the faintest hint of a croon of content and that none but he could hear。
As the days went by； the evolution of LIKE into LOVE was
accelerated。 White Fang himself began to grow aware of it； though in his
consciousness he knew not what love was。 It manifested itself to him as a
void in his being … a hungry； aching； yearning void that clamoured to be
filled。 It was a pain and an unrest； and it received easement only by the
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touch of the new god's presence。 At such times love was joy to him； a wild；
keen…thrilling satisfaction。 But when away from his god； the pain and the
unrest returned； the void in him sprang up and pressed against him with its
emptiness； and the hunger gnawed and gnawed unceasingly。
White Fang was in the process of finding himself。 In spite of the
maturity of his years and of the savage rigidity of the mould that had
formed him； his nature was undergoing an expansion。 There was a
burgeoning within him of strange feelings and unwonted impulses。 His old
code of conduct was changing。 In the past he had liked comfort and
surcease from pain； disliked discomfort and pain； and he had adjusted his
actions accordingly。 But now it was different。 Because of this new feeling
within him； he ofttimes elected discomfort and pain for the sake of his god。
Thus； in the early morning； instead of roaming and foraging； or lying in a
sheltered nook； he would wait for hours on the cheerless cabin…stoop for a
sight of the god's face。 At night； when the god returned home； White Fang
would leave the warm sleeping…place he had burrowed in the snow in
order to receive the friendly snap of fingers and the word of greeting。 Meat；
even meat itself； he would forego to be with his god； to receive a caress
from him or to accompany him down into the town。
LIKE had been replaced by LOVE。 And love was the plummet
dropped down into the deeps of him where like had never gone。 And
responsive out of his deeps had come the new thing … love。 That which
was given unto him did he return。 This was a god indeed； a love…god； a
warm and radiant god； in whose light White Fang's nature expanded as a
flower expands under the sun。
But White Fang was not demonstrative。 He was too old； too firmly
moulded； to become adept at expressing himself in new ways。 He was too
self…possessed； too strongly poised in his own isolation。 Too long had he
cultivated reticence； aloofness； and moroseness。 He had never barked in
his life； and he could not now learn to bark a welcome when his god
approached。 He was never in the way； never extravagant nor foolish in the
expression of his love。 He never ran to meet his god。 He waited at a
distance； but he always waited； was always there。 His love partook of the
nature of worship； dumb； inarticulate； a silent adoration。 Only by the
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steady regard of his eyes did he express his love； and by the unceasing
following with his eyes of his god's every movement。 Also； at times； when
his god looked at him and spoke to him； he betrayed an awkward self…
consciousness； caused by the struggle of his love to express itself and his
physical inability to express it。
He learned to adjust himself in many ways to his new mode of life。 It
was borne in upon him that he must let his master's dogs alone。 Yet his
dominant nature asserted itself； and he had first to thrash them into an
acknowledgment of his superiority and leadership。 This accomplished； he
had little trouble with them。 They gave trail to him when he came and
went or walked among them； and when he asserted his will they obeyed。
In the same way； he came to tolerate Matt … as a possession of his
master。 His master rarely fed him。 Matt did that； it was his business； yet
White Fang divined that it was his master's food he ate and that it was his
master who thus led him vicariously。 Matt it was who tried to put him into
the harness and make him haul sled with the other dogs。 But Matt failed。 It
was not until Weedon Scott put the harness on White Fang and worked
him； that he understood。 He took it as his master's will that Matt should
drive him and work him just as he drove and worked his master's other
dogs。
Different from the Mackenzie toboggans were the Klondike sleds with
runners under them。 And different was the method of driving the dogs。
There was no fan…formation of the team。 The dogs worked in single file；
one behind another； hauling on double traces。 And here； in the Klondike；
the leader was indeed the leader。 The wisest as well as strongest dog was
the leader； and the team obeyed him and feared him。 That White Fang
should quickly gain this post was inevitable。 He could not be satisfied with
less； as Matt learned after much inconvenience and trouble。 White Fang
picked out the post for himself； and Matt backed his judgment with strong
language after the experiment had been tried。 But； though he worked in the
sled in the day； White Fang did not forego the guarding of his master's
property in the night。 Thus he was on duty all the time； ever vigilant and
faithful； the most valuable of all the dogs。
〃Makin' free to spit out what's in me；〃 Matt said one day； 〃I beg to
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state that you was a wise guy all right when you paid the price you did for
that dog。 You clean swindled Beauty Smith on top of pushin' his face in
with your fist。〃
A recrudescence of anger glinted in Weedon Scott's grey eyes； and he
muttered savagely； 〃The beast！〃
In the late spring a great trouble came to White Fang。 Without warning；
the love…master disappeared。 There had been warning； but White Fang was
unversed in such things and did not understand the packing of a grip。 He
remembered afterwards that his packing had preceded the master's
disappearance； but at the time he suspected nothing。 That night he waited
for the master to return。 At midnight the chill wind that blew drove him to
shelter at the rear of the cabin。 There he drowsed； only half asleep； his ears
keyed for the first sound of the familiar step。 But； at two in the morning；
his anxiety drove him out to the cold front stoop； where he crouched； and
waited。
But no master came。 In the morning the door opened and Matt stepped
outside。 White Fang gazed at him wistfully。 There was no common speech
by which he might learn what he wanted to know。 The days came and
went； but never the master。 White Fang； who had never known sickness in
his life； became sick。 He became very sick； so sick that Matt was finally
compelled to bring him inside the cabin。 Also； in writing to his employer；
Matt devoted a postscript to White Fang。
Weedon Scott reading the letter down in Circle City； came upon the
following：
〃That dam wolf won't work。 Won't eat。 Aint got no spunk left。 All the
dogs is licking him。 Wants to know what has become of you； and I don't
know how to tell him。 Mebbe he is
