He was to know fear many times in his dealing with man; yet it was
a token of the fearless companionship with man that was ultimately to be
his.
After a time, White Fang heard strange noises approaching. He was quick
in his classification, for he knew them at once for man-animal noises. A
few minutes later the remainder of the tribe, strung out as it was on the
march, trailed in. There were more men and many women and children,
forty souls of them, and all heavily burdened with camp equipage and
outfit. Also there were many dogs; and these, with the exception of the
part-grown puppies, were likewise burdened with camp outfit. On their
backs, in bags that fastened tightly around underneath, the dogs carried
from twenty to thirty pounds of weight.
White Fang had never seen dogs before, but at sight of them he felt that
they were his own kind, only somehow different. But they displayed
little difference from the wolf when they discovered the cub and his
mother. There was a rush. White Fang bristled and snarled and snapped
in the face of the open-mouthed oncoming wave of dogs, and went down and
under them, feeling the sharp slash of teeth in his body, himself biting
and tearing at the legs and bellies above him. There was a great uproar.
He could hear the snarl of Kiche as she fought for him; and he could hear
the cries of the man-animals, the sound of clubs striking upon bodies,
and the yelps of pain from the dogs so struck.
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