It was an involuntary bristling on his part, the physical state
that in the past had always accompanied the mental state produced in him
by Lip-lip's bullying and persecution. As in the past he had bristled
and snarled at sight of Lip-lip, so now, and automatically, he bristled
and snarled. He did not waste any time. The thing was done thoroughly
and with despatch. Lip-lip essayed to back away, but White Fang struck
him hard, shoulder to shoulder. Lip-lip was overthrown and rolled upon
his back. White Fang's teeth drove into the scrawny throat. There was a
death-struggle, during which White Fang walked around, stiff-legged and
observant. Then he resumed his course and trotted on along the base of
the bluff.
One day, not long after, he came to the edge of the forest, where a
narrow stretch of open land sloped down to the Mackenzie. He had been
over this ground before, when it was bare, but now a village occupied it.
Still hidden amongst the trees, he paused to study the situation. Sights
and sounds and scents were familiar to him. It was the old village
changed to a new place. But sights and sounds and smells were different
from those he had last had when he fled away from it. There was no
whimpering nor wailing. Contented sounds saluted his ear, and when he
heard the angry voice of a woman he knew it to be the anger that proceeds
from a full stomach.
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