Beauty
Smith gave him a beating. Tied securely, White Fang could only rage
futilely and endure the punishment. Club and whip were both used upon
him, and he experienced the worst beating he had ever received in his
life. Even the big beating given him in his puppyhood by Grey Beaver was
mild compared with this.
Beauty Smith enjoyed the task. He delighted in it. He gloated over his
victim, and his eyes flamed dully, as he swung the whip or club and
listened to White Fang's cries of pain and to his helpless bellows and
snarls. For Beauty Smith was cruel in the way that cowards are cruel.
Cringing and snivelling himself before the blows or angry speech of a
man, he revenged himself, in turn, upon creatures weaker than he. All
life likes power, and Beauty Smith was no exception. Denied the
expression of power amongst his own kind, he fell back upon the lesser
creatures and there vindicated the life that was in him. But Beauty
Smith had not created himself, and no blame was to be attached to him. He
had come into the world with a twisted body and a brute intelligence.
This had constituted the clay of him, and it had not been kindly moulded
by the world.
White Fang knew why he was being beaten. When Grey Beaver tied the thong
around his neck, and passed the end of the thong into Beauty Smith's
keeping, White Fang knew that it was his god's will for him to go with
Beauty Smith.
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