But while he eyed the approaching hand, he at the
same time contrived to keep track of the club in the other hand,
suspended threateningly above him. Matt unsnapped the chain from the
collar and stepped back.
White Fang could scarcely realise that he was free. Many months had gone
by since he passed into the possession of Beauty Smith, and in all that
period he had never known a moment of freedom except at the times he had
been loosed to fight with other dogs. Immediately after such fights he
had always been imprisoned again.
He did not know what to make of it. Perhaps some new devilry of the gods
was about to be perpetrated on him. He walked slowly and cautiously,
prepared to be assailed at any moment. He did not know what to do, it
was all so unprecedented. He took the precaution to sheer off from the
two watching gods, and walked carefully to the corner of the cabin.
Nothing happened. He was plainly perplexed, and he came back again,
pausing a dozen feet away and regarding the two men intently.
"Won't he run away?" his new owner asked.
Matt shrugged his shoulders. "Got to take a gamble. Only way to find
out is to find out."
"Poor devil," Scott murmured pityingly. "What he needs is some show of
human kindness," he added, turning and going into the cabin.
He came out with a piece of meat, which he tossed to White Fang.
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