"This is worth
investigatin'. Watch."
Matt, reached for the rifle, and at the same moment White Fang snarled.
He stepped away from the rifle, and White Fang's lifted lips descended,
covering his teeth.
"Now, just for fun."
Matt took the rifle and began slowly to raise it to his shoulder. White
Fang's snarling began with the movement, and increased as the movement
approached its culmination. But the moment before the rifle came to a
level on him, he leaped sidewise behind the corner of the cabin. Matt
stood staring along the sights at the empty space of snow which had been
occupied by White Fang.
The dog-musher put the rifle down solemnly, then turned and looked at his
employer.
"I agree with you, Mr. Scott. That dog's too intelligent to kill."
CHAPTER VI--THE LOVE-MASTER
As White Fang watched Weedon Scott approach, he bristled and snarled to
advertise that he would not submit to punishment. Twenty-four hours had
passed since he had slashed open the hand that was now bandaged and held
up by a sling to keep the blood out of it. In the past White Fang had
experienced delayed punishments, and he apprehended that such a one was
about to befall him. How could it be otherwise? He had committed what
was to him sacrilege, sunk his fangs into the holy flesh of a god, and of
a white-skinned superior god at that.
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