But White Fang soon learned to differentiate between
thieves and honest men, to appraise the true value of step and carriage.
The man who travelled, loud-stepping, the direct line to the cabin door,
he let alone--though he watched him vigilantly until the door opened and
he received the endorsement of the master. But the man who went softly,
by circuitous ways, peering with caution, seeking after secrecy--that was
the man who received no suspension of judgment from White Fang, and who
went away abruptly, hurriedly, and without dignity.
Weedon Scott had set himself the task of redeeming White Fang--or rather,
of redeeming mankind from the wrong it had done White Fang. It was a
matter of principle and conscience. He felt that the ill done White Fang
was a debt incurred by man and that it must be paid. So he went out of
his way to be especially kind to the Fighting Wolf. Each day he made it
a point to caress and pet White Fang, and to do it at length.
At first suspicious and hostile, White Fang grew to like this petting.
But there was one thing that he never outgrew--his growling. Growl he
would, from the moment the petting began till it ended. But it was a
growl with a new note in it. A stranger could not hear this note, and to
such a stranger the growling of White Fang was an exhibition of
primordial savagery, nerve-racking and blood-curdling.
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