1. CHAPTER I - THE LONG TRAIL
White Fang flattened his ears ingratiatingly, but remained where he
was, making no attempt to approach.
"I'll have to take 'm ashore with me."
Matt made a couple of steps toward White Fang, but the latter slid
away from him. The dog-musher made a rush of it, and White Fang
dodged between the legs of a group of men. Ducking, turning,
doubling, he slid about the deck, eluding the other's efforts to
But when the love-master spoke, White Fang came to him with prompt
"Won't come to the hand that's fed 'm all these months," the dog-musher
muttered resentfully. "And you - you ain't never fed 'm
after them first days of gettin' acquainted. I'm blamed if I can
see how he works it out that you're the boss."
Scott, who had been patting White Fang, suddenly bent closer and
pointed out fresh-made cuts on his muzzle, and a gash between the
Matt bent over and passed his hand along White Fang's belly.
"We plump forgot the window. He's all cut an' gouged underneath.
Must 'a' butted clean through it, b'gosh!"
But Weedon Scott was not listening. He was thinking rapidly. The
AURORA'S whistle hooted a final announcement of departure. Men
were scurrying down the gang-plank to the shore. Matt loosened the
bandana from his own neck and started to put it around White
Fang's. Scott grasped the dog-musher's hand.
"Good-bye, Matt, old man. About the wolf-you needn't write. You
see, I've . . . !"
"What!" the dog-musher exploded. "You don't mean to say . . .?"
"The very thing I mean. Here's your bandana. I'll write to you
Matt paused halfway down the gang-plank.