Chapter 10 A Work Dog It was time for White Fang to go to work.
Life in the North was harsh, and everyone, including the dogs, had to help out.
Gray Beaver and Mitza started training the new puppies, including White Fang, as sled dogs.
There were seven puppies on the team.
The others had been born earlier in the year and were nine and ten months old, while White Fang was only eight months old.
He worked on Mitza's team with Lip-Lip as his leader.
They started off on small trips.
It took them a while to get used to pulling the sled.
At first, they tumbled over one another.
The reins tangled around their legs and the straps slipped off their chests.
Mitza had to stop the team several times to pull one of them out of a knot.
The boy was afraid the dogs might choke.
Lip-Lip sometimes ran back toward the boy rather than straight ahead, almost running over the other dogs.
Eventually, they learned to run next to one another without crossing the reins.
Nor did any of them try to pass the dog in front.
They stayed in two straight lines and pulled the sled as one.
This was as close to friendship as White Fang experienced with other dogs.
When tied to the sled, they had to work as a team.
There were still fights, but for the most part, White Fang and the other dogs kept their distance.
It was a truce of sorts.
White Fang enjoyed his work.
He liked running through the snow, pulling against the leather straps across his chest.
It was tiring and very hard work, but he had the energy for it.
Also, he knew that it pleased his master when he performed well.
It made White Fang proud to know that Gray Beaver was pleased.
White Fang took all his job seriously.
He was also very dedicated when it came to guarding his master's possessions.
No one would risk coming near Grey Beaver's tent or touching something that belonged to him.
White Fang always seemed to be there.
A deep, low growl met anyone who wandered in.
One afternoon, White Fang returned to the tent to see a strange man near the door flap.
The wolf trotted around the other side of the tent and surprised the man from behind.
White Fang walked toward the stranger, growling.
The fur along his back was standing up and his scruff was raised.
I, I, wait, the man said.
He backed away with his hands raised to the wolf.
Gray Beaver sent me.
White Fang didn't understand the words this man spoke.
He could smell his fear, though.
He knew that this strange man was terrified.
The wolf kept walking.
White Fang, the man stuttered.
I'm picking up some tools.
The man didn't see the rock behind him.
He tripped and fell on his back.
White Fang leaped toward him and took hold of his pants leg.
The man started to scream.
White Fang, down.
It was Gray Beaver.
He had returned to the tent just in time.
He reached out to the man and helped him up.
The wolf went back to stand by the tent.
Surely his master would be angry he had attacked a friend, but Gray Beaver started to laugh.
So, Salmontong, he said, I see you couldn't get past my wolf.
The man brushed himself off.
He was embarrassed and angry.
You sent me back here knowing White Fang would bite, didn't you?
Gray Beaver shrugged.
Who's to say?
White Fang is a good guard dog.
You never know what he'll do.
Other men had joined them.
They all listened with interest as Gray Beaver and Salmon Tongue argued.
You knew what he would do.
Maybe next time you should think twice about bragging.
Your sled might be bigger and you might have more dogs, Gray Beaver said, but you don't have White Fang.
Gray Beaver smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.
Salmon Tongue was furious.
He realized his friend was jealous.
Gray Beaver had let him walk into danger because he wanted to look more powerful.
What if White Fang had bitten him on the leg, the arm, or the throat?
Salmon Tongue was lucky that the wolf had only wanted to scare him.
"'You're a dangerous man,' he said.
He pushed Grey Beaver back a step.
"'How dare you treat me or anyone that way?'
Salmon Tongue was just about to push him a second time when White Fang knocked the visitor to the ground.
This time the wolf meant to do harm.'
His sharp teeth cut into the man's flesh as Gray Beaver pulled him off.
He pushed the wolf to a place of safety.
White Fang watched the rest of the conversation while looking between Gray Beaver's legs.
His master did not look angry.
In fact, he looked quite happy.
This is something everyone should think about, Gray Beaver told all the men.
No one gets past me or my wolf.
The other men started to walk away.
One of them helped Salmontong tie a bandage around his arm.
He looked back at Gray Beaver and the wolf, shaking his head.
Gray Beaver smiled.
But White Fang was not happy.
The world as he saw it was fierce and brutal, a world without warmth, a world without caresses and affection.
Grey Beaver liked that the wolf kept his distance from others, that he was hard and mean.
It meant that Grey Beaver was more powerful and others were afraid of him.
White Fang had no real affection for his master.
He did not love him.
He knew his jobs and did them well.
He lived his life hoping to avoid severe beatings, and that was all.
After his mother left, White Fang was never touched in a kind or loving way.
No one nuzzled him.
No one made him feel safe.
Soon he could barely remember her.
He knew there was something missing from his life, something warm and loving, but he didn't have the power to name it.
He lived his life in a constant state of stress, and because of this he became hard and mean.
He mistrusted both man and dog.
Lip-Lip still terrorized him, but now White Fang fought back and often won.
He fought any dog that came near him.
He stole food whenever he wanted.
He might bite or snap at anyone, man, woman, or child, who crossed his path.
He had no friends, but did not know what he was missing.
It's hard to miss something that you have never had.
