In the morning, when the master came out on to the porch, fifty white Leghorn hens, laid out in a row by the groom, greeted his eyes.He whistled to himself, softly, first with surprise, and then, at the end, with admiration.
His eyes were likewise greeted by White Fang, but about the latter there were no signs of shame nor guilt.He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved a deed praiseworthy and meritorious.There was about him no consciousness of sin.The master's lips tightened as he faced the disagreeable task.Then he talked harshly to the unwitting culprit, and in his voice there was nothing but godlike wrath.Also, he held White Fang's nose down to the slain hens, and at the same time cuffed him soundly.
White Fang never raided a chicken-roost again.It was against the law, and he had learned it.Then the master took him into the chicken-yards.
White Fang's natural impulse, when he saw the live food fluttering about him and under his very nose, was to spring upon it.He obeyed the impulse, but was checked by the master's voice.They continued in the yards for half an hour.Time and again the impulse surged over White Fang, and each time, as he yielded to it, he was checked by the master's voice.Thus it was he learned the law, and ere he left the domain of the chickens, he had learned to ignore their existence.
"You can never cure a chicken-killer." Judge Scott shook his head sadly at the luncheon table, when his son narrated the lesson he had given White Fang."Once they've got the habit and the taste of blood..." Again he shook his head sadly.
But Weedon Scott did not agree with his father.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," he challenged finally."I'll lock White Fang in with the chickens all afternoon.""But think of the chickens," objected the Judge.
"And furthermore," the son went on, "for every chicken he kills, I'll pay you one dollar gold coin of the realm.""But you should penalize father, too," interposed Beth.
Her sister seconded her, and a chorus of approval arose from around the table.Judge Scott nodded his head in agreement.
"All right." Weedon Scott pondered for a moment."And if, at the end of the afternoon, White Fang hasn't harmed a chicken, for every ten minutes of the time he has spent in the yard, you will have to say to him, gravely and with deliberation, just as if you were sitting on the bench and solemnly passing judgment, `White Fang, you are smarter than I thought.'"From hidden points of vantage the family watched the performance.But it was a fizzle.Locked in the yard and there deserted by the master, White Fang lay down and went to sleep.Once he got up and walked over to the trough for a drink of water.The chickens he calmly ignored.So far as he was concerned they did not exist.At four o'clock he executed a running jump, gained the roof of the chicken house and leaped to the ground outside, whence he sauntered gravely to the house.He had learned the law.And on the porch, before the delighted family, Judge Scott, face to face with White Fang, said slowly and solemnly, sixteen times, "White Fang, you are smarter than thought."But it was the multiplicity of laws that befuddled White Fang and often brought him into disgrace.He had to learn that he must not touch the chickens that belonged to other gods.Then there were cats, and rabbits, and turkeys;all these he must let alone.In fact, when he had but partly learned the law, his impression was that he must leave all live things alone.Out in the back-pasture, a quail could flutter up under his nose unharmed.All tense and trembling with eagerness and desire, he mastered his instinct and stood still.He was obeying the will of the gods.
