Джек Лондон - Белый клык / White Fang

Sierra Vista awoke in alarm. There were revolver shots. A man’s voice screamed once in horror. There was a great snarling and growling, and crashing of furniture and glass.

But almost as quickly as it had arisen, the noise died away. The struggle had not lasted more than three minutes. The frightened household gathered at the top of the staircase.

Weedon Scott turned on the light. Then he and Judge Scott, with revolvers in hand, cautiously descended. There was no need for this caution. White Fang had done his work. In the midst of the wreckage of overthrown and smashed furniture, partly on his side, his face hidden by an arm, lay a man. Weedon Scott bent over, removed the arm and turned the man’s face upward. A wound in the throat explained the manner of his death.

“Jim Hall,” said Judge Scott, and father and son looked significantly at each other.

Then they turned to White Fang. He, too, was lying on his side. His eyes were closed, but the lids slightly lifted in an effort to look at them when they bent over him, and the tail was made a vain effort to wag. Weedon Scott patted him, and he gave an acknowledging growl. But it was a weak growl, and it quickly ceased. His eyes closed, and his whole body relaxed upon the floor.

“He’s dying, poor devil,” muttered the master.

“We’ll see about that, [59]” said the Judge, as he went to the telephone.

“Frankly, he has one chance in a thousand,” announced the surgeon, after he had worked an hour and a half on White Fang.

Dawn was breaking through the windows and dimming the electric lights. With the exception of the children, the whole family was gathered about the surgeon to hear his verdict.

“One broken hind-leg,” he went on. “Three broken ribs, one at least of which has pierced the lungs. He has lost nearly all the blood in his body. There can be internal injuries. He must have been jumped upon. To say nothing [60]of three bullet holes clear through him. One chance in a thousand is really optimistic. He hasn’t a chance in ten thousand.”

“But he mustn’t lose any chance,” Judge Scott exclaimed. “Never mind expense. Put him under the X-ray – anything. Weedon, telegraph at once to San Francisco for Doctor Nichols. I hope you understand, doctor; he must have the advantage of every chance.”

The surgeon smiled. “Of course I understand. He deserves all that can be done for him. He must be nursed as you would nurse a sick child. And don’t forget what I told you about temperature. I’ll be back at ten o’clock again.”

White Fang received the nursing. Judge Scott’s suggestion of a trained nurse was declined by the girls, who took care of him themselves. And White Fang won his one chance in ten thousand which the surgeon had not given to him.

The surgeon should not be criticised for his misjudgement. All his life he had threated soft creatures of civilisation. White Fang had come straight from the Wild, where the weak die early. In neither his father nor his mother was there any weakness, nor in the generations before them. A constitution of iron and the vitality of the Wild were White Fang’s heritage, and he clung to life, the whole of him and every part of him, in spirit and in flesh.

In plaster casts and bandages, White Fang slept a lot and dreamed much. All the ghosts of the past were with him. Once again he lived in the lair with Kiche, crept to the knees of Grey Beaver to express his allegiance, ran for his life before Lip-lip and all the puppy-pack, ran again through the silence, hunting in the months of famine; and again he ran at the head of the team, with Mit-sah and Grey Beaver behind. He lived again with Beauty Smith, he fought and won. At such times he whimpered and snarled in his sleep, and people said that his dreams were bad.

But there was one particular nightmare from which he suffered – the monsters of electric cars that were to him colossal screaming lynxes. He lay in the bushes, waiting for a squirrel to come closer. Then, when he sprang out upon it, it would transform itself into an electric car. It was the same when he watched the hawk in the sky. It dropped upon him changing itself into the terrible, clanging electric car. Or again, he was in the pen of Beauty Smith. He waited for his antagonist to enter. The door opened, and there was the awful electric car. A thousand times this happened, and each time the terror was as great as ever.

Then came the day when the last bandage and the last plaster cast were taken off. It was a great day. All Sierra Vista was gathered around. The master rubbed his ears, and he crooned his love-growl. The master’s wife called him the “Blessed Wolf,” and then all the women called him the Blessed Wolf.

He tried to rise to his feet, and after several attempts fell down from weakness. He had lain so long that his muscles had lost their strength. He felt a little shame because of his weakness. So of this he made heroic efforts to arise and at last he stood on his four legs, swaying back and forth.

“The Blessed Wolf!” cried the women.

Judge Scott looked at them triumphantly.

“Yes, no dog could have done what he did. He’s a wolf, as I’ve said.”

“A Blessed Wolf,” said Judge’s wife.

“Yes, Blessed Wolf,” agreed he. “And since now that shall be my name for him.”

“He’ll have to learn to walk again,” said the surgeon; “so he can start right now. It won’t hurt him. Take him outside.”

And outside he went, like a king, with all Sierra Vista beside him. He was very weak, and when he reached the lawn he lay down and rested for a while.

Then the procession went on. Strength was coming back to White Fang. They came to the stables, and there in the doorway lay Collie, with a half-dozen puppies playing about her in the sun.

White Fang looked and wondered. Collie snarled warningly at him, and he was careful to keep his distance. The master with his toe helped one puppy to go toward him. He bristled suspiciously, but the master warned him that all was well. Collie, in the arms of one of the women, watched him jealously and with a snarl warned him that all was not well.

The puppy stopped in front of him. He cocked his ears and watched it curiously. Then their noses touched, and he felt the warm little tongue of the puppy on his chops. White Fang’s tongue went out, he knew not why, and he licked the puppy’s face.

Hand-clapping and pleased cries from the gods greeted the performance. He was surprised at it. Then his weakness mastered him, and he lay down, his ears cocked, his head on one side, while he watched the puppy. The other puppies came toward him, to Collie’s great disgust; and he gravely permitted them to climb on him. And so he lay with half-closed patient eyes, dozing in the sun.

I. Choose the correct answer:

1. Who was White Fang’s first owner?

a) Beauty Smith b) Weedon Scott c) Grey Beaver

2. Who of White Fang’s ancestors was a dog?

a) no one a) Kiche’s mother b) One Eye’s mother

3. Beauty Smith initially bought White Fang for….

a) exhibiting him b) dog-fighting c) protecting his house

4. How did Weedon Scott get White Fang?

a) He bought him. b) He stole him. c) He found him after a fight.

5. Where was Weedon Scott from?

a) California b) Nevada c) New York

6. White Fang saved the family when….

a) there was a fire b) his master broke his leg c) a criminal entered the house

II. Answer the questions:

1. Why were Bill and Henry attacked by the wolves?

2. What was so special about the red-hued she-wolf?