On one such night, while all the house slept, White Fang awoke and lay very quietly.And very quietly he smelled the air and read the message it bore of a strange god's presence.And to his ears came sounds of the strange god's movements.White Fang burst into no furious outcry.It was not his way.The strange god walked softly, but more softly walked White Fang, for he had no clothes to rub against the flesh of his body.He followed silently.In the Wild he had hunted live meat that was infinitely timid, and he knew the advantage of surprise.
The strange god paused at the foot of the great staircase and listened, and White Fang was as dead, so without movement was he as he watched and waited.Up that staircase the way led to the love-master and to the love-master's dearest possessions.White Fang bristled, but waited.The strange god's foot lifted.He was beginning the ascent.
Then it was that White Fang struck.He gave no warning, with no snarl anticipated his own action.Into the air he lifted his body in the spring that landed him on the strange god's back.White Fang clung with his fore-paws to the man's shoulders, at the same time burying his fangs into the back of the man's neck.He clung on for a moment, long enough to drag the god over backward.Together they crashed to the floor.White Fang leaped clear, and, as the man struggled to rise, was in again with the slashing fangs.
Sierra Vista awoke in alarm.The noise from downstairs was as that of a score of battling fiends.There were revolver shots.A man's voice screamed once in horror and anguish.There was a great snarling and growling, and over all arose a smashing and crashing of furniture and glass.
But almost as quickly as it had arisen, the commotion died away.The struggle had not lasted more than three minutes.The frightened household clustered at the top of the stairway.From below, as from out an abyss of blackness, came up a gurgling sound, as of air bubbling through water.
Sometimes this gurgle became sibilant, almost a whistle.But this, too, quickly died down and ceased.Then naught came up out of the blackness save a heavy panting of some creature struggling sorely for air.
Weedon Scott pressed a button, and the staircase and downstairs hall were flooded with light.Then he and Judge Scott, 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 gaping 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 as they bent over him, and the tail was perceptibly agitated in a vain effort to wag.Weedon Scott patted him, and his throat rumbled an acknowledging growl.But it was a weak growl at best, and it quickly ceased.
His eyelids drooped and went shut, and his whole body seemed to relax and flatten out upon the floor.
"He's all in, poor devil," muttered the master.
"We'll see about that," asserted the Judge, as he started for 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 is a large likelihood of internal injuries.He must have been jumped upon.To say nothing 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 that might be of help to him," Judge Scott exclaimed."Never mind expense.Put him under the X-ray -- anything.
Weedon, telegraph at once to San Francisco for Doctor Nichols.No reflection on you, doctor, you understand; but he must have the advantage of every chance."The surgeon smiled indulgently."Of course I understand.He deserves all that can be done for him.He must be nursed as you would nurse a human being, 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 indignantly clamored down by the girls, who themselves undertook the task.And White Fang won out on the one chance in ten thousand denied him by the surgeon.