White Fang was adaptable by nature, and his long travels had taught him the necessity of adjustment. At Sierra Vista, the estate of Judge Scott, he quickly began to feel at home. He had no further serious trouble with the resident dogs. Dick and Collie knew more about the ways of the Southland "gods" than he did; seeing that the humans had sanctioned his presence by bringing him into the house, they felt compelled to accept him.
Dick, a good-natured creature, eventually accepted White Fang as a permanent addition to the premises. He would have preferred to be friends, but White Fang remained aloof. Having spent his life avoiding his own kind, he simply wanted to be left alone. He snarled whenever Dick became too friendly, and eventually, the hound gave up, treating White Fang with as much indifference as a wooden post.
Collie, however, was a different matter. While she obeyed the gods’ command not to kill him, she refused to leave him in peace. A genetic memory of the crimes his ancestors had committed against her sheep-herding forebears lived within her. She made his life miserable in petty ways, taking advantage of the fact that his instinct forbade him from attacking a female. Whenever she pushed him too far, White Fang would simply walk away with a bored expression, maintaining a solemn dignity even when she nipped at his heels.
There was much more for White Fang to learn in this complicated new world. First, he had to understand the Master’s family. Just as Grey Beaver’s family had shared his fire in the North, the inhabitants of Sierra Vista all belonged to the Love-master. He spent hours observing their speech and actions to work out their relationship to Scott. He quickly realized that what the Master valued, he must also cherish.
This was particularly difficult with the children, Weedon and Maud. Throughout his life, White Fang had associated children’s hands with the cruelty he had experienced in Indian villages. Initially, he greeted them with malignant growls. However, after a few sharp words and a firm cuff from the Master, he learned to endure their caresses. Over time, his dislike vanished. He never became effusively affectionate, but he grew to wait for them, a pleased light shining in his eyes when they approached.
White Fang also learned the subtle difference between the family and the servants. The latter were afraid of him, and he regarded them merely as "possessions" of the Master who performed tasks, much as Matt had done in the Klondike. Beyond the house, he discovered the complex laws of the Southland. Since he did not understand human speech, he had to learn these rules through experience and the Master’s voice. To White Fang, a word of disapproval from the Love-master was more painful than any beating he had ever received from Beauty Smith. Physical pain only hurt the flesh, but the Master’s censure wounded his spirit.
In the North, any animal that wasn't a dog was considered fair prey. White Fang applied this logic to Sierra Vista when he encountered a chicken that had escaped its yard. One quick snap of his jaws, and the fat, tender bird was gone. Later that day, he tried for another, but a groom intervened with a buggy-whip. While a club might have stopped him, the stinging whip only incited White Fang to attack. He lunged for the man’s throat, ripping the groom's arm open before Collie arrived to drive the "marauder" away.
"He’ll learn to leave chickens alone," the Master remarked, though he knew he had to catch White Fang in the act to teach him the lesson. Two nights later, the opportunity arose. White Fang jumped onto the roof of the chicken house and slaughtered fifty white Leghorn hens in a single night. The next morning, he stood proudly by the bodies, expecting praise for his hunting prowess. Instead, he met the Master’s godlike wrath. Scott held White Fang’s nose down to the dead birds and cuffed him soundly.
White Fang never raided a chicken coop again. To prove the lesson had been learned, the Master took him into the yard and commanded him to ignore the fluttering birds. Judge Scott was skeptical, claiming that once a dog has the taste of blood, he can never be cured.
"I’ll tell you what," Weedon challenged his father. "I’ll lock him in the yard all afternoon. For every chicken he kills, I’ll pay you a gold coin. But if he doesn't harm them, you must tell him sixteen times, 'White Fang, you are smarter than I thought.'"
The family watched from a distance, but the experiment was a "fizzle." White Fang simply lay down and went to sleep, completely ignoring the chickens. That evening, on the porch, the Judge solemnly fulfilled his part of the bargain.
As White Fang adjusted to civilization, he learned to suppress his natural impulses. He discovered that while domestic animals—cats, turkeys, and sheep—were under the gods’ protection, wild creatures like squirrels and jackrabbits were still lawful prey. This poise of self-restraint was as delicate as silk but as rigid as steel.
Even in the busy streets of San Jose, he maintained his composure. He endured the stares and unwanted pats of strangers with a lofty condescension. When local boys threw stones at him, he restrained his urge to tear them down, trusting the gods to defend him. His trust was rewarded when the Master used his whip to teach the boys a lesson.
Finally, there were the three dogs at the crossroads saloon who habitually harassed him. Because of the Master’s strict law against fighting, White Fang had endured their insults for weeks. One day, the Master stopped the carriage and gave the command: "Go to them! Eat them up!"
White Fang did not hesitate. In a flurry of fur and dust, he leaped among them. Within minutes, two of the dogs were dead in the road, and he had chased the third into a field to finish the job. After that triple killing, his troubles with other dogs ceased. Word of his ferocity spread through the valley, and men saw to it that their animals gave the Fighting Wolf a wide berth.