Lip-lip’s constant harassment made White Fang even more ferocious than nature had intended. While savageness was part of his wolf heritage, the cruelty he now developed exceeded his natural instincts. He soon earned a notorious reputation among the man-animals. Whenever there was an uproar in camp—whether a fight between dogs or a squaw’s outcry over stolen meat—White Fang was usually the cause. The humans did not bother to investigate the reasons for his behavior; they saw only the results. To them, he was a thief and a mischief-maker. The angry women often scolded him, calling him a worthless wolf destined for an evil end, while he watched them alertly, ready to dodge any thrown stone.
He became a pariah in the crowded camp. The other young dogs, perhaps sensing his wild ancestry and feeling the ancient enmity between dog and wolf, followed Lip-lip’s lead. They joined together in a relentless campaign of persecution. However, White Fang usually gave more than he received. Though he could defeat any single dog in a fair fight, he was rarely given the chance. The moment a struggle began, the entire pack of young dogs would rush in to attack him.
This pack-persecution taught him two vital lessons: how to survive a mass attack and how to inflict maximum damage in the shortest possible time. He became cat-like in his agility, learning that to stay on his feet was to stay alive. Even when larger dogs hurtled into him, he would slide or tumble across the ground, yet he always landed with his paws beneath him, ready to spring.
Furthermore, White Fang learned to ignore the traditional preliminaries of canine combat. While other dogs wasted time snarling and strutting with stiff legs, White Fang knew that delay invited the rest of the pack to join the fray. Consequently, he developed a style of rapid, silent aggression. He would rush in and slash his opponent without warning, utilizing the element of surprise to rip an ear or open a shoulder before the other dog even knew a fight had begun.
He also possessed a deadly knowledge inherited from generations of wolves: the vulnerability of the throat. Since he was not yet fully grown, his jaws lacked the strength to be consistently lethal, but many a young dog wandered the camp with a scarred neck as a mark of White Fang’s intentions. One day, catching an enemy alone at the edge of the woods, he repeatedly attacked the throat until he killed the animal. That night, the camp was in a state of fury. Although the tribe clamored for vengeance, Grey Beaver resolutely protected the cub, keeping him safe inside his tepee.
As a result, White Fang was hated by both man and dog. He never knew a moment of security; the tooth of every dog and the hand of every man were turned against him. He lived in a state of constant tension, always keyed up and wary of attack. To defend himself, he perfected a snarl so terrifying and hideous that it could freeze an assailant in their tracks. With his hair bristling, his eyes gleaming with hatred, and his fangs exposed and dripping, he could often force even grown dogs to hesitate, allowing him to make an honorable retreat.
Because he was an outcast, White Fang ensured the pack paid a heavy price for their hostility. He established a new, grim rule: while he was not allowed to run with the pack, no individual dog was allowed to run outside of it. Through ambush and waylaying, he made the young dogs terrified to be alone. A puppy found by the riverbank was a puppy soon to be wounded or killed. They were forced to huddle together for mutual protection against the terrible enemy they had created.
Despite their fear, the young dogs turned this conflict into a deadly game of "hunt the wolf." Being the swifter of foot, White Fang would lead them on wild chases through the woods. He was never caught. Silent as a shadow and more connected to the Wild than his pursuers, he used clever stratagems to escape. His favorite trick was to lose his trail in running water before hiding in a thicket to watch his baffled enemies pass by.
This environment of perpetual war was no soil for affection to blossom. White Fang grew up without even a glimmer of kindliness. The only code he understood was to obey the strong and oppress the weak. Because Grey Beaver was a powerful god, White Fang obeyed him; because the other puppies were weak, they were things to be destroyed. He became quicker, craftier, and more intelligent than any dog in the North. He had to become these things; otherwise, he would never have survived the hostile world of his bondage.