The following days were packed with new experiences for White Fang. While Kiche remained tied to her stake, the cub explored every corner of the camp, investigating and learning. His growing familiarity with the man-animals did not lead to contempt; on the contrary, the more he observed them, the more he was convinced of their superiority.
To the wolf, these humans were gods made of flesh and blood. Unlike the invisible gods humans might pray to, these were tangible beings who occupied space and time. They were creatures of immense potential—passionate, wrathful, yet capable of protection. White Fang quickly learned to offer them his allegiance. He gave them the right of way; when they walked, he moved. When they called, he approached. When they threatened, he cowered. Behind every human whim lay the power to enforce it through clubs, stones, or the stinging lash of a whip.
He belonged to them entirely. This realization was difficult for a creature of the Wild, yet it offered a strange sort of comfort. By placing his destiny in the hands of these gods, he shifted the heavy responsibility of survival onto their shoulders. It was a trade: his freedom for their protection.
However, White Fang did not surrender his soul immediately. There were moments when he would stand at the edge of the forest, listening to a distant, haunting call. He would return to Kiche’s side restless and uncomfortable, whimpering softly as he licked her face.
Life in the camp was a constant lesson in social hierarchy. White Fang quickly identified the greed of the older dogs and the various temperaments of the humans. He discovered that the men were generally just, the children were often cruel, and the women were the most compassionate, frequently tossing him a scrap of meat or a bone.
His greatest torment, however, remained Lip-lip. The older puppy had made it his life’s mission to persecute White Fang. Whenever the cub ventured away from his mother, the bully was there to harass him. Because Lip-lip was larger and stronger, he won every encounter. This constant bullying had a profound effect on White Fang. He became morose and solitary, his natural playfulness replaced by a sharp, defensive cunning. Since Lip-lip prevented him from reaching the communal food, White Fang became a masterful thief, sneaking through the camp and learning to outmaneuver his enemies.
Eventually, White Fang’s growing intelligence allowed him to take his revenge. Using himself as bait, he lured Lip-lip into a high-speed chase through the tepees. He was a swifter runner than the bully, but he intentionally stayed just one leap ahead, leading his pursuer directly toward Kiche.
Lip-lip, blinded by the excitement of the hunt, didn't realize where he was until it was too late. As he rounded a tepee, he ran straight into Kiche’s reach. Her punishing jaws closed upon him, and she mauled him severely before he could escape. When the bruised bully finally managed to limp away, White Fang rushed in and bit his leg for good measure. Lip-lip fled in shame, and from that day on, he kept a respectful distance whenever Kiche was near.
The day finally came when Grey Beaver decided Kiche was unlikely to run away and released her. White Fang was overjoyed, but his attempts to lead his mother back to the forest were unsuccessful. He would run a few steps toward the trees, whining and pleading, but Kiche would only gaze back at the camp. The "call of the fire" was now stronger in her than the call of the Wild. The occult power of the humans had taken hold of her, and White Fang, still dependent on his mother, was forced to follow her back into bondage.
In the Wild, a mother remains with her young for a long time, but among humans, such bonds are easily broken by the demands of trade. Grey Beaver owed a debt to an Indian named Three Eagles. To settle it, he traded a bearskin, some ammunition, and Kiche.
White Fang watched in horror as his mother was forced into Three Eagles’ canoe. When he tried to follow, a heavy blow knocked him back to the shore. As the canoe moved away, the cub’s desperation overcame his fear of the gods; he plunged into the water and swam after her.
Grey Beaver, angered by this disobedience, launched his own canoe and quickly overtook the cub. He snatched White Fang from the water by the neck and began a brutal beating. Each blow was calculated to hurt. At first, White Fang’s wild nature flared up—he snarled and showed his teeth—but the punishment only intensified. Eventually, the cub’s spirit broke. He surrendered to his terror, wailing in a long, unbroken cry of pain until Grey Beaver finally stopped.
When White Fang was tossed into the bottom of the canoe, he lay there shivering. But when Grey Beaver accidentally stepped on him, the cub’s instincts flashed once more, and he bit the man's foot. The beating that followed was far worse than the first. Grey Beaver used both his heavy hand and a wooden paddle until the cub was a mass of bruises.
This was the ultimate lesson: the body of a god was sacred. To bite a master was the greatest possible crime. When they finally reached the shore, White Fang was thrown onto the rocks, where he lay motionless. Lip-lip, seeing his rival’s weakness, rushed in to attack, but Grey Beaver unexpectedly kicked the bully away. In his misery, White Fang felt a small spark of gratitude. He learned that the right to punish was a privilege the gods reserved for themselves.
That night, White Fang mourned his mother in silence, having learned that loud grieving only brought more pain. He stayed in the camp because he hoped Kiche might one day return, but also because he was becoming inextricably tied to Grey Beaver.
His master was not a kind man—he never petted or caressed the cub—but he was just in his own harsh way. He protected White Fang from the other dogs and occasionally provided food. Gradually, a bond began to form. It was a relationship built on rigid obedience and mutual necessity. Though White Fang still yearned for the freedom of the forest, the shackles of his new life were being fastened, link by link, by the power of the fire-makers.