By April, the long journey was over. White Fang was now a year old, and though he had not yet reached his full growth, he was already a formidable sight. Inheriting the stature of his father and the strength of Kiche, he stood taller than almost any other yearling in the village. His coat was a true wolf-grey, and to any observer, he appeared to be a pure wolf. While his slender, rangy body had not yet filled out, his muscles were like iron cords, and his movements possessed a lethal grace.
Walking through the village with a new sense of confidence, White Fang noticed that the "gods" and dogs he had once feared now seemed smaller and less intimidating. One such dog was Baseek, an old, grizzled veteran who had once bullied White Fang into submission. Their changed relationship was put to the test when White Fang discovered a moose shin-bone. As he settled down to eat, Baseek rushed in, expecting the younger dog to scatter in fear.
To Baseek’s astonishment, White Fang did not flee. Instead, he struck with the speed of a lightning bolt, slashing the old dog twice before springing clear. Baseek, realizing his physical powers were waning with age, tried to maintain his dominance through a fierce, glowering stare. For a moment, the old awe stirred within White Fang, and he nearly retreated. However, when Baseek greedily reached for the meat, White Fang’s self-control snapped. He lunged, ripping Baseek’s ear to ribbons and knocking him off his feet. Staggered and bleeding, the old bully was forced to beat a humiliated retreat, while White Fang stood triumphantly over his prize.
This victory gave White Fang a renewed sense of pride. He no longer walked softly among the grown dogs; he demanded respect. He was solitary and morose, an alien presence in the pack, yet the older dogs quickly learned that it was better to leave him alone.
In midsummer, White Fang encountered Kiche again. He approached her joyously, his memories of cubhood rushing back. To him, she had once been the center of the universe. But Kiche, driven by the instincts of a mother with a new litter of puppies, did not recognize him. She met his advances with sharp fangs, slashing his cheek to the bone. Bewildered, White Fang backed away. He realized that he had outgrown his mother and that there was no longer a place for her in his life. Though he was confused, he did not fight back; an ancient instinct forbade him from attacking a female of his kind.
As the months passed, White Fang’s character continued to harden. He became increasingly solitary and ferocious. However, he possessed one peculiar weakness: he could not endure being laughed at. While he ignored the dogs and obeyed Grey Beaver, the sound of human laughter directed at him would send him into a demonic rage. At such times, any dog unlucky enough to be nearby would suffer the consequences of his fury.
In his third year, a devastating famine struck the Mackenzie Indians. The summer fish failed to appear, and the winter caribou vanished from their usual tracks. As the moose and rabbits disappeared, the village was filled with the wailing of hungry women and children. The situation became so desperate that the humans ate their leather mittens, and the dogs devoured their own harnesses. Many dogs fled into the forest, only to starve or be eaten by wolves.
White Fang also retreated into the woods, but he was better equipped for survival than the others. Using the skills he had learned as a cub, he patiently hunted squirrels and mice. He became an expert at stalking, waiting for hours for a single chance to strike. During the worst of the famine, he even killed and ate a young, scrawny wolf. His endurance was remarkable; he once outran a hungry wolf pack for days, eventually circling back to kill one of his exhausted pursuers.
During the final days of the famine, White Fang encountered his old enemy, Lip-lip, in the forest. While White Fang was well-nourished from a recent kill, Lip-lip was a pathetic, skeletal figure. The two dogs met face-to-face near a rocky bluff. Automatically, White Fang’s hair bristled, and his old hatred returned. He did not hesitate. With clinical efficiency, he overthrew the bully and sank his teeth into his throat. Leaving the dead dog behind, White Fang trotted on, the old score finally settled.
Shortly after, White Fang reached a clearing and discovered that the tribe had moved the village to a new location. As he approached, the air was no longer filled with the sounds of grief. Instead, he smelled the rich scent of fish. The famine was over. He walked boldly into the camp and straight to Grey Beaver’s tepee. Though his master was away, Kloo-kooch welcomed him with a whole fresh fish. Content at last, White Fang lay down to wait, secure once again in the world of his gods.