The master was running up， but was too far away； and it was Collie that saved the hound's life.Before White Fang could spring in and deliver the fatal stroke， and just as he was in the act of springing in， Collie arrived.
She had been out-man渦vred and out-run， to say nothing of her having been unceremoniously tumbled in the gravel， and her arrival was like that of a tornado -- made up of offended dignity， justifiable wrath， and instinctive hatred for this marauder from the Wild.She struck White Fang at right angles in the midst of his spring， and again he was knocked off his feet and rolled over.
The next moment the master arrived， and with one hand held White Fang， while the father called off the dogs.
"I say， this is a pretty warm reception for a poor lone wolf from the Arctic，" the master said， while White Fang calmed down under his caressing hand."In all his life he's only been known once to go off his feet， and here he's been rolled twice in thirty seconds."The carriage had driven away， and other strange gods had appeared from out the house.Some of these stood respectfully at a distance； but two of them， women， perpetrated the hostile act of clutching the master around the neck.White Fang， however， was beginning to tolerate this act.No harm seemed to come of it， while the noises the gods made were certainly not threatening.These gods also made overtures to White Fang， but he warned them off with a snarl， and the master did likewise with word of mouth.
At such times White Fang leaned in close against the master's legs and received reassuring pats on the head.
The hound， under the command， "****！ Lie down， sir！" had gone up the steps and lain down to one side on the porch， still growling and keeping a sullen watch on the intruder.Collie had been taken in charge by one of the woman-gods， who held arms around her neck and petted and caressed her； but Collie was very much perplexed and worried， whining and restless， outraged by the permitted presence of this wolf and confident that the gods were ****** a mistake.
All the gods started up the steps to enter the house.White Fang followed closely at the master's heels.****， on the porch， growled， and White Fang， on the steps， bristled and growled back.
"Take Collie inside and leave the two of them to fight it out，" suggested Scott's father."After that they'll be friends.""Then White Fang， to show his friendship， will have to be chief mourner at the funeral，" laughed the master.
The elder Scott looked increduously， first at White Fang， then at ****， and finally at his son.
"You mean that...？"
Weedon nodded his head."I mean just that.You'd have a dead **** inside one minute -- two minutes at the farthest."He turned to White Fang."Come on， you wolf.It's you that'll have to come inside."White Fang walked stiff-legged up the steps and across the porch， with tail rigidly erect， keeping his eyes on **** to guard against a flank attack， and at the same time prepared for whatever fierce manifestation of the unknown that might pounce out upon him from the interior of the house.
But no thing of fear pounced out， and when he had gained the inside he scouted carefully around， looking for it and finding it not.Then he lay down with a contented grunt at the master's feet， observing all that went on， ever ready to spring to his feet and fight for life with the terrors he felt must lurk under the trap-roof of the dwelling.
