White Fang became hated by man and dog.During this period of his development he never knew a moment's security.The tooth of every dog was against him, the hand of every man.He was greeted with snarls by his kind, with curses and stones by his gods.He lived tensely.He was always keyed up, alert for attack, wary of being attacked, with an eye for sudden and unexpected missiles, prepared to act precipitately and coolly, to leap in with a flash of teeth, or to leap away with a menacing snarl.
As for snarling, he could snarl more terribly than any dog, young or old, in camp.The intent of the snarl is to warn or frighten, and judgment is required to know when it should be used.White Fang knew how to make it and when to make it.Into his snarl he incorporated all that was vicious, malignant, and horrible.With nose serrulated by continuous spasms, hair bristling in recurrent waves, tongue whipping out like a red snake and whipping back again, ears flattened down, eyes gleaming hatred, lips wrinkled back, and fangs exposed and dripping, he could compel a pause on the part of almost any assailant.A temporary pause, when taken off his guard, gave him the vital moment in which to think and determine his action.But often a pause so gained lengthened out until it evolved into a complete cessation from the attack.And before more than one of the grown dogs White Fang's snarl enabled him to beat an honorable retreat.
An outcast himself from the pack of the part-grown dogs, his sanguinary methods and remarkable efficiency made the pack pay for its persecution of him.Not permitted himself to run with the pack, the curious state of affairs obtained that no member of the pack could run outside the pack.