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"Wolf or dog, it's all the same––he's ben tamed 'ready."
"No!"
"I tell you yes, an' broke to harness. Look close there. D'ye see them marks across the chest?"
"You're right, Matt. He was a sled–dog before Beauty Smith got hold of him."
"And there's not much reason against his bein' a sled–dog again."
"What d'ye think?" Scott queried eagerly. Then the hope died down as he added, shaking his head, "We've had him two weeks now, and if anything he's wilder than ever at the present moment."
"Give 'm a chance," Matt counselled. "Turn 'm loose for a spell."
The other looked at him incredulously.
"Yes," Matt went on, "I know you've tried to, but you didn't take a club."
"You try it then."
The dog–musher secured a club and went over to the chained animal. White Fang watched the club after the manner of a caged lion watching the whip of its trainer.
"See 'm keep his eye on that club," Matt said. "That's a good sign. He's no fool. Don't dast tackle me so long as I got that club handy. He's not clean crazy, sure."