“All right, I’m willin’,” Matt agreed, leaning the rifle against the woodpile.

“But will you look at that!” he exclaimed the next moment.

White Fang had quieted down and ceased snarling.

“This is worth investigatin’. Watch.”

Matt reached for the rifle, and at the same moment White Fang snarled. He stepped away from the rifle, and White Fang’s lips descended, covering his teeth.

Matt took the rifle and began slowly to raise it to his shoulder. White Fang’s snarling began with the movement, and increased as the movement approached its culmination. But the moment before the rifle came to a level with him, he leaped sidewise behind the corner of the cabin. Matt stood staring along the sights at the empty space of snow which had been occupied by White Fang.

The dog-musher put the rifle down solemnly, then turned and looked at his employer.

“I agree with you, Mr. Scott. That dog’s too intelligent to kill.”