But no master came.In the morning the door opened and Matt stepped outside.White Fang gazed at him wistfully.There was no common speech by which he might learn what he wanted to know.The days came and went, but never the master.White Fang, who had never known sickness in his life, became sick.He became very sick, so sick that Matt was finally compelled to bring him inside the cabin.Also, in writing to his employer, Matt devoted a postscript to White Fang.
Weedon Scott reading the letter down in Circle City, came upon the following:
"That dam wolf wont work.Wont eat.Aint got no spunk left.All the dogs is licking him.Wants to know what has become of you, and I dont know how to tell him.Mebbe he is going to die."It was as Matt had said.White Fang had ceased eating, lost heart, and allowed every dog of the team to thrash him.In the cabin he lay on the floor near the stove, without interest in food, in Matt, nor in life.Matt might talk gently to him or swear at him, it was all the same; he never did more than turn his dull eyes upon the man, then drop his head back to its customary position on his fore-paws.