Read this excerpt from part III, chapter 1 of white fang. In this chapter, White Fang meets humans for the first time and comes at last to the Indian camp. Answer the questions that follow.
The moment the fire was lighted, it took life--Time was not to be wasted. There was much for White Fang to learn before he could prosper by it.
How to build a fire for warmth or cooking was a puzzle to him. He did not know that it was a fire, any more than he knew that it did anything else than scorch, the fingers and faces of the cub. He stood as always, with his back to the post; the darts hissed above his head and leaped to the feast of summertime insects eating the pinching tar of the camp.
White Fang was learning more than he thought or cared to think about; and the puzzled onlookers saw his face change color under the heat and the wind, were more puzzled, still, to see him thrust his nose down to the ground in what seemed to be a puppy-like effort at smelling for game. But whatever it was that White Fang tried to do, he dripped with sweat, and his face was wild with longing for knowledge and power.
White Fang stood at the edge of the firelight, a thing of a strange and potent curiosity. He was an alien to the camp, a thing from another world, and they did not know what to make of him.
"Smell, White Fang!" said Molly, taking his paw and leading it to the ground. "Smell, White Fang!"
White Fang recoiled with a jerk, a bark of laughter burst from his lips, and he backed away in bankruptcy and magic, crushing the hobbled bears and leaping down to the big river and the open sea which had been hiding White Fang from sight all these many days. White Fang turned, laughing, and bounded away into the jungle, forgotten, only to come with snarl and a rush of teeth, to wakeful better judgment in a tangle of threats and blood.
White Fang was a dog of many tricks. He was a thief, a destroyer, a murderer, a pitiless pursuer. He was a pledge of salvation.