White Wolf's Law: A Western Story — Key Ideas to Explore

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In Category - Science Fiction Utopias

Authors: Dunning, Hal, 1880-1931 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2014 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Fiction; Western stories Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 68,991

Reading time 300 min

Text sections 27

This digital edition of White Wolf's Law: A Western Story — Key Ideas to Explore is described by source-level measurements including 68,991 words, 5 hr estimated reading time, and 27 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 13.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #46457

Hal Dunning's 1928 western follows Jim-twin Allen, an outlaw known as the White Wolf, whose clipped, suspicious speech and strategic cunning drive a plot of double-crosses and mine-saving schemes. The opening fire and the brothers' wary dialogue establish a terse, action-oriented voice.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg46457

Read the Text

Death had struck twice on that September afternoon, and two riders returning to Cannondale had marked the glow from a fire against the early evening sky.

At first they had mistaken it for a brush fire and had swung their horses off the trail and headed toward it as rapidly as the going would permit. The brush was as dry as tinder, and a fire, unless checked, spelled ruin both to townfolk and plainsmen.

The two riders slid their horses down the shelving bank of a wide arroyo. After their horses had scrambled up the farther side, it was "Toothpick" Jarrick who first realized the truth.

"Hey, 'Dutchy,' it's a house on fire!" he cried.

"Sure is!" Dutchy grunted and checked his horse to a trot.

"Get goin'!" Toothpick cried impatiently.

"Not any," Dutchy said shortly. "Lava Gang."

"Yuh sure talk as if words hurt yuh," Toothpick grumbled.

His companion's taciturnity was always a source of irritation to the tall, lanky cow-puncher, and he lapsed into a sulky silence for a time, chewing the ever-present toothpick in his mouth, from which he derived his name.

"Yuh mean maybe the gents they calls the Lava Gang is makin' another raid, and they may be still hangin' about?" Toothpick asked.

"Why don't yuh open yuhr mouth and let the words come out, instead of choking yuhrself on 'em, and makin' me explain to myself what yuh aim to say?" Toothpick asked scornfully.

Dutchy grunted, drew his rifle out of the boot beneath his saddle flap and balanced it across the pommel.

"If we're goin' to war, I'm sure plenty glad to have yuh along," Toothpick grumbled as he followed the example of his companion; "but yuh sure ain't no gent to relieve the tedium of existence with light chatter."

Accustomed as they were to the grim tragedies of the border, they were totally unprepared to find what they did close to the burning house. There was nothing left save smoldering rafters and bare adobe walls. Toothpick swung from his horse and quickly extinguished some brush that had been fired by a spark. Then he gave an exclamation and cried sharply:

"Hey, Dutchy, come here!"

Dutchy was a grizzled two-gun fighter who, rumor said, had once ridden "the long trail." He had lived close to the border all his life, yet he winced when he saw what the white-faced Toothpick pointed out to him.

A scant five yards from the doorway of the house, the body of a man lay half concealed in the brush. It was mutilated and scalped.

"Apache?" Toothpick queried as he slid a nervous hand to the hammer of his rifle and cast apprehensive glances into the darkness.

"Maybe so," Dutchy said shortly. "Let's see if we can find any others."

After a short search they discovered the body of a woman near a small shed. Powder marks on the back of her head told the story. She had been murdered deliberately--shot at close range.

"Skunks--downed a woman!" Toothpick swore.

"Cussin' never hurt no one," Dutchy growled. He wandered to the rear of the ruined house and a little later called: "Here's a gent what's got breath in him."

Toothpick hastened to the side of Dutchy and found him kneeling beside a middle-aged man who was unconscious. The two cow-punchers dressed his wound. After a time the man's eyelids fluttered open and he stared at them with frightened eyes.

"We're friends, old-timer," Toothpick told him. The man sighed with relief.

"Set fire to house to bring help," the man whispered.

"Well, it come," Toothpick soothed as he forced a little water between the man's parched lips. "Who done this?"

The man's eyes flashed and he raised himself on his elbow.

"_Le fils du Diable à Cheval--oui_--I knew him----"

The man sank back and grew silent. Toothpick gave him more water. "Who's the gent yuh knew?" he asked.

"_Le Diable à Cheval._" The man's voice was nothing but a faint whisper. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Dable Chaval--huh, that's a hell of a name," Toothpick grumbled. "Reckon we'll have to wait until he comes to again. Will he live?"

"Certain--then he'll talk." Dutchy was positive.

"When he does I'm aimin' to start gunnin' for the gent what murdered that woman," Toothpick cried savagely.

"Me, too," Dutchy said quietly.

They covered the wounded man with a blanket and once more continued their search of the surrounding bushes. Fifteen minutes later, just as they had decided there was nothing more to be found, a voice hailed them from the darkness.

"Hey, Dutchy, what's goin' on here?" the voice asked.

At the sound of the summons, both Toothpick and Dutchy instinctively leaped for cover. Recognition of the voice brought them to an abrupt halt.

Continue Reading →

Hal Dunning opens White Wolf's Law with a house fire that two riders mistake for a brush blaze, a misreading that immediately signals the dangers of the border. The dialogue between “Toothpick” Jarrick and “Dutchy” is clipped and functional—Toothpick chides Dutchy for his taciturnity, and Dutchy replies in grunts and single words. This economical speech pattern, where characters say only what is necessary, becomes a hallmark of the novel's voice. Dunning uses it to convey tension and to define personalities: Toothpick is talkative and impatient, Dutchy is laconic and cautious. The fire itself is not just a plot device but a sensory anchor—the glow against the sky, the dry brush, the smoldering adobe walls—that grounds the story in a specific, harsh landscape.

Terse Dialogue and Character Voice

Dunning’s dialogue is notably spare. When Toothpick complains that Dutchy “sure ain’t no gent to relieve the tedium of existence with light chatter,” the line is both a joke and a statement of method. Characters rarely speak more than a few words at a time, and their sentences are often fragments: “Sure is,” “Not any,” “Lava Gang.” This brevity does not feel artificial; it reflects the practical, guarded nature of men who live in a world where talking too much can get you killed. The brothers Jim-twin and Jack-twin also speak this way, but with a difference: Jim’s warnings are laced with suspicion (“They aim to double cross yuh”), while Jack’s replies are more trusting. Dunning uses these verbal tics to distinguish characters without lengthy description.

The Outlaw’s Mask and Vulnerability

Jim-twin Allen, the White Wolf, is introduced through a striking moment of emotional exposure. A woman watches his face “grow old, become covered with a thousand wrinkles” as he sees his brother ride away, then suddenly “grew young again” when he grins. This quick shift from grief to bravado reveals the outlaw’s internal conflict: he is capable of deep feeling but must hide it behind a grin and a low-hung gun. Dunning does not explain the transformation; he lets the woman’s shame at witnessing it speak for itself. Later, Jim’s confidence in his own schemes is undercut by his own words: “I ain’t sure she works.” The novel’s title, White Wolf’s Law, suggests a code, but Jim’s vulnerability makes that code feel fragile.

Setting as a Force in the Narrative

The landscape in Dunning’s prose is not merely backdrop but an active element. The opening arroyo, the dry brush “as dry as tinder,” and the “smoldering rafters” create a world where fire and violence are always imminent. When Jim rides away, his face becomes “dead like the desert that was his home.” The simile ties character to place: the desert’s lifelessness mirrors the outlaw’s emotional state. Later, the dusk “gathering in the gulch” and the miners “streaming into town” establish a rhythm of day and night that governs action. Dunning uses setting to control pacing—the fire scene is urgent and chaotic, while the evening scenes in Goldville are slower, filled with the murmur of saloons and the weight of impending trouble.

Cunning and Misinformation as Plot Drivers

Jim’s plan to save Pop Howes’s mine relies on a deliberate spread of false information. He tells Pop to “pretend to get that letter,” act “a little drunk,” and tell “two or three people on the quiet” a fabricated story. This strategy of controlled leaks and staged behavior is central to the novel’s action. Dunning presents it not as cleverness alone but as a necessary skill in a world where the bank, the Lava Gang, and other forces are all maneuvering. The reader is often left in the dark about Jim’s full intentions—Pop complains about being “left in the dark,” and Jim’s response is a vague “I ain’t sure she works.” This uncertainty keeps the plot unpredictable and emphasizes that the White Wolf’s law is improvised, not fixed.

Dunning’s prose rewards attention to what is left unsaid. The gaps in dialogue, the sudden shifts in a character’s expression, and the way a fire or a dusk sky can carry emotional weight all contribute to a style that is lean but evocative. Readers who focus on the interplay between speech and silence, and on the physical details of the border landscape, will find a western that operates as much through implication as through action.

That rainy afternoon, the White Wolf’s clipped suspicion stayed with me—how his fences were built from silence. I closed the book, and my hand drifted to a dog-eared copy of A Rainy June, and Other Stories — Themes and Context, where the rain outside finally seemed to match someone else’s quiet, unguarded inner weather.