Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was
the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in
meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped
fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red
glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the
company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these
same men back again at the end of another trapping season.

Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real
butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the
occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it
in yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire,
bubbled and steamed half a barrel of coffee.

The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs
gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters,
their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not
for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion
stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the
pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated
into the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was
luring from out of the South.

Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of
men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and
black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes,
he began to play.

It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Melisse that
he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the