To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness
and grief of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and
unconsciously his voice rose and fell softly with the wailing of the
brute chorus. But to the others it was a thing that rose portentous
above their understanding, a miracle of mystery that smote them with
awe even as they surrendered themselves to the wonderful sweetness of
the music.
Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He
saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to
man, and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the
dogs sat full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed
straight to the stars in the sky.
Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through
the crouching Eskimos to Jan.
"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's
ear. "Play something fast!"
Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the
strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of
his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and
clear in words familiar to them all:
"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo,
He roas' on high,
Jes' under ze sky,
Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!"
With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the
firelight.
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