The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of
the company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in
crescendos of stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent
circle of awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices.
The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the
odors in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the
fire, long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses
were turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell
sizzling into the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's
violin rose higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper
in the tumult.
The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and
his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the
long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts
driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a
final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence
fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms
frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze cariboo-oo-
oo--'"
With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his
violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of
untamed voices.
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