Galbraith and Louis Savoy got their heads in,
Malemute Kid and Prince were in each other's arms, wildly schottisching
down the room.

As a rule, Indian women do not make a practice of fainting on
provocation, but Madeline came as near to it as she ever had in her
life. For an hour she crouched on the floor, listening to the heavy
voices of the men rumbling up and down in mimic thunder. Like familiar
chords of childhood melodies, every intonation, every trick of her
husband's voice swept in upon her, fluttering her heart and weakening
her knees till she lay half-fainting against the door. It was well she
could neither see nor hear when he took his departure.

'When do you expect to go back to Circle City?' Malemute Kid asked
simply.

'Haven't thought much about it,' he replied. 'Don't think till after
the ice breaks.' 'And Madeline?'

He flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to his eyes.
Malemute Kid could have despised him for that, had he known men less.
As it was, his gorge rose against the wives and daughters who had come
into the land, and not satisfied with usurping the place of the native
women, had put unclean thoughts in the heads of the men and made them
ashamed.

'I guess she's all right,' the Circle City King answered hastily, and
in an apologetic manner. 'Tom Dixon's got charge of my interests, you
know, and he sees to it that she has everything she wants.' Malemute
Kid laid hand upon his arm and hushed him suddenly. They had stepped
without. Overhead, the aurora, a gorgeous wanton, flaunted miracles of
color; beneath lay the sleeping town. Far below, a solitary dog gave
tongue.

The King again began to speak, but the Kid pressed his hand for
silence. The sound multiplied. Dog after dog took up the strain till
the full-throated chorus swayed the night.

To him who hears for the first time this weird song, is told the first
and greatest secret of the Northland; to him who has heard it often, it
is the solemn knell of lost endeavor. It is the plaint of tortured
souls, for in it is invested the heritage of the North, the suffering
of countless generations--the warning and the requiem to the world's
estrays.

Cal Galbraith shivered slightly as it died away in half-caught sobs.
The Kid read his thoughts openly, and wandered back with him through
all the weary days of famine and disease; and with him was also the
patient Madeline, sharing his pains and perils, never doubting, never
comp