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.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165