The five seated themselves on the edge of the cabin, silent for the moment. Twilight had set in and the day’s work was over. Outside the shanties small fires were blazing from which came the savory odor of frying bacon and boiling coffee. A keen, clear wind fanned their faces, while from the huddled settlement came to their ears, faintly, the weird, soul-stirring wail of the wolf dogs. But, because they were well fed, and happy, and young—above all, young—they began to sing. Clay first, by some hidden chord, had been touched by that soul-touching wail and dearly his fresh young voice rang out, softly at first, but gradually growing in volume.
“Back in the dear dead days beyond recall,
When on the earth the mists began to fall,
Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,
Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song.”
“Know any more of it?” asked the Kid, eagerly.
“Sure, a part of it,” Clay said with a glance at his companions. None of the boys had cultivated voices but they were clear and ringing and bore the thrilling note of youth. They had often sang together on their long trips and when Clay started again the other three joined in harmoniously.
“And in the even when fell the firelight gleam,
Slowly it wove itself into our dreams.”
A shanty door slammed, another and another until it seemed to Clay as if all Nome was banging doors. He stopped. “We’re going to be mobbed,” he said, “and it’s your fault, Ike. That golden note in your voice is starting a stampede.”
“Go on,” commanded the Kid, who was lying back on the cabin top, his face upturned to the stars.
Clay hurried to the end filled with apprehension at the sight of many dim forms filing out on the dock, but in spite of his fears he sang on to the end, the words ringing out sweetly over the water.
“And in the end when earth’s dim shadows fall.
Love will be found the sweetest song of all.”
Uproarious applause came from the now densely packed crowd on the dock.