At last came the night of the Big Carnival, For weeks and months women and children and men had been looking forward to this.  In scores of forest cabins, in smoke-blackened tepees, and even in the frozen homes of the little Eskimos, anticipation of this wild night of pleasure had given an added zest to life.  It was the Big Circus—­the good time given twice each year by the company to its people.

This year, to offset the memory of plague and death, the factor had put forth unusual exertions.  His hunters had killed four fat caribou.  In the clearing there were great piles of dry logs, and in the center of all there rose eight ten-foot tree-butts crotched at the top; and from crotch to crotch there rested a stout sapling stripped of bark, and on each sapling was spitted the carcass of a caribou, to be roasted whole by the heat of the fire beneath.  The fires were lighted at dusk, and Williams himself started the first of those wild songs of the Northland—­the song of the caribou, as the flames leaped up into the dark night.

  “Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo,
    He roas’ on high,
    Jes’ under ze sky.
  air-holes beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!”

“Now!” he yelled.  “Now—­all together!” And carried away by his enthusiasm, the forest people awakened from their silence of months, and the song burst forth in a savage frenzy that reached to the skies.

* * * * *

Two miles to the south and west that first thunder of human voice reached the ears of Kazan and Gray Wolf and the masterless huskies.  And with the voices of men they heard now the excited howlings of dogs.  The huskies faced the direction of the sounds, moving restlessly and whining.  For a few moments Kazan stood as though carven of rock.  Then he turned his head, and his first look was to Gray Wolf.  She had slunk back a dozen feet and lay crouched under the thick cover of a balsam shrub.  Her body, legs and neck were flattened in the snow.  She made no sound, but her lips were drawn back and her teeth shone white.

Kazan trotted back to her, sniffed at her blind face and whined.  Gray Wolf still did not move.  He returned to the dogs and his jaws opened and closed with a snap.  Still more clearly came the wild voice of the carnival, and no longer to be held back by Kazan’s leadership, the four huskies dropped their heads and slunk like shadows in its direction.  Kazan hesitated, urging Gray Wolf.  But not a muscle of Gray Wolf’s body moved.  She would have followed him in face of fire but not in face of man.  Not a sound escaped her ears.  She heard the quick fall of Kazan’s feet as he left her.  In another moment she knew that he was gone.  Then—­and not until then—­did she lift her head, and from her soft throat there broke a whimpering cry.