As we strode down the road on what would probably be our last trip to Dawson for supplies, Dave spontaneously broke into song:

      Oh, my darling, Oh, my darling
      Oh, my darling Clementine
      You are lost and gone forever,
      Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

      I boomed along with his melodious tenor in my best basso profundo as we worked our way through all the verses we knew. When we stopped singing, silence enveloped us. Then we became aware of the rustling of the drying aspen leaves and the songs of a few birds flitting around in the bushes. Although most of the flowers had fallen victim to frost, the blue blossoms of a few hardy asters brightened the roadside.
      “We should be through with cleanup in two or three weeks, so we won't need too much food,” piped up Dave.
      After a few moments I replied, “It's hard to believe that soon we'll be heading home to our families.”
      “And how about our girl friends? Do you think they'll be impressed with the gold?”
      “I sure hope so. What I'd like to do is buy a big farm where I can grow lots of wheat. But first I'll start some kind of business so I don't have to depend on my crops right away.”

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