Indian, the Eskimo, and the Mongol, Dick sang:

“Hu’-tim yo’-kim koi-o-di’! Wi’-hi yan’-ning koi-o-di’! Lo’-whi yan’-ning koi-o-di’! Yo-ho’ Nai-ni’, hal-u’-dom yo nai, yo-ho’ nai-nim’!”

“The music is my own,” he murmured apologetically, “the way I think it ought to have sounded. You see, no man lives who ever heard it sung. The Nishinam got it from the Maidu, who got it from the Konkau, who made it. But the Nishinam and the Maidu and the Konkau are gone. Their last rancheria is not. You plowed it under, Mr. Crockett, with you bonanza gang-plowing, plow-soling farming. And I got the song from a certain ethnological report, volume three, of the United States Pacific Coast