Derby Day in the Yukon Part 1

Derby Day in the Yukon.

by Yukon Bill.

GREETING

Shake, Pard! I'm mighty proud o' you!

(I'm know'd as "Yukon Bill"); You blazed th' trail an' blazed it true;---- Some o' my friends I see y' knew On old Che-cha-ko Hill; But say, old man, y' clean forgot my friend, "Swift.w.a.ter Bill!"

You was a kid in pettic'uts When I went in, a man; Grub-stakin' with two other goats---- We sow'd th' last of our wild oats An' th' new, clean life began; We was th' fu'st (an' p'raps th' wu'st) Five Fingers' Rapids ran.

I staked out Eldorado crick Long 'fore th' world was told Them hills from Hunker to St. Mick Groaned f'r th' drill an' f'r th' pick, The'r bellies achin' GOLD!

Where many a night th' moon pale white saw me in blankets rolled.

At Magnet Gulch I lit my pipe---- Got drunk upon Gold Hill; I hoofed it cle'r t' Kokusqum---- 'Twas ther' I lost my Siwash chum (She drownded in a spill), An' Love an' Luck together went from pore old Yukon Bill!

Big Skook.u.m claim might a-bin mine, But fortune ther' I missed; For all I got a-though I sought---- I starved an' thirsted, dug an' fought, Was d---- plumbago schist!

Ten years of toil, of muck an' spoil; then on th' "Failure list."

Labarge; th' Canyon; I was there; I clumb th' Glacier mound.

I might a-bin a millionaire---- G.o.d! think of it, and see me--WHERE?

A b.u.m on Puget Sound!---- At night my roof th' open sky--my pillow th' cold ground.

Me for th' trail at seventy!

I'm longin' f'r th' track: I'll try again--no, I'll not fail---- I hear them "Little Voices" wail: "Come back! come back! come back!"

O, G.o.d! how Mem'ry knifes me now an' puts me on th' rack.

Yes, yes--I failed! Yes, yes, a drink!

An' then my pipe I'll fill.

Boy, here's t' you--y'r picter's true Of them old sinners that I knew On old Che-cha-ko Hill; But say, old man, y' overlooked my friend, "Swift.w.a.ter Bill!"

DERBY DAY IN THE YUKON

Talk of England's Derby Race; of Kentucky's blue-gra.s.s chase; Epsom Downs an' Frisco "Tanforan" t' boot; I don't say they ain't done well, but I tell y' even h--ll Couldn't match th' Yukon racin' malamoot.

How them dogs they love th' Race! Y' kin see it in th' face Of th' starvin' scut that hangs aroun' th' claim; F'r he knows, like you an' me, that th' Derby Day'll be Th' big jag day--th' glad rag play, that brings th' Yukon fame.

It was Fool's Day f'r th' Race; every husky in his place; Wasky's dogs was runnin' Billy Brown of Nome; But at th' Starter's line ranged up Jake Berger's Nine, Ten t' one THEY'D bring th' Derby money home!

Thousands. .h.i.t th' trail that night; we was out t' see th' sight; Th' stakes, eleven-thousand-plunks in gold!

Th' thermometer on strike--every bench-claim on th' hike---- An' them leaders b' th' leash y' couldn't hold.

Oh, th' run was cruel hard--th' white frost how it scarred As they galloped down th' long, unending trail; The whip cut like th' wind, an' Carey's dog, snow-blind, Joined his howlin' t' th' screeches of th' gale.

Down where Candle's bonfires glow see th' racin' huskies go, All keen t' win--McCarthy's purp drops dead---- He's thrown out upon th' track f'r th' lean an' hungry pack Of grey wolves follerin' th' flyin' sled.

Two-an'-eighty hours they raced--an' four hunderd-miles they paced, Them dogs never paused f'r frozen fish 'r drink; Hung with icicles of foam, the'r lithe bodies stretched whale-bone,-- BUT THEY BROKE THE RECORD MADE BY JIMMIE FINK!

Cursed, an' kicked, an' whipped ahead, th' dumb brutes, staggerin', bled Where th' whip cut cruel in; but comes th' feast When at Nome t'morrow night there'll be brawl an' drink, an' fight; An' no tellin' which is man an' which is beast.

Then th' dumb an' winded brute--th' blood-blinded malamoot, All frosted foam is gaspin' upon th' bar-room floor; He, the WINNER OF TH' RACE! in th' glory has no place; He's jes' a slinkin' malamoot when Derby Day is o'er!

THE MALAMUTE

Hi, there! Into your harness of thong!

(Whip.) You get into your place; Give him the lash, Bill. Eh? What's wrong?

See that look in the mal'mute's face:-- Is it devilish cunning o'ermastering pain?

Some lost soul reincarnate again, Running Sin's last race.

Come skulkin' into the camp last June, A leprous, mangy cur; Reasty and rotten--bayed at th' Moon As if you'd a grudge 'gainst her.

All fester and soil--corruption and boil; Your evil face like some carved gargoyle, And you refused to stir

Though I broke th' lash on your back, YOU subjugated me:-- You proved the master--I proved the hack, For, plainly I could see You'd been sent back to earth to work out y'r sin, And y' came straight t' me, a larrikin; An' why did you come to me?

What were you There? Unregenerate thief, A derelict from your birth?

Were you a church-going pharisee, That Belial of this earth?

Was your lecherous, lutish, animal mind Drawn to me as one of your kind?

Your grin betrays your mirth.

Well, me an' you, Mal'mute, stand chums; We won't each other despise; The camp may call us a couple o' b.u.ms But we hold our own a.s.size: We stand for Arbitration straight-- An' mebbe' some day, at St. Peter's Gate We'll look in each other's eyes.

Ah, you leprous devil! you taught me how To fumigate my soul From wanton ways and dicing days, And lush of the flowing bowl: I'm steeped in guilt right up to the hilt, Wors.h.i.+pped in temples of Shame I've built, And Pleasure's been my goal,

But here with you in th' hinter-world Where there's nothing pure but snow, Some words long dumb t' my lips have come, A prayer that I used to know:-- "OUR--FATHER!"--I wonder will HE refute A fellow that learns of a malamute T' take th' kick an' blow?

Oh, down here below we may go th' pace, Loot, gut, palter, prey, maraud; But here or There comes settling day, For y' can't bamboozle G.o.d---- He'll send us back, like you, mal'mute, Mangy an' whining--black with h.e.l.l-soot---- Say, Bill, did y' see him nod?

[Ill.u.s.tration: RED JACKET, BULLY BOY HE IS]

RED-JACKET

Where it's eighty below zero, there you'll find the Northland hero, Red-Jacket; bully Boy he is--sure thing he fills the bill!

In that trackless waste of snow, where the Northern Lights hang low, He is doing deeds of daring that would make your pulses thrill:--

AN' WE'LL DRINK T' YOU, RED-JACKET; THE EQUATOR OF YOUR VEST BUNCHES ALL THE PRIDE AN' GLORY OF TH' WILD AN' WOOLLY WEST!