Derby Day in the Yukon Part 3

He kep' t' hisself; perferred livin' alone---- An' ther' was a sort o' respectable tone 'Bout his shack.

He said of them "girls" that defied Law an' ban, (Humpin' his back): "Pore kids! fetched low b' some skunk of a man---- Boys, give 'em a hand-up wheniver y' can;"

(On the'r 'count Soapy Smith out of Dawson he ran With Black Jack!)

He lived like a prince and he spent like a king, Did old Mac.

Whatever he said 'r he did had th' ring Of pure gold; but one day in th' spring Struck a vein in th' rock that made us all sing, "'Rah f'r Mac!"

But th' fortin' he made was th' fortin' he spent In a crack.

Paid all he owed t' th' very las' cent---- Then, off on a h---- of a spree we all went---- An' th' gold? why, he wasted it, gev' it an' lent B' th' sack.

Nex' mornin' he woke up as pore as a mouse, Boozer Mac.

Another chap, who had th' heart of a louse, Would a-blow'd off his head 'r burnt down th' house, 'R int' th' river a-taken a souse, Things goin' slack.

But he stuck t' th' diggin' like hound t' th' trail, Worn ol' Mac.

Jes' like an ol' farmer a-swingin' his flail, Jes' like ol' Abe Linco'n a-splittin' his rail; D'ye think a MAN like him c'd ever spell f-a-i-l, 'R fall back?

No, Sir! He worked till he struck a new vein, Brave ol' Mac!

This time he held tight th' "millionaire" rein; Swore as he'd never be foolish again; Then he got drunk. I tell it with pain,-- Scooted back

East. An' I read in them Papers one day, Klondike Mac Had gone t' them "diggin's" anunder th' clay; An' he was a pauper ag'in! Talk of Play---- "Life's jes' a stage!" as Spokshare mought say; That's a fac'!

Most of 'em Kings as I've heer'd on went bust, Jes' like Mac.

None of 'em carries the'r crowns int' dust;-- They sport 'roun' a while, but die they all must;-- An' I don't know as one of th' king-bunch I'd trust, Lookin' back,

Like th' King of th' Klon! Him we knew As ol' Mac.

Rulers like him y'll find ther's d----n few; Ther's lots of 'em sportin' a Crown ain't true blue.

But Mac? he was royal--a King through an' through, An' no "Jack"!

Up No'th they'll 'member him an' things he done Way back.

We won't give his Crown t' no Son-of-a-gun; Ther's no entail on Kings t'other side of th' sun, An' pre-ce-dence ther' will go, ten t' one, T' King Mac!

GHOSTS

Deep lies the snow on the white, white plain, And frosted the fretwork on window-pane.

The Storm King has laid his icy clasp On th' lock o' th' Year: 'tis an iron hasp.

The camp fire gleams, and its ruddy glow Throws shadows quaint on the drifting snow;

My heart leaps up, for I see a form That makes the blood in my veins run warm:

A woman is standing beside my bed, And these are the words, I swear, she said:--

"YOU MAY WANDER AFAR; BUT, GO WHERE YOU WILL, THE GHOSTS OF THE PAST WILL FOLLOW YOU STILL!"

Another comes--a girl-face, worn, And of every good resolution shorn,--

She utters no word; but her eyes of blue Are burning, piercing me through and through!

Yet another comes and takes Her place---- I close my eyes lest I see HER face----

For the flush of youth on the girlish brow Is lost in the wanton woman now--

And I was to blame! G.o.d, let me forget!

And I wipe away the beads of sweat

That lie on my brow like blood-red rain---- And I try to pray--but words are vain;--

For I know that the ghosts of my sins are here To mock me at this, the end o' th' Year!

AN ANGEL

Th' angils ain't all up in Heaven.

Not by a long shot. Say, Ther's angils a-livin' an' breathin'

Right here in th' camp to-day.

An' th' crown of one, I kin tell ye Is on'y a tangle of hair, But the halo that lingers around it Is brighter than any up There.

One of her laigs goes a-limpin', Her langwige ain't grammar of books, An' she ain't airned th' t.i.tle "A Angil"

Along of her beauty of looks; 'Nless y' saw her as I did---- 'Nless y' saw her, like me, Le'p int' h.e.l.l-flame f'r t' rescue Th' baby of drunken Magee.

Magee in th' cellar was hootchin'; Th' gal was a-sloppin' at ch.o.r.es, Was.h.i.+n' bottles an' kegs f'r th' bar-man, Slingin' c.o.c.ktails ahind th' baize-doors.

Of a suddent a wild cry of "F-i-r-e," come With a lick o' th' flame, left an' right; The boozers they scooted f'r safety An' th' baby was left in th' fright.

One wild cry above th' fierce cracklin'---- A yell of despair in the din: "My BABY! O, G.o.d, SEND AN ANGEL!"

He did. And the Angel went in While us men stood a-shakin' an' shame-faced; The manhood in us not quite dead---- We was drunk--dazed with horror an' whisky 'R we'd foller'd th' gal where she led Into that h.e.l.l-gate of red flame---- Int' th' whirl of th' fire; And we all held our bre'th, knowin' well it was death Come a-nigher an' nigher.

But no! What we all saw a-comin'

Was th' Angil of Life:--at her breast That d.a.m.n kid of Magee's snug an' snorin', As if in th' cradle at rest.

But th' gal? Her face out of resemblance T' anythin' human, you'd say, She come staggerin', gaspin' an' blinded---- (Us men turned our faces away); Then, "Lame Mary!" we busted a-shoutin', Goin' mad f'r a minit with joy; Magee, he was dancin' a hornpipe An' his Missis was huggin' th' Boy.

But the gal as I christen'd "A Angil"

We was shoutin' her name somethin' wild---- Swings 'roun' on her game foot, Says: "Shet up, y' galoot, An' don't be f'r wakin' th' child!"

You bet she was game, was th' Angil:---- Tho' she wasn't f'r playin' no harps, Sittin' on a damp cloud a-slingin' th' crowd, A-thumpin' th' flats an' th' sharps;

SHE WAS STRAIGHT ON HER JOB, was th' angil; Wantin' nothin' down here but her share; An' my biler 'ud bust if I thought any "Trust"

Side-tracked my Angil up--There!

BILLY BIRD'S CELEBRATION