The Gold Rush

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In the great Gold Rush, Alaska|was the hope and dream of men,

the ruthless siren|of the Far North,

beckoning thousands|to her icy bosom.

Beckoning thousands|to her unknown regions.

Chilkoot Pass was the great barrier|to the gold fields.

Over this Pass men faced|untold misery and hardship.

Many lost their lives.|Some fell by the wayside,

others lost courage|and turned back.

But the brave went on.

Far into the icy north,|deep into the silent nowhere,

came an undaunted lone prospector.

And somewhere in that nowhere|was another lone prospector.

With cheerful optimism|our little Columbus descended,

then stopped, stepped,|slipped and slid.

"Now let me see,"|thought the little fellow.

"Before I know where I am,|I must get there."

There in that frozen wilderness|a dream came true,

and a lone voice shrieked|into the solemn sky,

"Eureka! I've found it,|a mountain of gold!"

But the elements laughed,|roared and thundered.

In that raging nowhere|was a lone cabin,

and another lone man,|Black Larson,

an unmitigated,|predatory scoundrel.

Out of the lashing storm|came the Little Fellow

to find shelter and perhaps|a little hospitality.

There he sat,|resting his weary bones

as the icy wind howled|through the knothole.

"Come here," said Larson.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating, obviously."

"Get out."

"Go on!"

"Get out!"

The wind also was giving|Big Jim his troubles.

Big Jim was the noble type.|He had suffered.

Oh, how he loved to suffer.|He suffered about everything.

"Get out," said Black Larson.

"Or I'll fill you both|full of lead."

"Now then,|the pair of you, get out!"

"Out!"

That kind of noise|Jim don't tolerate.

"I'll stay right here, understand?"

"Right here," said Big Jim.

"Yes, sir, he'll stay right here,"|said the Little Fellow.

"Understand? We stay right here."

And stay they did,

for days and nights.|The cabin moaned and groaned.

Two men walked and never talked,|hunger gnawed their bones.

"I must have food!" yelled Big Jim.

"I must have food!"

"What are you eating?"|Said Black Larson.

"Nothing."

"Open your mouth!"

"Liar! It's that candle."

"That?" said the Little Fellow.|"How revolting."

"If I thought you were holding out|on me, I'd slit your gizzard!"

"One of us must brave that storm,|if we're to get food."

"Come here, the pair of you."

"We'll cut the cards|and the low man goes."

"You're the man," said Jim.

"Goodbye, good luck."

"Don't forget|to bring home the bacon."

Somewhere in that nowhere,|the law was looking for Black Larson.

Desperate with hunger|and here it was Thanksgiving Day.

Nevertheless there was something|to be thankful for.

"Not quite done yet,|give it two more minutes."

"Come on, come on," said Big Jim.

After scouring the country for food,

the Little Fellow had to admit|he had seen nothing,

not even a field mouse.

From the pangs of hunger,

Big Jim was becoming delirious,|hysterical.

In fact he was a pain in the neck.

"Food, food!" he thundered.

"I can put another shoe in the pot."

"No, no, anything but that!"

Poor Jim, he couldn't take it.

"What's the matter?"|Said the Little Fellow.

"I thought you were a chicken."

"Well, build up the fire,"|said Big Jim.

"What's the matter with you?"|Said the Little Fellow.

"Come, my pretty bird,"|said Big Jim.

"Don't be childish."

"Hey, quit it.|Don't be foolish, it's me!"

"You!" said Jim.

"I'm sorry. I must be crazy."

"You're telling me,"|said the Little Fellow.

"You go inside. I'll take the gun|in case you lose it."

Chicken or no chicken,

the Little Fellow looks appetizing|to Big Jim.

Meanwhile Black Larson stumbled|onto Big Jim's mountain of gold.

Then came the parting of the ways,

Big Jim to his mine,|our hero to his fate.

"Goodbye," said the Little Fellow.

"It's been a great pleasure|knowing you."

Treachery awaited Big Jim|at his mountain of gold.

Big Jim looked deep into the eyes

of Black Larson

and saw there the soul of a skunk.

Caught in a maelstrom|of desperate deeds,

Black Larson swept on|to impending doom.

And out of a dream|in that frozen waste, a city grew.

And humanity warmed it with living,|loving and desiring.

Georgia.

Jack was a ladies' man.

Georgia was quick and impulsive,

proud and independent.

In the evening Georgia worked|as a dancehall girl.

Jack had lots of appeal for Georgia.

Perhaps that's why she resented him.

Out of the night|came the Little Fellow,

towards the dancehall,|that beacon light of pleasure,

that retreat of lost dreams.

"Georgia,|why aren't you nice to Jack?"

"I believe he really likes you,"|said the girl.

"He likes everybody,"|said Georgia quite audibly.

"I'm bored with this place,"|she continued.

"I'd give it all up if I could find|someone honest and worthwhile."

"Don't worry,|I'll find him someday."

Then she turned

and looked and looked

and looked.

"Kinda fresh, ain't ya?"|Thought Jack.

"Get down off that high horse."

"Me and you are gonna dance."

"Hey there, pan out a tune."

"Just a moment,|I said we're gonna dance."

"I beg your pardon," said Georgia.

To show her utter contempt for Jack,

she picked out the most deplorable|looking tramp in the dancehall.

"Hey you, come here."

"Yes, you. Do you want to dance?"

"You see, I'm very particular|about whom I dance with."

And there he stood,|the dauntless cavalier, guarding...

her sanctuary.

"If you wanna make a hit|with your lady friend,"

"you should put your hat|on straight, like this!"

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