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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.
then stopped, stepped,|slipped and slid.
"Now let me see,"|thought the little fellow.
"Before I know where I am,|I must get there."
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.
There he sat,|resting his weary bones
as the icy wind howled|through the knothole.
"Come here," said Larson.
"What are you doing?"
The wind also was giving|Big Jim his troubles.
Big Jim was the noble type.|He had suffered.
"Get out," said Black Larson.
"Or I'll fill you both|full of lead."
"Now then,|the pair of you, get out!"
That kind of noise|Jim don't tolerate.
"I'll stay right here, understand?"
"Right here," said Big Jim.
"Understand? We stay right here."
And stay they did,
"I must have food!" yelled Big Jim.
"I must have food!"
"What are you eating?"|Said Black Larson.
"Open your mouth!"
"Liar! It's that candle."
"That?" said the Little Fellow.|"How revolting."
"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."
Desperate with hunger|and here it was Thanksgiving Day.
"Not quite done yet,|give it two more minutes."
"Come on, come on," said Big Jim.
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.
"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 go inside. I'll take the gun|in case you lose it."
Chicken or no chicken,
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