DERBY DAY IN THE YUKON

Talk of England's Derby Race; of Kentucky's blue-grass chase;

Epsom Downs an’ Frisco “Tanforan” t’ boot;

I do n't say they ai n't done well, but I tell y’ even h — ll

Could n'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 hit 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’ could n'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.

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!