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ESKIMO JOE
Way up where it's cold In Alaska I'm told Lives a fellow called Eskimo Joe. He's lived there for years And some people fears He's got many more years to go.
I've not seen him myself But I hear he's no elf They say he's at least eight feet tall. Real thick through the shoulder Like a big granite boulder And don’t fear nothing at all.
He can bite heads off of fish And make a mean dish Of rabbit and buffalo stew. Track a black bear Right to its lair And whip him 'til he's wore out and through.
People say lots of things; How his hunting knife sings As he cuts down trees for a fire. I've not been so bold To believe all that I'm told But then again, I can’t call 'em a liar.
How long's he been here? That part's unclear. Most think about nineteen eighteen. They say the gray sky Let the winter snow fly And froze it all in a north winter scene.
A small town called Nome, You know how it's grown, But then, just a fort by a glacier. A small little place Preserved by God's grace From the trials and cruel acts of nature. 1 As the weeks wore on And the food almost gone, This outpost of brave souls knew That they could not survive Without help from outside. It was now or never to move.
"Black Jack's the one. Why, he's made that run To Darban so often before, He could drive in his sleep In snow ten feet deep Just like falling out his front door."
Jack's appearance was burly And expression quite surly As he stood up to speak his mind. "I'll go for a beer And a steak from a steer And a kiss from that girl friend of mine."
With an outfitted sled And a lead dog named Red, Black Jack got ready to go. With the warmest of furs, Lead dog and curs, 60 miles he'd trek through the snow.
On his way to the mountain, Old Black Jack was counting The tracks that he crossed on the trail, They were wolves, it was true, And quite a damned few, A wolf pack on a grand scale.
The tracks seemed all about Then he choked off a shout For there to the plain at his back, Was a ghostly white beast And strung out to the east Was all the rest of its pack.
To the wall of the mountain The dogs were all routing, His rifle cracked the still air. As one wolf would fall, Another would call And replace the one with a pair. 2 Closer they came; The dogs knew the game, Their nerve was betrayed by their fear. The huskies jumped back To fend off the attack When the wolves had come very near,
Too close to shoot now, Swing your gun with a vow, Whatever you do Jack, don't fall. It's now hand to hand With the killer wolf band. This must be the end of us all.
From the ledges above Boulders pushed and then shoved, Startled the wolves of the band. With blood on his face, Jack quickened his pace And then the killing really began.
There by Jack's side With a five foot stride Stood a giant with a knife in his hand. Snarling and splitting At the wolves he was spiting, He waded into the wolf clan.
With great savage rage The giant and sage, Gutted one wolf, then another, Some split ear to ear;. Then out of fear, The wolves finally withdrew to cover.
Jack laid there half dead In the snow blood red And the dogs were slain by the dozen. Many wolves paid the price At the tall man's knife And also lay there with their cousins.
Still half dazed, Jack could only gaze At his towering Eskimo savior. With skin tanned quite dark And his eyes always sharp, He had never seen anyone braver. 3 Though not a word spoken And Jack bruised and broken, The giant threw him on his shoulder And started to climb With purpose of mind, Hand over ledge over boulder.
Jack passed out then But woke up again At a cabin not far from Darban. An old reprobate Patched him up, then he ate And got help for his town that was starving.
Much later in Nome In what Jack called home The folks seemed to doubt his tall tale. They all laughed and joked, It seems that these folk Never saw an Eskimo big as a whale.
When his neighbors had gone, Except his friend John, Jack pulled from his blanket roll A very long knife, Sixteen inches of life, And on the sheath was scratched the name Joe.
People still say, To this very day, That a ghostly white wolf haunts the snow Who howls at the moon, A God-awful tune And it’s searching for a huge Eskimo. ~Robert E Browne~
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