The Gold Rush

THE GOLD RUSH

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!"

"Take that you... Ouch!"

"Huh! Very good."

"Didn't know me own strength," said the Little Fellow.

Hank Curtis' cabin was a stone's throw from the dancehall.

Hank was a mining engineer who lived alone

and occasionally went on long expeditions

into the Far North.

Hank was kind and human,

and our hero cold and hungry,

and the beans smelled good and the coffee was steaming hot.

So the Little Fellow devised a way of getting breakfast.

Big Jim recovered from the blow he received from Black Larson

but lost his memory.

Hank's partner arrives.

Both are ready to leave on a long expedition.

Hank informs his partner that the Little Fellow

is to look after the cabin while he's away.

"Goodbye," said Hank. "And don't forget to feed the mule."

Since that night in the dancehall the Little Fellow hadn't seen Georgia,

but an incident was to bring them together again.

There she stood, her loveliness lighting the room,

filling his soul with the music of romance

for which he was so ill-fitted.