Kate Simpson Hayes

“ Then sluice y'r bench—an' pan!
Say, when y'r up against it, don't get feelin' blue;
Ther's room t' spare, ther's plenty air; ain't that enough f'r you?
Every bed-rock wash-up ain't all gold t' th' pan,
But life can't be a "failure" if y' play th' game a MAN!
[Pg 37]
HOW SLIPPERY PLAYED THE GAME
[Pg 38]
No, th' story ain't never bin told afore, as I'm th' on'y man seed th' game played on th' dance-hall floor. I was ther' when the fun began. An' what I see I tell you straight—tell it as man to man.
[Pg 39]
HOW SLIPPERY PLAYED THE GAME
"Lost ag'in!" ”

“ Where peroxide blondes pulled Billy Bird's leg.
You'll find him to-day in a Yukon s'loon
Slushin' beer to th' same old played-out tune:—
"O! them gurls they pulled my laig!"
[Pg 93]
INVITATION
I bring you a prairie greeting
Crested with sunlight sheen,
A picture of mountains rising
To snow-capped heights of green;
A call from the happy home-land
Where human hearts beat warm,
Where western corn-fields beckon
And shelter from life's storm. ”

“ But her hand upon th' pillo' was like foam upon th' billo',
When she spoke t' us of One who pardon'd sin.
Lord, how th' fever got 'em! Lord, how th' Doctors fought 'em!
How them Sisters stood th' racket night an' day:
Talk of Angils? Up in heaven don't believe as you'd find Seven
Could beat them a-makin' plasters, or beat 'em on the Pray!
Well, one mornin' when I waken I see th' next bed taken
By a feller, as was ravin' like a loon;
Sich a face! All hair an' blotches (th' kind th' fever scotches) ——
An' I says, says I: "His Nibs'll ketch you soon!" ”

“ An' th' boys was glad the day he quit th' camp;
Next I see him with th' crowd down at Dawson, an' I 'lowed
I never see a bigger, low-down scamp.
Was he single? Was he marri'd? I dunno', but sure he carried
A little bit of locket on his breast,
And onct I see him open it—but that was in a dopin' fit——
An' I laugh'd t' see Jim's mouth ag'in it pressed!
But a fella' will act loony when he's full an' feelin' spoony,
Howsumever, Jim an' me went differ'nt ways ”

“ T' refuse man 'r dog a crust 'r a bone.
He kep' t' hisself; perferred livin' alone——
An' ther' was a sort o' respectable tone
'Bout his shack.
He said of them "girls" that defied Law an' ban,
(Humpin' his back) :
"Pore kids! fetched low b' some skunk of a man——
Boys, give 'em a hand-up wheniver y' can;"
(On the'r 'count Soapy Smith out of Dawson he ran
With Black Jack!)
He lived like a prince and he spent like a king,
Did old Mac.
Whatever he said 'r he did had th' ring
Of pure gold; but one day in th' spring
Struck a vein in th' rock that made us all sing,
"'Rah f'r Mac!" ”

“ Where all mankind stand equal——
Where toil is a boast—a pride:
Where the silken palm clasps the horny hand
When the long day's work is done,
Where new life is born in the growing corn
In the land of the Setting Sun.
note.—Written in January, 1907, after seeing 700 men and women fed by Charity on the Thames embankment as "Big Ben" struck ONE A. M.
[Pg 96]
JIM
WHEN I MET WITH JIM ALONG THE DAWSON TRAIL
[Pg 97]
JIM
'Twas th' days of th' stampede—I was of th' hobo breed——
When I met with Jim along th' Dawson trail;
F'r Bonanza I was strikin'; an' Jim? ”

“ Slingin' cocktails ahind th' baize-doors.
Of a suddent a wild cry of "F-i-r-e," come
With a lick o' th' flame, left an' right;
The boozers they scooted f'r safety
An' th' baby was left in th' fright.
One wild cry above th' fierce cracklin'——
A yell of despair in the din:
"My BABY! O, God, send an angel!"
He did. And the Angel went in
While us men stood a-shakin' an' shame-faced;
The manhood in us not quite dead——
We was drunk—dazed with horror an' whisky
'R we'd foller'd th' gal where she led
Into that hell-gate of red flame——
Int' th' whirl of th' fire ”

“ Now, you folks, don't get hard thinkin' when Red-Jacket starts a-drinkin',
An' he busts th' Ten Commandments into five-an'-twenty bits;
When he hears th' bugles sound, ain't he fu'st upon th' ground?
An' don't his "powders" cure 'em of the'r hell-damnation fits?
So we'll drink t' YOU, Red-Jacket!
God's blessin' on y'r head;
You're th' British Con-sti-too-shun
Bound in yella' stripes, an' Red!
[Pg 35]
UP AGAINST IT
When y're up against it, don't get feelin' blue;
Somewher' in this world of ours ther's a place f'r you.
Y'r jes' a round peg in a squar', y' ain't th' proper fit ”

“ Doc. said old Jim was dyin'. That night I he'erd him sighin',
An' he up an' says: "Say, Pard, when I'm—at rest——
Will you see this—little locket—goes with me—in the pocket
Of the heart that's lyin' broken—in my breast?"
And if you're no doubtin' Thomas you'll believe I kep' that promise;
And the Face inside the locket, human eye shall never see;
P'raps it was, or wasn't Sister, her we called "Saint Mustard Blister,"
When she pumped th' pills an' quinine int' pore old Jim an' me! ”

“ Handin' over th' stakes. But Slippery Jim
Hunchin' up of his powerful frame
Giv' a kind of a grin o' hate at him.
"D——n y'r gold!" he says, "Slippery Jim to-night
Will begin t' live like a man born white!" ”

“ Was th' Angil of Life:—at her breast
That damn kid of Magee's snug an' snorin',
As if in th' cradle at rest.
But th' gal? Her face out of resemblance
T' anythin' human, you'd say,
She come staggerin', gaspin' an' blinded——
(Us men turned our faces away) ;
Then, "Lame Mary!" we busted a-shoutin',
Goin' mad f'r a minit with joy ”

“ You blazed th' trail an' blazed it true;——
Some o' my friends I see y' knew
On old Che-cha-ko Hill;
But say, old man, y' clean forgot my friend, "Swiftwater Bill!"
You was a kid in pettic'uts
When I went in, a man;
Grub-stakin' with two other goats——
We sow'd th' last of our wild oats
An' th' new, clean life began;
We was th' fu'st (an' p'raps th' wu'st) Five Fingers' Rapids ran.
[Pg 12]
I staked out Eldorado crick
Long 'fore th' world was told
Them hills from Hunker to St. Mick
Groaned f'r th' drill an' f'r th' pick,
The'r bellies achin' GOLD! ”

“ We'd get dead sick o' summer without a tech o' frost,
An' Ex-pe-ri-ence we got t' hev' regardless of th' cost.
[Pg 36]
Oh, th' smell o' fightin' powder, that's th' perfume f'r th' nose;
Without th' thorn in hidin' who'd care t' pluck th' Rose?
An' th' tears that wet y'r pillo' at night when y' go t' bed,
They'll wash away y'r troubles—an' y'r sins, tho' ruby red.
Boy, when y'r up against it, get y'r back agin' a fence
An' swing that good ol' we'pon we used t' call "horse sense":
Pitch off y'r coat—go at it jes' like a fightin' man ”

“ And thereafter will be heard the cry, "O, give me the wilds again!"
[Pg 63]
The Trail hath no languorous longing;
It leads to no Lotus land;
On its way dead Hopes come thronging
To take you by the hand;
He who treads the Trail undaunted, thereafter shall command!
[Pg 67]
THE KING OF THE KLONDIKE
We called him the King of the Klondike; but
He really was "Mac."
He walked int' Dawson in tatters an' rags,
His frozen feet tied in a pair of ol' bags,
An' perceeded t' go on a couple of jags;
Pack on his back.
He worked empty-bellied f'r many a day,
Pore old Mac! ”