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RIVER SONGS |
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JAKE DALE
HAT, stranger, you never heerd tell o' Jake, Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George"? You must 'a' been raised in the East, my son, If you never clapped ears to the yarn that's spun Of Jakey Dale an' the race he won In the year o' the big ice gorge.
Come March in the Spring o' '81,
An' the river broke at Pierre An' come rantin' down on the clean rampage. She marked 36 on the Yankton gauge, Which I reckon you know is some of a stage,
An' she covered the bottoms here. |
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The "George" was hitched on the city bar
Close up by the railroad track. When the row began we fixed her strong, Rigged seven hawsers where two belong; She'd 'a' taken an acre o' soil along
If she'd dragged in the grindin' pack.
But along one night the drift-ice stopped;
The flood run clear as June, Fer the stuff had jammed in Hagin's Bend An' choked the channel from end to end, An' it fought an' screamed like a wild-cat, penned,
In the light o' the cold March moon.
Yeh see that p'int acrost the bar
With the riffle o' shoal below? Well, that's where the widow o' old Buck Slack Oncet had a claim an' a drift-wood shack, Where she lived an' slaved with her young-un pack,
All which was some time ago. |
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83 |
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