Paul Bunyan And His Loggers Part 2

Morning found Paul Bunyan ready to grasp the prize, But the fish in growing larger had, too, grown wondrous wise.

And dashing towards the nimrod it tried to foul the line Around some broken branches of a waterlogged old pine.

It was nip and tuck for a moment but Bunyan was forced to see The strong line part like a raveling and the fish go tearing free.

With one quick burst of anger he sat down limp as a rag, And when he wended homeward his feet would scarcely drag.

But rest brought resolution and an overpowering wish: He'd camp there by that lakeside till he caught that cussed fish.

For weeks he fished those waters in sunshine and in shade, A thousand different spots he tried, a hundred lures he made.

But often as the sunset his dream fish would arise And sport its lazy beauty before his longing eyes,

And ever it seemed to laugh at him and ever he madder grew, He cussed and fought it in his sleep till he knew not what to do.

But finally said Paul Bunyan, "There's one way left to try, I'll have that fish by sunset or know the reason why;

"I'll drain this cussed puddle right through the old Cascades, And grill this fish for supper on the hottest plate in Hades."

The old Blue Ox he harnessed, he didn't give a dern, As around old Mount Baker he took a double turn;

He almost pulled the Mountain loose but he pulled the Range in two, And all those inland waters like mad came tumbling through.

And right where the torrent widened he stood with his mighty spear And said "I'll get sir mister fish when he comes out through here."

Well, Paul had his fish for supper and there's no more inland lake, And the Columbia River rages through right where he made the break.

Now some say this is a fable, but I know that it is true, For I have it straight from a logger, just as it's told to you.

BUILDING CRATER LAKE

This story reflects something of the Northwesterner's scorn and contempt for California and Californians.

I camped one year by Crater Lake, in the State of Oregon, And there I met a pioneer who lived by trap and gun.

And often of an evening by the camp fire's ruddy light, He told me how the West was made and of great men of might.

He told of the two Joe McFraus, the one whose name was Pete, And how he labored for his board to get enough to eat.

And also of the Terrible Swede who gloried in a brawl, One day he fought the riot squad and licked them one and all.

But master of the mighty men he loved to tell the best, The tales of old Paul Bunyan and how he built the West.

He told of how he built the Sound, and how once on a spree He dug the Strait of Bering to drain the Arctic Sea.

And how he split the old Cascades, and, by the way, said he, "That reminds me of this very lake and how it came to be."

And so he smoked of my cigars and sampled my home brew, And told the tale about the lake and swore that it was true.

He said it was the very time when Bunyan pulled in two The Cascade Mountains and thus let the Columbia River through;

He said the Blue Ox braced his feet and came within a dime Of pulling California loose from its sunny clime.

And he swore 'twas true as gospel, that day the "Native Son"

Had first come down from out the trees to see what could be done.

Well, Bunyan listened to their wail, and checked his ox of blue, Then staking down the southern end had pulled the range in two.

Then when he finished up his job he just pulled up the stake, And water ran into the hole and there was Crater Lake.

Now you can take this tale or not, he swore that it was true, And I don't think he'd lie to me while drinking my home brew.

THE DEATH OF THE BLUE OX

This story, better than any other I know, shows the characteristic weaknesses of the lumber industry.

This is a tale of the West land, the fartherest end of the earth; A tale of the great Northwest land where every man proves his worth.

Cascade was king of the mountains, Puget was lord of the sea; Though Paul Bunyan took their orders, mightiest of all was he.

He dug the Sound for old Puget, he built the Peaks for Cascade, Like the last great dream of a Painter, the Olympic Mountains he made.

But he was gyped by St. Helens on plans for a mountain mold, So he pastured his ox and traveled to the north in search of gold.

He stopped at the mighty Yukon, it looked like a likely stream; He never looked to his tailings, he was only after the cream.

But his plans were too ambitious and they'll tell you to this day Of how Bunyan panned the Yukon but couldn't make it pay.

But about that time came rumors which he soon found were true, How two friends took a contract and could not put it through.

It seemed that Joe McFrau and his friend, The Terrible Swede, Had started to earn a grub stake on which they stood in need.

They started to level the Prairies, but their knowledge was not an iota, So soon the two were stranded in the Bad Lands of Dakota.

They wrote to old Paul Bunyan and asked if he would bring His old Blue Ox and help them finish the job in the spring.

So Bunyan took his Blue Ox and started on his way, Right in the dead of winter, for he wanted to finish in May.

But hills and plains were buried full two squaws deep in snow, And Pa.s.ses were filled to the summit, so they told him 'twas foolish to go.

But Paul would not listen to reason; he had too much faith in his bull, He swore that the snow couldn't stop him e'en though the Great Basin was full.

But as they reached the Rockies and camped by a pile of rocks, The snow came down so thickly that he couldn't see his ox.