here's never a Camp in the Northland
But what these same malamutes knew.

They brought the first sport to the Nome Beach
Where they showed up in action and deed
That the North dog is game as they make them
And besides that has plenty of speed.
He came home with the bacon from Candle
Like a bat out of Hell, thru the snow,
And the plunger that cashed in his "out tab"
Was his pardner, the Old Sourdough.

So it seems to me kind of unfair now
As we drift toward that permanent Camp
Where the angels are running a dance hall
And a millionaire grades with a tramp;
Where the trails are located on pay dirt
And a grub stake can never expire--
Well, if they shut out my dog, they can keep it
And I'll "siwash" it, down by Hell's Fire.

They herald the growth of the Northland
And progress is marked by their trail;
A railroad now goes where they brought out
The Seward-Iditarod mail.
He's first in the growth of Alaska
And without him this land would be lost,
For there's never a stream in this country
That the malamutes' trail has not crossed.

But you can't tell me God would have Heaven
So a man couldn't mix with his friends;
That we're doomed to meet disappointment
When we come to the place the trail ends.
That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven
And I'd never regret a damned sin
If I mush up to the gates, white and pearly,
And they don't let my malamute in.

UNSATISFIED

Some sigh for the breath of the desert
Where the stifling heat waves blow;
Some pant for the trackless tundra
And the sting of the cold and snow;
Some long for the wash of a sultry sea
As it breaks on a tropic shore;
Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas
And the sound of the Arctic's roar.

The things that men love be countless
But they're seldom the same with two,
For the things I care for most of all
Might never appeal to you.
Some men run to wine and woman,
Some long for a wife and a home,
And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied,
Who leaves these things to roam.

For he hates the sands of the desert
And the slimy tropic south,
Or his dreams of a northern fortune
Are as ashes in his mouth.
He loses the best life holds for man
His existence means discontent
Still he goes his way, until comes the day
When he quits it--a life misspent.

YET

Some sigh for the breath of the desert
Where the stifling heat waves blow;
Some pant for the trackless tundra
And t