The soft wet snow was falling fast
As up the Skeena river passed
A youth with six dogs on the trail,
Who bore along King George’s mail.
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

His head was bare, his whiskers long;
He “cussed” in many a different tongue;
His snowshoes bagged; his back was bent;
Plumb tired out, but on he went.
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

He reached a house new-built of logs;
A woman cried, “Get out, you dogs,
And hurry now, give me my mail,
If you haven’t lost it on the trail.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

What! none from mother in that lot?
Oh! You’ve been drunk as like as not
And never told them my first name.”
But soft and low his answer came:
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

He cracked his whip and onward sped,
A roaring torrent just ahead.
An avalanche came down behind;
But rid of her, he did not mind.
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

A chechacho gazed upon his sleigh
“Well! Imagine handling mail that way.
Why don’t he bring a load each day?
I’ll report to Laurier right away.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

He climbed a hill; he stopped again;
He spelled aloud each bohunk name,
Lashed up his load and licked a dog
And hurried on mid snow and fog
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

In a railroad camp he saw the light
Of a cook-house gleaming warm and bright,
He stopped and ate a hurried lunch;
Thence up the trail his snowshoes crunch.
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

A lonely ranch—one more delay;
He hears another damsel say:
“Curses on your hungry dogs;
You brought no Eaton catalogues.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

And those parcels ordered from below,
I ‘spose they’re soaked with rain and snow.
And my dress pattern, can you tell?”
The youth replied: “ Aw — — –.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

Fresh snow comes down, trails to break;
All other travellers in his wake.
“We’ve waited hours for you to come;
Our snowshoe filling is on the bum.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

The ice gives way; he plunges through,
In currents strong beneath the snow;
Fights like mad and gains the shore
And hikes along the trail once more,
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

Next morn they found him on the road
Lying dead beside his load,
With glassy stare fixed on the trail,
As if to say “I dare not fail.”
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

There in the twilight cold and grey,
Lifeless but beautiful he lay
“T’was not the hardships of the trail,
But folks ungrateful for their mail.
Mush, you Malamutes! Mush!

ONE OF THE BOYS