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 Passes 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. The temperature dropped swiftly, it seemed a hundred below; The coals from the fire were frozen before they had ceased to glow. You've often heard of blue cold and wondered if it was true, But it got so cold that winter that even the snow was blue. The Blue Ox froze and Bunyan was never the same again, He wandered, God knows whither, away from the haunts of men. But clear to the end of history and wherever the loggers may go, You'll hear how perished the Blue Ox in the year of the great Blue Snow. RIDING SUNSET FALLS This story is one of the minor cycle, dealing with Bunyan's helpers, but one in which Bunyan himself does not figure. It is the absence of the great hero which makes it possible to introduce the love note here. Come all you friends of the Red Gods and I will tell you a wonderful tale Of the time when all men were he-men who followed the Wanigan trail. It happened the year of the big wind up on the river Ski, The snow was deep in the mountains and the river was running high. Joe McFrau was the boss of the crew and king of the river dogs; He walked like a bear on the solid ground but was light as a cat on the logs. They had reached the break of the river where Sunset Falls foams white, Where the Red Gods laugh at the might of men and dance in the evening light. Where the water roars down a devil's chute, pure white like a river of milk, And fairy rainbows come and go like ever changing silk. The river above is wide and calm and lures like a siren's song, But the crest of the falls is swift and dark and cruel and fierce and strong. And down below where the water strikes the great waves break like rain And the creamy waters heave and sigh like a river god in pain. But close beside the catarack lived the hunter John McGraw With a winsome daughter Rosa who had smiled at Joe McFrau, She stood below by the water, watching the white foam fly, And the logs that her Joe was driving like straws come whirling by. And above McFrau was thinking what a picture, fair, she made, How she seemed to love the water and was not a bit afraid. But even as he watched her he saw her slip and fall; He was stricken dumb and helpless, he could neither move nor call. But as a press on the trigger came her despairing cry, With one great leap he was riding a log that was drifting by.