My pal them days was Ern’ Brazeau,
        an easy goin’ “Jack,”
His jawbone line was too damned square
        to let him take a statement back.
We lived in pretty rugged times
 	back there in ‘92,
And I was big for eighteen years—
 	just learnin’ now to chew.  




We worked along from camp to camp;
	just hellin’ here and there.
And licked a lot of skookum men—
	and done it fair and square.
And when the “panic” hit the “states”
	we cinched our belts a hole,
And got along as best we could
	and didn’t ask no dole.




I saw Ern’ first in a eatin’ house
	with a doubtful lookin’ “Jane’
(And them’s the kind who won’t abide
	a slur upon their name)
And some big burly miner come
	a-leerin’ past their booth;
He looked at Ernies’ girl and said
	what likely was the truth—





But Ernie laid his smokin’ down
	beside his steamin’ dish;
“I’ll lick him,” said he quietly,
	“just let your soup cool, Miss,”
I helped ‘em pack the feller out
	and bound Ern’s busted hand,
Says he, “I guess they got to learn, 
	“A River Pig’s a man!”





I got my ham and eggs an’ spuds
	and moved to Ernies’ booth,
And we got well acquainted;
	me, an’him, and Ruth.
While we was talkin’ through our smokes
	like new-found friends will do,
Why back come “Ernie’s miner”
	with his whole damned “muckin’” crew.




We just had time to swing our chairs—
	disablin’ three or four—
When Ernie hollered, “Timber!”
	an’ headed for the door.
I just cleaned up the cripples
	while Ernie wrecked the place;
And helpin’ clear the crowded door
	was old, white-haired Lew Mace.




We partnered up, the three of us—
	and traveled for a space,
And then we filed on a “stead”
	and Lew, he worked the place.
And me an’ Ern, we settled down
	to work in local camps,
And sort of called the shanty home—
	and pitied loggin’ tramps.




We’d always split our checks with Lew,
	an’ then we’d go to town
And “blow ours in” on cards and gin,
	but Dad, he’d “salt his down.”
Now all of us was woodsmen and we
	loved our tools of trade;
The axe Ern had was one Old Dad
	had worked on nights, and made.




One day in spring we drew our “time”
	and took our even shares,
And Ern and me went on a spree
	to drown our winter cares.
While losin’ stacks at poker
	Ern talked of Old Dad Mace:
Of how he saved each cent he made,
	and a card sharp, known as Ace,
Cashed in his chips and left the game
	and it was breakin’ day
‘Fore Ern and me, cleaned properly,
	got started on our way.




We’d just reached callin’ distance
	of where our cabin stood
When we was stopped by muffled shots
	that echoed through the woods.
I looked at Ern—we never spoke—
	(except that Ernie swore)
And he met Ace right face to face
	as he stepped through the door.
With both hands full of crumpled bills
	Ace tried to get his gun,
And past the two I saw Old Lew,
	and knew that he was done.




Then Ernie swung an’ knocked Ace out
	but turned before he fell;
Says he to me, “We’ll flip to see
	who sends this skunk to hell.”
He chucked a coin, and called for “tails;”
	it jingled on the floor—
We bent to see—says he with glee,
	“I do this little chore!”




And then he got Dad’s savings
	from the pocket of the sneak,
And grabbed the lout and dragged him out
	and rolled him in the creek.
Ern got his axe that he kept cased
	and standin’ by his bed;
He looked at Lew and took a chew;
“We’ll square this thing” he said.  





We dragged that thievin’ killer
	to a slashin’ in the flat,
And all the way he begged and prayed;
	“The dirty, spineless rat!”
Ern found a dead and limbless tree
	that stood on level ground;
“I guess this ‘stick’ will do the trick,
	it’s big enough, and sound.”




He started from the blackened snag
	and stepped off twenty yards;
He marked the place and turned to Ace:
	“This ain’t no game of cards,
Your cheatin’, murderin’, dirty tricks
	won’t get you out of this,
You’ll watch me while I ‘drop’ this tree
	and me, I never miss!”




We jerked him to the spot Ern marked,
	and stood him so he’d see;
We tied his legs to driven pegs,
	his up-stretched arms to trees, 
And then the thing we planned to do
	came to him gradually;
“Repent your sins,” Ern says to him
	“While I go fall this tree.”




Ace yelled and cursed, and bribed and begged;
	and fought against his ties.
What hopes he had he’d killed with Dad;
	he screamed his futile lies.
Then Ernie gauged the tree and swung
	the axe he loved so well,
And every chip that left the bi	t
        sent Ace a step toward hell.




Those measured axe blows marked the seconds
	he had left of life,
The imps of hell who heard him yell
	prepared him further strife.
Then Ace’s screamin’ voice grew weak
	to harsely mumbled pleas,
His bulgin’ eyes looked toward the sky
	and watched that gnarled tree.




The under-cut was finished now
	and Ern had stepped around,
And blow on blow left less to go
	than what lay on the ground.
Ace sagged against the bloody ropes
	that held his twisted wrists,
His fear-set face was white as paste;
        I watched as through a mist.




His blood-shot eyes were glued aloft,
        a froth came on his lip,
And then he screamed and with it seemed
	to let his reason slip.
He jabbered like some senseless ape;
        I felt an urge to pray--
Then looked at Ace; “God, what a face!”
	his hair was turning gray!





Then Ernie gave the axeman’s yell;
	“Timber!—watch his face,”
I glanced to see that leanin’ tree
	hung “skybound” over Ace,
It quivered to another blow like
	some sail-laden mast,
And one last cry rose to the sky
	and blended with the crash.




There wasn’t much to bury
	but we scraped it in a hole,
And that’s the way we made Ace pay
	and sent Old Dad his soul.