Big Wicked Bill

Sometimes in the hush of an evening

When the winds have grown tired and are stilled,

By the fire I sit dozing and dreaming,

Letting memory bring back what she will.

She often holds back the curtain of time,

My heart grows warm when I see

A sleigh running light over glistening snows

Just as real as it used to be.

I hear the cry of, "Mush!" as a whip licks out

And cracks like the shot of a gun.

A malamute team coming straight toward me—

Eight dogs and all on the run.

The leader is big and he comes running low

Pulling that sleigh with a will.

Time never can dim the memory of him—

My lead dog, Big Wicked Bill.

The driver seems worried as he hurries his team;

In fear he keeps looking back.

And as night closes in he hears it again:

The cry of a killer wolf pack.

Then the northern lights come out to play

Like fingers they feel for the sky.

And the driver screams, "Mush!" to his weary team.

"You mush or we all got to die!"

The moon looks down on that race of death,

At the wolf pack closing in.

And the driver knows if his lead dog falls

The battle is over for them.

Till his rifle is empty he drives them off;

Then unafraid they close in for the kill.

Then helpless he knows his own life depends

On the fangs of Big Wicked Bill.

But still running strong Big Bill fights them off

Right up to the cabin door.

When I get him inside I soon realize

Big Bill won't fight anymore.

Wicked, I named him when he was a pup;

Wicked 'cause he loved so to fight.

But because he stood off that killer wolf pack

I had lived through a terrible night.

if you've never owned a big malamute,

Perhaps you can't understand

That old longing I get, especially at night,

Just to feel his big head in my hands.

So at times in the hush of an evening,

When the winds have grown tired and are stilled;

I sit here just waiting for memory to call,

Just hoping she'll bring Big Wicked Bill.