An' ground against her lee.
But he'd got her up to ropin' range
An' we hauled her to the rail.
When he'd landed the last one, safe an' sound,
Jake follered, an' says, as he looked around,
"You fellers fetch out that jug you found,
I'm as dry as the Mormon Trail!"
Well, stranger, that there is the yarn o' Jake,
Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George."
He wasn't no saint with a gilt-edged crown;