Out in the Northwest logging country, in backwoods towns like Ohop, Duckabush and Cle Elum, the jukeboxes were booming last week with a new song that seemed ground out on Paul Bunyan's grindstoneĀthe one that was so big that every time it turned three times it was payday again.
As narrated by the Weavers to a homely little melody, there was a logger who could eat baled hay if someone sprinkled it with whisky. One night when it froze clean through to China, he started off home without his mackinaw. At 100 below, he...
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