(with apologies to Robert Service)
There are strange things done in the mid-day sun
By the men who search for oil;
The desert trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood �bout boil;
Oh, the desert dunes have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of the village Kharj
I froze old Sam Dafoe.
Now Sam Dafoe was from Idaho, where the snow billows and blows.
Why he left his home in the mountains to roam �round the desert, God only knows.
It was blazing hot, but the land of oil seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he�d often say in his homely way that he�d �sooner live in hell.�
On an August day we were making our way across the Rub Al-Khali.
Talk of your heat! From head to feet, we were grilled like shrimp on the barbie.
We had sand in our teeth, sand in our eyes, and sand between each toe.
It wasn�t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam Dafoe.
And that very night, �neath a moon so bright when the wind had ceased to blow,
And the camels were fed, and the stars o�erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and �Cap,� says he, �I�ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I�m asking that you won�t refuse my last request.�
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn�t say no; then he says with a sort of whine:
�It�s the cursed heat, well it�s got me beat and I long for the mountains and pine.
Yet �tain�t being dead � it�s my awful dread of a sweltering grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you�ll freeze my last remains.�
Well a pal�s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on �fore the break of dawn; but God! He looked ghastly pale.
He slumped in his saddle, and he raved all day of his home in Idaho;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam Dafoe.
There wasn�t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn�t be rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to his mount, and it seemed to taunt: �You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it�s up to you to freeze these last remains.�
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart I cursed that load.
In the too-brief night, by the lone firelight, while the camels, round in a ring,
Grunted their woes to the sand that blows � O God! How I loathed that thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the camels were spent and the water was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I�d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
�Til I came to the marge of the village Kharj, an appliance souk I did seek;
where I settled square for a Fridgidaire �cause Sam was startin' to reek.
I plugged it in, it started to hum; I removed the shelves and bin;
I chipped a space in the glistenin' ice and shoved Sam�s corpse right in.
Then I made a hike, for I didn�t like to hear him crackle so;
As the heavens groaned, and the camels moaned, and the wind continued to blow.
It was dreadful hot, but I was not; I felt a chill and I can�t say why;
I was feeling glum, as I thought of my chum and I almost began to cry.
Well I can�t recall how long in the palms I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: �I�ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he�s froze, but I must know�; . . . . so the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, and frozen to the core;
But he wore a smile you could see for a mile, and he said: �Please close that door.
It�s fine in here, but I greatly fear you�ll let in the heat and the sand �
Since I left the snow, back in Idaho, it�s the first weather I can stand.�
There are strange things done in the mid-day sun
By the men who search for oil;
The desert trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood �bout boil;
Yes, the desert dunes have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of the village Kharj
I froze old Sam Dafoe.
