Far up in the north woods, among the silvery lakes, there once was a region of tall, swaying pine and evergreen. The people who inhabited this region were sturdy woodsmen type, men who lived hard and loved the great outdoors with its primitive life, close to nature.
The chief beast of burden in this land of primeval timber was the humble ox. Slowly and patiently, treading heavily through the growth of underbrush, over great carpets of pine needles, he conveyed the huge logs out of the forest to a convenient landing place at the side of some stream.
His drivers represented several nationalities, so the patient ox had to accustom himself to the different characteristics of his various drivers. Life for him was truly one of oppression. It would be a difficult task to know which of the two, the driver or the ox, had the larger amount of gray matter. In most instances, a close observer would have said the latter was favored.
The manner of driving the ox was with considerable persuasion, and at the point of a three and one half foot goad stick. At that time, there was no restriction by legislatures regarding the length of the stick. The ox skinner was noted for his unlimited vocabulary, which consisted of a smattering of the English language together with the extensive use of the profane. The poor ox, not being related to Balaam’s ass, had no defense.
So, on each succeeding winter, there were ox skinners of Irish, French and Scandinavian, depending upon the nationality of the man who happened to be the driver at that time. Each, in his turn, goaded and cursed in his native tongue, using the blasphemy characteristic of his nationality. The hide of the ox was reputed to be proof against the elements, but not invulnerable against the profanity of the several drivers. “Curses come home to roost,” and “a constant dripping will wear away stone.” Such was the case of the ox, whose life under favorable conditions, did not usually exceed six years. Thus, merciful Providence intervened and took him from his toil.
The customary burial ceremony of the ox was cremation, so a huge pile of brush was usually gathered and the remains of the ox placed carefully in the center. The belief of those sturdy woodsmen was that seven years of continuous fire was necessary to exterminate the profanity which had accumulated in the body of the ox during his life. Accordingly, the brush pile was very frequently replenished, the fire at times leaping high, while at other times, it smoldered fitfully.
It was at the end of the seventh year of the cremation of an ox which had led an unusually hard life that an event was to happen, which would cast its shadow upon every man who witnessed it. As the fire died down, there slowly issued from the great pile of ashes, a mystical animal, later to be known as the hodag.
On this particular day, just at twilight, Eugene Shepherd, a naturalist of the north woods, taking his customary quiet stroll into the forest, strode down a favorite trail, breathing the fragrance of the tall pines and hemlocks. Suddenly, he became aware of an unusual odor in the air, which aroused his curiosity. On looking further through the depths of the foliage, he discovered a strange creature, so unlike anything he had ever seen before, that it was beyond description. Though a student of woodlore and of both prehistoric and other wild animals, Mr. Shepherd could not classify the monstrosity, which was gazing at him with glowing, green eyes and sniffing from nostrils of flaming hue.
The animal’s back resembled that of a dinosaur, and his tail, which extended to an enormous length, had a spearlike end. Sharp spines, one and a half feet apart, lined the spinal column. The legs were short and massive and the claws were thick and curved, denoting great strength. The broad, furrowed forehead was covered with coarse, shaggy hair and bore two large horns. From the broad, muscular mouth, sharp, glistening white teeth protruded.
This strange animal of the woods had an alert movement and the swish of his tail made the earth tremble. When he exhaled, an obnoxious odor penetrated the atmosphere for some distance. Mr. Shepherd was trembling and speechless as he gazed on this horror of the forest. The great naturalist who had conquered all before, was at his wit’s end. Ruminating on a plan by which he might capture this animal, he hastened to the nearby village and disclosed his startling information to the Ancient Order of the Reveeting Society.
In the ancient tent of this mysterious order of the Reveeting Society, behind the closed flap, he related his experience, to those great, world renowned men, selected from the farthest corners of the earth, men of great courage and chivalry. They were men, who in the rough and tumble fight with a bear, would toss their guns into the brush, stick their bowie knives into a nearby tree and give the big bruin both underholts, in their desire not to take advantage of the beast. This was the type of men he selected to help him capture this formidable nondescript.
While planning the capture of his mysterious discovery, Mr. Shepherd spent much time in contemplation of the beast’s origin. Millions of years ago, in the antediluvian period, many ages before the creation of man, this animal may have been the missing link between the ichthyosaurus and the mylodoan. One reason that Mr. Shepherd arrived at this conclusion was because the ichthyosaurus attained a length of one hundred feet and a height of twenty. It had a wonderfully formed eye, which could be adjusted at will so that the animal could see objects some distance away as well as those nearby. Its principal diet was blue mud and it was able, at some seasons of the year, to devour a hill of considerable size in a week. In this connection, it is interesting to note that a parchment found in King Tut's sarcophagus, written by one of his hunters in the dead language, called it selblatkey, translated by a reporter on the staff of the New North as meaning, “Hodag.” The Mylodoan was an animal of prehistoric times, so powerful that he could pull down large trees to get the foliage and limbs growing at the tops.
How to capture the hodag was a real man sized job, and none realized it more fully than the heroic Mr. Shepherd. He ordered a crew of men to dig a large pit, several miles from the point where he had first sighted the animal. This huge excavation, which was fifty feet in diameter and thirty feet deep, was covered with poles thrown across the opening. The trap was successfully hidden by limbs and grass, laid carefully across the poles.
Well pleased with his strategy, Mr. Shepherd selected a man from the north woods to help with this daring adventure of capturing the hodag. A young man of Marathon fame and a noted ski jumper, with many honors and medals, was considered to be the person most capable of engaging in the exploit. (By request, his name is not mentioned because modesty as well as bravery was one of his outstanding characteristics.)
Because the hodag relished beef on the hoof more than any other food, the ox was to serve mankind in a new way for scientific futurity. The hero led the ox through the dense forest until he came in sight of the monster. Then came a growl so deep, loud and sepulchral, that it fairly shook the earth, causing a vibration so great that it started a great shower of leaves and limbs from the giant trees. The ox became frantic, but his brave leader steered him along the blazed trail with greater force than before. On they went, toward the pit, while traveling towards them was the hodag, bent upon capturing his prey! Though the beast’s powerful legs were short, he covered the ground with unbelievable swiftness, tearing out trees and the heavy growth of underbrush and leaving in his wake, great gashes in the earth itself. At intervals, one could hear an indescribable growl and with each breath, the beast emitted an odor that baffled description! Finally, only one hundred yards separated the great animal from his prey, then forty, and then twenty yards. At the crucial moment, one could hear the rasping teeth of the pursuing beast coming together as he opened and closed his ugly jaws.
The leader directed the ox in such a manner that he avoided the pit, but the impetus of the great hodag carried him forward over the mass of branches and grass, which covered the trap. In he crashed, emitting a roar that could be heard for miles, as he struggled to extricate himself. Friendly hands led the hero away, and the ox, with tongue hanging from his mouth, was rewarded with a good bed and plenty to eat that night. The men who had planned this hazardous feat, knew to a certainty that there were no sloping foreheads or receding chins in their group. They lost no time in going to the private tent to confer with that mysterious man, Arthur Koenitzer, a brother in good standing in their Order of the Reveeting Society. This man with protruding forehead, known as a mastermind, (he never could be accused of being so effeminate as to have pink lace on his underwear), quickly pointed out a way in which Mr. Shepherd could exhibit his recently acquired wild animal with safety.
This, dear reader, is the true and authentic account of the hodag’s capture. Further on in this volume will be found details of its eggs, their size and color and means of hatching. In case any reader should want a setting of the eggs, he is not under any obligation to the writer for the address of a gentleman by the name of Mike Essex of Siberia, Wisconsin, who will be glad to make the shipment. The side hill, where Mr. Essex keeps the hodag is an ideal spot equipped with a powerful derrick capable of handling those precious eggs.
