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Murphy ever meets with a hide-behind, the gob that he gets in the face will be a-plenty."

          Duncan McFay, with an ear frozen to almost twice its natural size, pushed his big frame past the men in the bunkhouse, near the great, red hot stove. The steaming socks and boot pacs hanging on wires strung across the room, sent out an odor, not easily described, in fact what it lacked in its resemblance to arbutus, it made up for as a disinfectant. Be that as it may, sickness is a rare thing in a logging camp, as a brisk walk through the balsam-scented air at five A. M. leaves no room for a microbe.
          McFay stopped to listen to a very animated argument in regard to heavy loads hauled by horses and oxen and lifting feats and strong men that the shanty boys had known. The conversation waxed hot and threatened to go farther than a mere discussion. But the rules of the camp had to be obeyed, as in rare cases, where an offense could not be settled by arbitration, the contestants were compelled to choose their own dueling site away from the camp, according to the code of honor prescribed by the censor board.
          This was a code far from the present day                                                                             .
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methods in the prize ring, and if followed at this date, would make less yellow journalism, but we seem to be in our dotage and must abide by the times.

HIS   ANCESTOR

          "Excuse my interruption", McFay said, "and far be it from me to boast or brag. As you know, I am no boaster, but since you were speaking of men who could lift, I have a right to brag, for I came from a tribe of powerful men, I might say without any exaggeration, giants.
          On my father's side, my ancestors were from the heather clad mountains of Scotland, and on my mother's side, from the high mountains of Wicklow, Ireland. To relate the numerous feats accomplished by them, both on land and sea, would make the world's library of adventure tales.
          Your looks are not encouraging, as you are anxious to see someone in the "deacon's chair", who can really talk. However, I will not keep you much longer. I will just relate one small affair in the life of my Uncle Duncan, who was a man as large as two of me. He had a hand as large as four of mine and a body in proportion.

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The Hodag and Other Tales of the Logging Camps, Written by Lake Shore Kearney
(Madison, WI: Democrat Printing Press, 1928) Original Text and Illustrations Public Domain License.
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