On August 4th, Mason reports a "great Storm of Thunder and Lightning: the Lightning in continued Streams or Streaks, from the Cloud to the ground all 'round us; about 5 minutes before the hurricane of wind and Rain; the Cloud from the Western part of the Mountain put on the most dreadful appearance I ever saw: It seemed to threaten an immediate dis?solution to all beneath it."
"Thy sort of Weather," Dixon, chewing upon more than smoking a Conestoga Cigar, supposes.
"Look at that Cloud. Awful. Don't you pray, in situations like this?" "Of course. But I didn't imagine Deists did, so much...?" "This is no Pervading Influence, this is as personal as it gets, all it'd take'd be one Bolt of Lightning— " A huge, apocalyptick Peal strikes directly outside, arriving together with a Volume of light unknown even at mid-Day.
Again are the Party returning Eastward, into Memory, and Confabula?tion. The physickal World, from Gusts to Eclipses, must insist upon itself a bit more, so claim'd are the Surveyors in their contra-solar Return by Might-it-bes, and If-it-weres,— not to mention What-was-thats.
Next day, whilst yet west of Gunpowder, crossing Biter-Bit Creek, they pass near a House which is just reaching the Cusp of a Monthly, indeed Lunar, Whim-Wham they have on previous Occasions manag'd to avoid. It seems that each time the full Moon ascends to bathe in her flavid Stain the Steeps and Crevices of that country, Zepho Beck creeps from his Bed, waking his Wife, Rhodie, who then waits for as many heart-beats as she may bear before stealing out after Zepho as he proceeds to the Creek-side and, selecting a young Birch of a certain Diameter, crouches before it, bares his Teeth, Finger-combing his hair back from his face with Creek-Water, approaching the Tree closely enough to sniff the Bark, and smell the Fluids of life coursing beneath, before falling upon it, and in a short tho' hideous turn of Gnawing,— his Eyes throwing crazed yel?low flashes all about,— bringing it down—With his Wife watching secretly and in some Agitation, Zepho sheds his clothing to reveal a dense fur covering his Body,— enters the Water, dragging with him the slain Tree, and moves up-stream,— flapping his feet, now grown webb'd to propel and steer him,— sleekly 'round several bends, till coming upon a great Dam being built by legitimate Beavers, who of course all go swimming for their Lives as soon as they see Zepho, for they know him, as this has been happening ev'ry full Moon. Perhaps indifferent to their social Rejection, he sets to work separating his Tree into Poles, Sticks, and Withes, and placing them wherever in the Structures of Dam or Lodge he feels they need to go. The next morning he is found down-hill from his House, beside the fishing-Pond, lying among remnants of gnaw'd Shrubs, with fragments of half-eaten water-lilies protruding from his Mouth.
"Kastoranthropy," Professor Voam shaking his head, "And haven't I seen it do things to a man. Tragick."
"Yes and you might ask the Indians that you meet, how all the other Beavers like it," says Rhodie.
" 'Other,' Madam?"
"Well you've but to look at him, when he's...the way he is, the Hair, the Teeth? the Tail, for goodness' Sake, they seem to regard him as another breed of creek life,— welcoming his help with the Construc?tion,— yet in the month's Lull before his next Fit, oblig'd to waste their Time putting much of it right again. I love him but Zepho's no Carpenter. Look at this place, Lord in his Mercy. And it gets worse. He believes that Indians are out setting traps for him, aiming to capture him and trade his Pelt for Weapons. Sometimes he does say 'Scalp,' but mostly 'tis 'Pelt.'''
"An advanc'd case," nods the Professor. They are in the Barn, where Zepho has been brought, much to the perplexity of the Animals there,
who must conflate the Being who feeds them with this wild creature. "The Indians I have consulted, know ev'rything that's going on, and if it's any comfort, at least Zepho's not alone, there's been an Ulster Scot with a Taste for Swamp Maples, paddling about all summer, up Juniata,— a Son of Dublin, down by Cheat,— in fact, enough Kastormorphism among White folks out here, since we first started settling, to populate a good Lake of our own."
These Indians are certainly no strangers to the idea of a Giant Beaver. He figures importantly in Tales of how they and the World began,— he claims a fourth of the Delaware Nation under the Beaver Totem,— he is a protector, sustainer, worker of Miracles. Zepho during the Full Moon, however, is not exactly what they have in mind, failing somehow to be sin?ister or powerful enough,— nor, to be direct, do they ever find him quite Beaver enough, as the Phenomenon lasts but a Night and a Day, whilst beneath ev'ry other Phase of the Moon,............