After polishing off a plate of Theta’s excellent garlic-laced spaghetti and meatballs, I sat back in my camp chair and fought my heavy eyelids to stay awake. The logs under the fire crackled and popped, sending up periodic showers of sparks and a drifting smoke that added to the hazy, dream-like atmosphere.
I hoped Clint wouldn’t call on me to supply the evening’s entertainment, and when Darren started in with some local folklore, I listened with gratitude and tired contentment, lacing my fingers over my full belly and gazing up at the stars.
“I can’t let you folks go home,” Darren started, “without hearing about Elisha M. Reavis, the crazy man of the mountain. Known as ‘The Hermit,’ Reavis was a college graduate from Illinois before he got bit by the gold bug and came out west. He fail
