Mr. Morgan brought his feet down from the rail with a bang and tossed the stub of his cigar into the moon-flecked bay. Clem and Dave moved as though awakening from another world.
“And Twasla?” queried Clem.
“Oh, we cut her down and let her go her own way. She preferred to stay on the island. Must have been some years later that she first attached herself to the fishing colony that started here.”
“And the Head Hunters?” ventured Dave.
“Well, Dave, a stranger wouldn’t have known from the signs left that there had been a cremation and a whiskey party staged in that clearing. Every ash from the fire had been swept up and taken. There wasn’t a whiskey bottle to be seen,” declared Mr. Morgan. “And as far as I know that was the last time that the Head Hunters visited Puget Sound.”
“How did t
