side of her head at a forty-five degree angle, giving her the appearance of a hippie sphinx.
"All right," persisted Ted, "if not a ghost story, how about a love story?" He grinned and looked to Harry Evers.
Harry, a bulky man of forty-six years, with ginger-colored hair and watery blue eyes, smiled in the affirmative. He was a bit weary of the world, but never of the antics of young lovers.
Ted stood up and launched into a verbal valentine to Amy. "The young man and woman in this story had what the playwrights call a 'cute meet.' The scene - Berkeley campus, the time - the first day of registration. He and she keep running into each other, since they're both signing up for the same courses." Ted's baritone raised and lowered at the appropriate dramatic spots as he told the tale with all the fervor of a snake-oil salesman. "Now being persons of a friendly nature, they introduce themselves, and bam! A couple of days later, they find themselves sharing the same frog in Biology I." Harry laughed gruffly and Amy, delighted at being the center of attention, clapped her hands together. "Now I ask you, was that or was that not a 'cute meet'?"
He started to sit back down but Amy protested, "Go on, Ted. Go on with the story."
Ted lowered his voice. "In addition to their intense physical attraction for one another, they have other things in common. They find that they care for the environment, worry about the preservation of wildlife and enjoy sleeping - together - in the same sleeping bag. They are kindred spirits of the heart, mind and ...," Ted bent over and kissed Amy quickly on the forehead, "body."
"And then they go to New York," prompted Amy.
Harry supplied the ending. "Where they come to work at the New York Institute of Anthropology. And after tight-ass Phelps gets a look at them, he promptly hands them over to Harry Evers." He regarded them affectionately. "Who is eternally grateful to the old son of a bitch."
Harry Evers' deep, throaty voice wrapped around the couple like a warm embrace. For the moment he dispelled the subtle undercurrent of fear which had pervaded their existence since the discovery of the strange skull and bones. Harry's self-assurance was perhaps not genuine, but he was stalwart to a fault and, as such, believed in "nipping trouble in the bud." Hadn't he single-handedly done as much in the past? He had convinced Javanese priests that his excavations would not bring down the wrath of their gods, persuaded angry workers at Luxor to return to the diggings after an insurrection, successfully traded trinkets for shrunken heads in Brazil and managed to keep his own at its original size.
Harry spread his stubby fingers and held his hands closer to the fire. The heat seemed to infuse him with more confidence. "So we found some remains of an animal we can't identify. Perhaps it's a hoax, kiddos, perhaps not." He paused for effect. "I think it's merely a fluke of nature." He smiled broadly and that smile effectively colored his voice. "On the other hand, kiddos, maybe everything has changed. This just might be the biggest Goddamn scientific discovery of the century. Hah! We'll all be in People . More coffee?" Ted and Amy held out their mugs. Harry filled them with steaming black liquid and then replenished his own. "I'll just sweeten mine up a bit," he said lightly and produced a bottle from his back pocket. "White lightning." He filled the mug to the brim, stirred the concoction with his finger, and took a hearty swallow.
Ted cleared his throat. "How do you explain that cache of human bones we found buried beneath the floor of the cave?"
Harry scowled. "I don't explain it. This is mountain country, kiddos. The mountains are populated with plain people who have volatile emotions. They live by their own creed ... mountain justice. If a mountain man finds his wife in the hayloft with somebody else, then look out! Mountain justice is swift, fast, final."
"Oh, come on, Harry. What about the law?"
"They abide
"All right," persisted Ted, "if not a ghost story, how about a love story?" He grinned and looked to Harry Evers.
Harry, a bulky man of forty-six years, with ginger-colored hair and watery blue eyes, smiled in the affirmative. He was a bit weary of the world, but never of the antics of young lovers.
Ted stood up and launched into a verbal valentine to Amy. "The young man and woman in this story had what the playwrights call a 'cute meet.' The scene - Berkeley campus, the time - the first day of registration. He and she keep running into each other, since they're both signing up for the same courses." Ted's baritone raised and lowered at the appropriate dramatic spots as he told the tale with all the fervor of a snake-oil salesman. "Now being persons of a friendly nature, they introduce themselves, and bam! A couple of days later, they find themselves sharing the same frog in Biology I." Harry laughed gruffly and Amy, delighted at being the center of attention, clapped her hands together. "Now I ask you, was that or was that not a 'cute meet'?"
He started to sit back down but Amy protested, "Go on, Ted. Go on with the story."
Ted lowered his voice. "In addition to their intense physical attraction for one another, they have other things in common. They find that they care for the environment, worry about the preservation of wildlife and enjoy sleeping - together - in the same sleeping bag. They are kindred spirits of the heart, mind and ...," Ted bent over and kissed Amy quickly on the forehead, "body."
"And then they go to New York," prompted Amy.
Harry supplied the ending. "Where they come to work at the New York Institute of Anthropology. And after tight-ass Phelps gets a look at them, he promptly hands them over to Harry Evers." He regarded them affectionately. "Who is eternally grateful to the old son of a bitch."
Harry Evers' deep, throaty voice wrapped around the couple like a warm embrace. For the moment he dispelled the subtle undercurrent of fear which had pervaded their existence since the discovery of the strange skull and bones. Harry's self-assurance was perhaps not genuine, but he was stalwart to a fault and, as such, believed in "nipping trouble in the bud." Hadn't he single-handedly done as much in the past? He had convinced Javanese priests that his excavations would not bring down the wrath of their gods, persuaded angry workers at Luxor to return to the diggings after an insurrection, successfully traded trinkets for shrunken heads in Brazil and managed to keep his own at its original size.
Harry spread his stubby fingers and held his hands closer to the fire. The heat seemed to infuse him with more confidence. "So we found some remains of an animal we can't identify. Perhaps it's a hoax, kiddos, perhaps not." He paused for effect. "I think it's merely a fluke of nature." He smiled broadly and that smile effectively colored his voice. "On the other hand, kiddos, maybe everything has changed. This just might be the biggest Goddamn scientific discovery of the century. Hah! We'll all be in People . More coffee?" Ted and Amy held out their mugs. Harry filled them with steaming black liquid and then replenished his own. "I'll just sweeten mine up a bit," he said lightly and produced a bottle from his back pocket. "White lightning." He filled the mug to the brim, stirred the concoction with his finger, and took a hearty swallow.
Ted cleared his throat. "How do you explain that cache of human bones we found buried beneath the floor of the cave?"
Harry scowled. "I don't explain it. This is mountain country, kiddos. The mountains are populated with plain people who have volatile emotions. They live by their own creed ... mountain justice. If a mountain man finds his wife in the hayloft with somebody else, then look out! Mountain justice is swift, fast, final."
"Oh, come on, Harry. What about the law?"
"They abide
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