"A sidehill gouger," explained Pocahauntus. "See?"
She put the little animal upright, or as nearly upright as circumstances permitted, for the gouger's left legs were three inches shorter than his right ones. Reaching into her reticule, she produced a couple of artistically carved bone pegs, which she fastened to the abbreviated left legs. "Prosthetics. Relics of our last gouger, who migrated to Switzerland."
"Somebody ought to write a book," mused Heather.
"Lots of books have been written," said Pocahauntus, "but not one from the 'inside.' What we spirits need is a John Gunther. Now take the subject of Lovers Leaps. More twaddle has been written about—"
"I've done a couple of regional articles for the Covered Wagon Quarterly, but nobody wants to print my historical fiction," said Heather. "What about Lovers Leaps?"
"Now take my own. I was really running away from a greasy warrior. He chased me to the cliff edge and, in my girlish innocence, I jumped. What price virtue!"
"Too bad I wasn't around," mourned Captain Wully. "I'd a-caught you."
"If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't jump." Her black eyes flashed, and she drew herself up regally. "I'd push that feather-headed Casanova off instead."
Then, graciously, she suggested barbecuing a salmon over the open fire, but Heather was afraid it would take too long and her parents might worry. So she and Jerry excused themselves and left Captain Wully to his courting. As Jerry walked Heather up the front steps, the scent of lilacs was an invitation to romance, the moon a lover's promise.