Chapter Sixteen
Duncan awoke slowly, gazing groggily up at a gull that drifted in the cool breeze, listening to the rhythmic lapping of water on the side of his boat. He sat up in sudden apprehension. The boat was empty. He was adrift on the treacherous river.
His aching muscles protested as he pulled himself onto a seat, but the pain cleared his mind. He saw now the familiar bluff above him and the trail that led up from the beach of skulls.
Tucked into a notch in the sun-warmed rocks was Conawago, puffing on the little German pipe he used in relaxed moments. Duncan had not seen him use it for weeks. “You were still asleep when we arrived,” his friend declared. “I told them not to waken you, that your body is still recovering from its ordeal.”
Duncan worked his tongue around his mouth
