“I think he did, when I was younger. An Indian fighter, wasn’t he, back in the 1830s? They called him ‘Bloody’ Fenner because he collected ears and scalps.”

Doughty nodded. “That’s right. But the story goes that he did worse than that. Back when the white men were fighting the Wappos up in the mountains, he used to fight on one side or another, according to how it took his fancy. If the Wappos offered him a couple of square miles of good farming ground, he’d set traps for the white men; and if the white men were ready to pay him enough, he’d bushwhack the Wappos. Nobody never proved nothing, of course, so he never came to trial, but the stories went around for years that Bloody Fenner was responsible for some of the worst of the Indian massacres, and it took a good few years before the Fenner family wasn’t shunned no more.”

Neil hefted the ropes back to the White Dove, and heaved them onto the deck. “That’s something I wasn’t told,” he said to Doughty. “I guess Bloody Fenner was someone my family preferred to forget.”

Doughty stuck his pinkie up inside his palate to dislodge a sticky lump of taffy. “If you really want to know about the old days, you ought to take a trip across to Calistoga and talk to Billy Ritchie—that’s if he’s still alive, but I haven’t heard different. Billy Ritchie’s grandpa was a friend of Robert Louis Stevenson, and a lot of folks say he was the model for Israel Hands in Treasure Island. They were a tough lot, in those days, but they say that Bloody Fenner was the toughest of all.”

Neil climbed down onto the White Dove and started to uncoil one of the ropes. The day was warming up now, out here on the bay, but the gray fog was even denser, and he couldn’t even see as far as the harbor’s inlet. A fishing boat chugged past like a gray ghost.

“Here,” said Neil. He reached in his pocket and handed Doughty a five-dollar bill. “Why don’t you go set them up in the bar? As soon as I’m through here, I’ll come join you.”

It was a gentle way of buying Doughty a free drink. The unwritten code of behavior on Bodega wharf was that you let Doughty bend your ear for a while, and then you slipped him a little money to make life a little easier for him.

Doughty said, “Don’t forget to come along, mind. I’ll set you up an old-fashioned.” Then he tipped his nautical cap, and swayed off along the boardwalk as if he were on the deck of an old-time clipper.