THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
at those five hold-ups last year. Each one was done within ten miles of C. That showed me that the robber, whoever he was, could n't operate far from camp. Then the drugging settled it. Don't you remember the kettle had nothing in it?"
I would have spoken, but November held up his hand.
"No, I know Thompson had n't filled it, but he had n't cleaned it either. We woods chaps always leave the tea-leaves in the kettle till we want to boil up the next brew. So it looked queer that some one had washed out that kettle. Now, if the robber come from outside he'd never do that, no need to. He'd be gone afore they could suspect the kettle. No, that clean kettle said plain as speaking that it was one of the six.
"Now," went on November, "when I knew that, I knew a good bit, and when I saw the scratches on the rock, I was able to settle up the whole caboodle—Chris put that stuff in the tea, and as soon as it sent them off asleep, he picked the money off them. Then he went down to the brook, taking the kettle, the big boots,
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