THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
came back to the fire and methodically lifted off one charred stick after another. At the time I could not imagine why he did this, but, when I understood it, the reason was as simple and obvious as was that of his every action when once it was explained.
Before men leave a camp they seem instinctively to throw such trifles as they do not require or wish to carry on with them in the fire, which is generally expiring, for a first axiom of the true camper in the woods is never to leave his fire alight behind him, in case of a chance ember starting a forest conflagration.
In this case November had taken off nearly every bit of wood before I heard him utter a smothered exclamation as he held up a piece of stick.
I took it into my own hands and looked it over.
It was charred, but I saw that one end had been split and the other end sharpened.
"What in the world is it?" I asked, puzzled.
November smiled. "Just evidence," he answered.
I was glad he had at last found something to go upon, for, so far, the camp had appeared to
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