THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
with raw moose-hide. The tracks of them was plain," replied November.
I nodded. "And how could you tell that he was religious and spent the night in great trouble of mind?"
November paused in filling his pipe. "He couldn't sleep," said he, "and so he got up and cut that candlestick. What'd he want to light a candle for but to read by? And why should he want to read in the middle of the night if he was not in trouble? And if he was in trouble, what book would he want to read? Besides, not one trapper in a hundred carries any book but the Bible."
"I see. But how did you know it was in the middle of the night?"
"Did you notice where he cut his candlestick?"
"No," said I.
"I did, and he made two false cuts where his knife slipped in the dark. You're wonderful at questions."
"And you at answers."
November stirred the embers under the kettle, and the firelight lit up his fine face as he turned with a yawn.
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