THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
other topics until the two of us set out through the woods.
The moon, as it swept across the arc of the sky, guided us upon our way, which, after the first short cut along an immense hardwood ridge, was good travelling enough. So we journeyed until, just as the trees became a gigantic etching in black against the grey dawn-lights, we came suddenly out into the open of the clearing.
"This is the place," said November.
As soon as the light strengthened, he examined the site of Dan Michaels's bivouac. The ashes of a fire and a few boughs made its scanty furnishings, and in neither did November take much interest. Forth and back he moved, apparently following lines of tracks which the drenching rain of the previous day had almost obliterated, until, indeed, after ten minutes, he gave it up.
"Well, well," said he, in his soft-cadenced voice, "he always did have the luck."
"Who?"
"The robber. Look at last year! Got clear every time!"
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