"Yes."
"Then I don't see what you're kicking about. Do you know any one named Jenkins, who is a notary public?"
"He works in my office in Boston."
"That's his writing, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"And his seal."
"I suppose so." Bewildered, Houston was looking at the papers with glazed eyes. "It looks like it."
"Then," and the sheriff's voice went brusque, "what right have you to try to run these men off of property for which you've given them a bona-fide lease, and to which you've just admitted your signature as genuine?"
"I've—I've given no lease. I—"
"Then look 'em over. If that isn't a lease to the lake and flume and flume site, and if the second one isn't a contract for stumpage at a dollar and a half a thousand feet,—well, then, I can't read."