"Well?"
"It was empty."
"What of that?"
"It was new, without a dint from being knocked about, or any dirt from having been used for filling lamps. Whoever burned the mill poured five gallons of oil over the kindlings, then chucked the empty can out through the door."
"What else?"
"Beside the can lay a half-burned torch of paper, thrown away as the blessed incendiary ran for his blessed life."
"Did you keep the torch and can?"
"Left them untouched for evidence. D'ye take me for a two-months' rootie?"
"No; but I'm just about half sorry for the great inventor."
Night had fallen when the two policemen rode up to the Mission-house. Within, Miss Burrows, the Colonel, and the Curate were playing an innocent game of cards; without, in the porch, sat Mr. Burrows and the Tenderfoot disputing hotly, but they brought their discussion to an abrupt close at the sight of Mounted Police.