No one replied to him directly, but it was Rogers who said, "Lift his feet up there until we get a look at the shoes." Unceremoniously they hoisted him clear of the ground, although in a sudden panic he kicked and struggled. There was no doubt of it. The shoes were identical with those worn by the man who had dynamited the reservoir dam. The hobnails had betrayed him. For the first time he seemed to lose courage and whined a protest. "Where were you last night?" demanded the smith, frowning in his face. "Right here in this cabin. Been here two days now." They walked him between them back to the door and Chloride and Sinclair went in. They inspected it closely. They dropped to their knees and examined the deposit of dust. They walked over to the fireplace and inspected the ash surrounding the little blaze, which had been started less than an hour before, as far as they could decide. Below was a heap of mouldy ash that had been beaten down by winter snows and summer rains falling through the broken chimney. The others watched the two inquisitors curiously through the open door. "If he has been here two days he has moved around the room scarcely at all," Sinclair declared, "because the dust isn't disturbed by more than one or two trails. And, what's more, that fire is the first one that has been built here in many a long month, and it wasn't started very long ago. It's too thin. He just got here! He's the man!" The prisoner was ringed round by accusing, scowling eyes. He shoved a dry tongue out and wet his lips as if the nervous strain were beginning to tell. He started to speak, but apparently decided to say nothing and stood looking at the ground. "Well," demanded Rogers, "what have you to say for yourself? You've plainly lied about being here in the cabin. What did you do that for?" "I didn't say that I was in the cabin. I slept outside," Wolff growled. "Then take us to the place where you camped," suggested one of the drill runners. A chorus of approving shouts seconded his request; but Wolff began to appear more confused than ever and did not answer. He took refuge in a fierce burst of anger. "What do you fellows mean, anyhow?" he demanded. "I ain't done nothin'. What right have you to come up here and grab a man that way? Who are you lookin' for, anyhow?" "Wolff," said the old millman, steadily, "we are looking for the man that blew up the Croix d'Or power-house and dam last night. And what's more, we think we've got him. You're the man, all right!" His attempts to pretend ignorance and innocence were pitiful. This impromptu court was trying him there in the open beside the cabin, and he knew that its verdict would be a speedy one. He started to run the gamut of appeal, denial, and anger; but his hearers were inflexible. They silenced him at last.