e-s. Did you ever
happen to run acrost that there word, stranger?"

Conniston told him what the word was, and Lonesome Pete's softly
breathed curse was eloquent of gratitude, amazement, and a certain
deep admiration that those five letters could spell a little island.

"The nex' line is clean over my head, though," he went on, after a
moment of frowning concentration.

Conniston got to his feet and went to where the reader sat, stooping
to look over his shoulder. The book was "Macbeth." He picked up the
two volumes upon the ground. They were old, much worn, much torn,
their backs long ago lost in some second-hand book-store. One of them
was a copy of Lamb's _Essays_, the other a state series second reader.

"Quite an assortment," was the only thing he could think to say.

Lonesome Pete nodded complacently. "I got 'em off'n ol' Sam Bristow.
You don't happen to know Sam, do you, stranger?"

Conniston shook his head. Lonesome Pete went on to enlighten him.

"Sam Bristow is about the eddicatedest man this side San Francisco, I
reckon. He's got a store over to Rocky Bend. Ever been there?"

Again Conniston shook his head, and again Lonesome Pete explained:

"Rocky Bend is a right smart city, more'n four times as big as Injun
Creek. It's a hundred mile t'other side Injun Creek, makin' it a
hundred an' fifty mile from here. In his store he's got a lot of
books. I went over there to make my buy, an' I don't mind tellin' you,
stranger, I sure hit a bargain. I got them three books an nine more as
is in that box under the seat, makin' an even dozen, an' ol' Sam let
the bunch go for fourteen dollars. I reckon he was short of cash,
huh?"

Since the books at a second-hand store should have been worth about
ninety cents, Conniston made no answer. Instead he picked up the
dog-eared volume of "Macbeth."

"How did you happen to pick out this?" he asked, curiously.

"I knowed the jasper as wrote it."

Conniston gasped. Lonesome Pete evidently taking the gasp as prompted
by a deep awe that he should know a man who wrote books, smiled
broadly and went on:

"Yes, suh. I'm real sure I knowed him. You see, I was workin' a couple
er years ago for the Triangle Bar outfit. Young Jeff Comstock, the ol'
man's son, he used to hang out in the East. An' he had a feller
visitin' him. That feller's name was Bill, an' he was out here to git
the dope so's he could write books about the cattle country. I reckon
his las' name was the same a