And about his hips, dragging so low and fitting so loosely that
Conniston had always the uncomfortable sensation that it was going to
slip down about his feet, he wore a cartridge-belt and two heavy
forty-five revolvers. He gave one the feeling of a cherub with a
war-club.
During the scanty meal Lonesome Pete ate noisily and rapidly and spoke
little, contenting himself with short answers to the few questions
which were put to him, for the most part staring away into the
gathering night with an expression of great mildness upon his face.
Finishing some little time before his guests, he rolled a cigarette,
left them to polish out the frying-pan with the last morsels of bread,
and, going back to the buckboard, fumbled a moment in a second
soap-box under the seat. It was growing so dark now that, while they
could see him take two or three articles from his box and thrust them
under his arm, they could not make out what the things were. But in
another moment he had lighted the lantern which had swung under the
buckboard and was squatting cross-legged in the sand, the lantern on
the ground at his side. And then, as he bent low over the things in
his hand, they saw that they were three books and that Lonesome Pete
was applying himself diligently to them.
He opened them all, one after the other, turned many pages, stopping
now and then to bend closer to look at a picture and decipher
painstakingly the legend inscribed under it.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59