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.
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