s the Bill as wrote this. I don't know no
other Bills as writes books, do you, stranger?"

Conniston evaded. "Are you sure it's about the cattle country?"

"It sorta sounds like it, an' then it don't. You see it begins in a
desert place. That goes all right. But I ain't sure I git jest what
this here firs' page is drivin' at. It's about three witches, an' they
don't say much as a man can tie to. I jest got to where there's
something about a fight, an' I guess he jest throwed the witches in,
extry. Here it says as they wear chaps. That oughta settle it, huh?"

There was the line, half hidden by Lonesome Pete's horny forefinger.
"_He unseamed him from the nave to the chaps!_" That certainly settled
it as far as Lonesome Pete was concerned. Macbeth was a cattle-king,
and Bill Shakespeare was the young fellow who had visited the Triangle
Bar.

Thoughtfully he put his books away in the box, which he covered with a
sack and which he pushed back under the seat. Then he looked to his
horses, saw that they had plenty of grass within the radius of
tie-rope, and after that came back to where Hapgood lay.

"I reckon you can git along with one of them blankets, stranger. You
two fellers can have it, an' I'll make out with the other."

Hapgood moved and groaned as he put his weight on a sore muscle.

"The ground will be d----d hard with just one blanket," he growled.

Lonesome Pete, his two hands upon his hips, stood looking down at him,
the far-away look stealing back into his eyes.

"I hadn't thought of that. But I reckon I can make one do, all right."

Whereupon without more ado and with the same abstracted gleam in his
eyes he stooped swiftly and jerked one of the quilts out from under
the astonished Hapgood.

The man who had traveled from the Half Moon one hundred and ninety
miles to spend fourteen dollars for a soap-box half full of books was
awake the next morning before sunrise. Conniston and Hapgood didn't
open an eye until he called to them. Then they looked up from their
quilt to see him standing over them pulling thoughtfully at the ends
of his red mustache, his face devoid of expression.

"I'll have some chuck ready in about three minutes," he told them,
quietly. "An' we'll be gittin' a start."

"In the middle of the night!" expostulated Hapgood, his words all but
lost in a yawn.

"I ain't got my clock along this trip, stranger. But I reckon if we
want to git acrost them hills before it gits hot we'll be