CHAPTER XLIII
A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL
The day before Pete left Sanborn he strolled over to the sheriff's
office and returned the old and battered copy of "Robinson Crusoe,"
which he had finished reading the night previous. "I read her, clean
through," asserted Pete, "but I'd never made the grade if you hadn't
put me wise to that there dictionary. Gosh! I never knowed there was
so many ornery words bedded down in that there book."
"What do you think of the story?" queried the sheriff.
"If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch of
goats, he sure could have made them natives ramble. And he sure took a
whole lot of time blamin' himself for his hard luck--always a-settin'
back, kind o' waitin' for somethin'--instead of layin' out in the brush
and poppin' at them niggers. He wa'n't any too handy at readin' a
trail, neither. But he made the grade--and that there Friday was sure
one white nigger."
"Want to tackle another story?" queried Owen, as he put the book back
on the shelf.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd jest as soon read this one over
ag'in.
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