He took it carefully and read the title on the back, then turned a few of the leaves. "I'm not much on reading," he said, "but I've got a sister that sends me tracts, and the like." He returned to the fly-leaf. "Is this your name?"
"Yes."
"'Alice Mansfield,'" he read; "beautiful name! 'New York City'! That's pretty near the other side of the world to me." He studied the address with intent look. "I'd like to buy this book. How much will you take for it?"
"I'll trade it for your weapon," she replied.
He looked at her narrowly. "You mean something by that. I reckon I follow you. No, I can't do that—not now. If I get into business over the line I'll disarm, but in this country a fellow needs to be protected. I want this book!"
"For the fly-leaf?"
He smiled in return. "You've hit it."
She hesitated. "I'll give you the book if you'll promise to read it."
He clapped the covers together and put the volume in his pocket. "It's mine! I'll read every word of it, if it takes an age, and here's my hand on it."
She gave him her hand, and in this clasp something came to her from his clutching fingers which sobered her. She drew her hand away hastily and said: "If you read that book—and think about it—it will change your whole world."