By firelight he read the book he had gotten on his one trip to New York. It was called The Moonstone, written by someone named Wilkie Collins. The pretty girl behind the counter had recommended it to the cowboy as an exciting story. Disappointed the first time he'd cracked it open, over time he had become interested in the characters and the story, finding something beautiful in the language used, which had thrown him harder than a bronc at a rodeo at first.