"It ain't like a pain in the stomach, Lahoma. All I gets for you
will be some books. Them is the tools I'm going to operate with."

"Books? What are books?"

"Books?" Willock rubbed his bushy head in desperation. "Books?
Why, they is just thoughts that somebody has ketched and put in a
cage where they can't get away. You go and look at them thoughts
somebody capable has give rise to, and when you finds them as has
never ranged in your own brain, you captures 'em, puts your brand
on 'em, and serves 'em out in your own herd. You see, Lahoma, what
you think in your own brain ain't of no service, for YOU don't know
nothing. If you want to be civilized, you got to lasso other
people's thoughts--people as has went to and fro and has learned
life--and you got to dehorn them ideas, and tame 'em."

Lahoma examined him with new interest. "Are YOU civilized?" Her
countenance fell.

"Not to no wide extent, but I can ford toler'ble deep streams that
would drown you, honey. Just put confidence in me, and when I get
over my head, I'll holler for help. I judge I can put five good
years' work on you without exhausting my stores. I can read amongst
the small words pretty peart--the young calves, so to say--and lots
of them big steers in three or four syllables,--I can sort o' guess
at their road-brands from the company I've saw 'em traveling with,
in times past. And I can write my own name, and yours too, I
reckon.--Lahoma Gledware--yes, I'm toler'ble well versed on a
capital 'G'--you just make a gap with a flying tail to it."