SAINT JOHNSON. By W. R. Burnett. (Heinemann. 7s. 6d.)—Probably those
who can appreciate the dialect, which appears to be necessary for the telling of any tale that contains a cowboy, will enjoy the story of Wayt Johnson and his adventures as peace officer in an Arizona town. Wayt has a bold, bad brother named Jim, who makes it difficult for him to maintain law and order in the town, but easy to appear a saint by contrast. The book is full of shootings and risings and he-men. Here is its fourth chapter :
" At seven o'clock the next morning, he (Johnson) was awakened
by Deadwood.
" Boss,' he said, Jim's done lit out for good.'
" Wayt sat up rubbing his eyes.
" Where's he gone ? '
" ' Don't know where he's gone,' said Deadwood, 'but he took your black mare from the corral and he's got Brant's rifle.'
" All right,' said Wayt, and Deadwood went out, yawning and stretching."
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