“Nobody knows me—­nobody sez, ’Hello!’—­nobody axes me to name my bitters—­nobody even cusses me.  They let me stake a claim, but nobody offers to lend me a pick or a shovel, an’ nobody ever comes to the shanty to spend the evenin’, ’less it’s a greenhorn.  Curse ’em all!  I’ll make some of ’em bleed fur it.  I’ll git their dust, an’ go back East; ther’s plenty of folks thar that’ll be glad to see me, ef I’ve got the dust.  An’ mebbe ’twould comfort the old woman some, after all the trouble I’ve made her.  Offer rewards fur me, do they?  I’ll give ’em some reason to do it.  I hain’t afeard of the hull State of Californy, an’—­Good Lord! what’s that?”

The gentleman who was not afraid of the whole State of California sprang hastily to his feet, turned very pale, and felt for his revolver, for he heard rapid footsteps approaching by a little path in the bushes.

But though the footsteps seemed to come nearer, and very rapidly, he slowly took his hand from his pistol, and changed his scared look for a puzzled one.

“Cryin’!  Reckon I ain’t in danger from anybody that’s bellerin’; but it’s the fust time I’ve heerd that kind of a noise in these parts.  Must be a woman.  Sounds like what I used to hear to home when I got on a tear; ’tis a woman!”

As he concluded, there emerged from the path a woman, who was neither very young nor very pretty, but her face was full of pain, and her eyes full of tears, which signs of sorrow were augmented by a considerable scare, as she suddenly found herself face to face with the unhandsome Jude.

“Don’t be afeard of me, marm,” said Jude, as the woman retreated a step or two.  “I’m durned sorry for yer, whatever’s the matter.  I’ve got a wife to home, an’ it makes me so sorry to hear her cry, that I get blind drunk ez quick ez I ken.”

This tender statement seemed to reassure the woman, for she looked inquiringly at Jude, and asked: 

“Have ye seen a man and woman go ’long with a young one?

“Nary,” replied Jude.  “Young one lost?”

“Yes!” exclaimed the woman, commencing to cry again; “an’ a husban’, too.  I don’t care much for him, for he’s a brute, but Johnny—­blessed little Johnny—­oh, oh!”

And the poor woman sobbed pitifully.

Jude looked uneasy, and remembering his antidote for domestic tears, extracted the bottle again.  He slowly put it back untasted, however, and exclaimed: 

“What does he look like, marm?—­the husband I mean.  I never wanted an excuse to put a hole through a feller ez bad ez I do this mornin’!”

“Don’t—­don’t hurt him, for God’s sake!” cried the woman.  “He ain’t a good husband—­he’s run off with another woman, but—­but he’s Johnny’s father.  Yet, if you could get Johnny back—­he’s the only comfort I ever had in the world, the dear little fellow—­oh, dear me!”

And again she sobbed as if her heart was broken.