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. “Tell us ’bout ’em. Whar hev they gone to? what do they luk like? Mebbe I ken git him fur yer,” said Jude, looking as if inclined to beat a retreat, or do anything to get away from the sound of the woman’s crying. “Get him—get Johnny?” cried the woman, falling on her knees, and seizing Jude’s hand. “I can’t give you anything for doin’ it, but I’ll pray for you, as long as I’ve got breath, that God may reward you!” “I reckon,” said Jude, as he awkwardly disengaged his hand, “that prayin’ is what’ll do me more good than anythin’ else jest now. Big feller is yer husband? An’ got any idee whar he is?” “He _is_ a big man,” replied the woman, “and he goes by the name of Marksey in these parts; and you’ll find him at the Widow Beckel’s, across the creek. Kill _her_ if you like—I hope _somebody_ will. But Johnny—Johnny has got the loveliest brown eyes, and the sweetest mouth that was ever made, and——” “Reckon I’ll judge fur myself,” interrupted Jude, starting off toward the creek, and followed by the woman. “I know whar Wider Beckel’s is, an’—an’ I’ve done enough stealin’, I guess, to be able to grab a little boy without gittin’ ketched. Spanish Crick’s purty deep along here, an’ the current runs heavy, but——” The remainder of Jude’s sentence was left unspoken, for just then he stepped into the creek, and the chill of the snow-fed stream caused him to hold his breath.