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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Ah," said he aloud; "the nabobs hev arrove." "Who are the nabobs?" asked a quiet voice beside him. Again Mr. Judkins started; he even stepped back a pace to get a better view of the stranger, who had approached so stealthily through the dim light that the agent was unaware of his existence until he spoke. "Who be you?" he demanded, eyeing the man suspiciously.
"You remember what I said about the unseen hand?" "Oh!... Impossible!" "I hope so. But I fear " Venters finished, with a shake of his head. "Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to see what's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with me. Your wound must be attended to." "Jane, I'll find out where Oldring drives the herd," vowed Venters. "No, no!
"Yes, thet particular thing's onheard of around Cottonwoods But, beggin' pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the border, let alone one thet's taken the bit between her teeth." That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her. This rider's crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think.
But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called to mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was probable it was likely. And she did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a Mormon. Long had she expected it.
"There ye are," said Judkins in a solemn tone. "He don't even go after his pay. That guy thinks he's the whole show, he does." Chrisfield flushed, but said nothing. "He don't do nothing all day long but talk to that ole lady," said Small with a grin. "Guess she reminds him of his mother, or somethin'." "He always does go round with the frogs all he can.
The men exchanged glances, and the meaning of Lassiter's keen inquiry and Judkins's bold reply, both unspoken, was not lost upon Jane. "Where's your hoss?" asked Lassiter, aloud. "Left him down the slope," answered Judkins. "I footed it in a ways, an' slept last night in the sage. I went to the place you told me you 'moss always slept, but didn't strike you."
The stranger curtsied, dropped her jaw, set her eyes in a glassy stare, and, resuming the creaking voice, bleated forth: "Thank you! Thank you for welcoming me! I'm called Miranda Jane Judkins, and I come from Conic Section Farm, Squashville, Massachusetts. Which of you wants to chum with me? Don't all speak at once!" "Oh, for goodness' sake drop that awful face!
"But my riders where are they?" "I don't know. The night-riders weren't there last night when I rode down, en' this mornin' I met no day-riders." "Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon killed by Oldring's men!" "I don't think so," replied Venters, decidedly. "Jane, your riders haven't gone out in the sage." "Bern, what do you mean?" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.
Judkins said. "You're bound for something better, and you'll get it. This isn't your place. You're a bit pale, Nelly. It's the hours and the close room, I suppose?" "Yes; it's the hours," Nelly said. "When there's a press, we're often kept on till nine or ten; but it's a good place." She lingered to-day till Jim came in.
Barnum was a man who never could bear to see injustice done. On one of his business trips to America he took passage on a Cunard steamer, commanded by a Captain Judkins. Among the passengers was the celebrated preacher, Robert Baird. One Sunday after dinner Barnum asked Mr. Baird if he would be willing to preach to the passengers in the forward cabin.
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