excuse for looking the
other way.

He passed through one camp after another, and discovered (for he stopped
at each saloon) that the man on horseback had preceded him, and that
there seemed a wonderful unanimity of opinion as to the identity of the
man who was wanted.

Finally, after passing through several of the small camps, which were
dotted along the trail, a mile or two apart, Jude flung himself on the
ground under a clump of azaleas, with the air of a man whose temper had
been somewhat ruffled.

"I wonder," he remarked, after a discursive, fitful, but very spicy
preface of ten minutes' duration, "why they couldn't find somethin' I
_hed_ done, instead of tuckin' some other feller's job on me? I _hev_
had difficulties, but this here one's just one more than _I_ knows on.
Like 'nuff some galoot'll be mean 'nuff to try to git that thousand. I'd
try it myself, ef I wuz only somebody else. Wonder why I can't be
decent, like other fellers. 'Twon't pay to waste time thinkin' 'bout
that, though, fur I'll hev to make a livin' somehow."

Jude indulged in a long sigh, perhaps a penitential one, and drew from
his pocket a well-filled flask, which he had purchased at the last
saloon he had passed.

As he extracted it, there came also from his pocket a copy of the
poster, which he had abstracted from a tree _en route_.

"Thar 'tis again!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Can't be satisfied showin'
itself ev'rywhar, but must come out of my pocket without bein' axed.
Let's see, p'r'aps it don't mean me, after all--'One eye gone, broken
nose, scar on right cheek, powder-marks on left, stumpy beard, sallow
complexion, hangdog look.' _I'd_ give a thousand ef I had it to git the
feller that writ that; an' yit it means me, an' no dodgin'. Lord, Lord!
what 'ud the old woman say ef she wuz to see me nowadays?"

He looked intently at the flask for a moment or two, as if expecting an
answer therefrom, then he extracted the cork, and took a generous drink.
But even the liquor failed to help him to a more cheerful view of the
situation, for he continued:

"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