It was her belief that evil could not come forth from good; yet here was a murderer who dwarfed in gentleness, patience, and love any man she had ever known.
She had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early one morning Judkins presented himself before her in the courtyard.
Thin, hard, burnt, bearded, with the dust and sage thick on him, with his leather wrist-bands shining from use, and his boots worn through on the stirrup side, he looked the rider of riders.

He wore two guns and carried a Winchester.
Jane greeted him with surprise and warmth, set meat and bread and drink before him; and called Lassiter out to see him.

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." "I moved up some, near the spring, an' now I go there nights." "Judkins--the white herd ?" queried Jane, hurriedly.
"Miss Withersteen, I make proud to say I've not lost a steer.