On one side of the shanty was a low platform of hewn logs, which constituted the proprietor's couch when he slept; on another was the door, on the third were confusedly piled Buffle's culinary utensils, and on the fourth was a fireplace, whose defective draft had been the agent of the fine frescoing of soot perceptible on the ceiling. A single candle hung on a wire over the barrel, and afforded light auxiliary to that thrown out by the fireplace.

The game had been going largely in Buffle's favor, as was usually the case, when one of the opposition injudiciously played an ace which was clearly from another pack of cards, inasmuch as Buffle, who had dealt, had the rightful ace in his own hand. As it was the ace of trumps, Buffle's indignation arose, and so did his person and pistol.

[Illustration: "COME IN," ROARED BUFFLES'S PARTNER. "COME IN, HANG YER, IF YER LIFE'S INSURED!' THE DOOR OPENED SLOWLY, AND A WOMAN ENTERED.]

"Hang yer," said he, savagely; "yer don't come that game on me. I've got that ace myself."

An ordinary man would have drawn pistol also, but Buffle's antagonist knew his only safety lay in keeping quiet, so he only stared vacantly at the muzzle of the revolver, that was so precisely aimed at his own head.

The two other players had risen to their feet, and were mentally composing epitaphs for the victim, when there was heard a decided knock on the door.

"Come in!" roared Buffle's partner, who was naturally the least excited of the four. "Come in, hang yer, if yer life's insured."

The door opened slowly, and a woman entered.

Now, while there were but few women in the camp, the sight of a single woman was not at all unusual. Yet, as she raised her vail, Buffle's revolver fell from his hands, and the other players laid down their cards; the partner of the guilty man being so overcome as to lay down his hand face upward.

Then they all stared, but not one of them spoke; they wanted to, but none knew how to do it. It was not usually difficult for any of them to address such specimens of the gentler sex as found their way to Fat Pocket Gulch, but they all understood at once that this was a different sort of woman. They looked reprovingly and beseechingly at each other, but the woman, at last, broke the silence by saying:

"I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but I was told I could probably find Mr. Buffle here."

"Here he is, ma'am, and yours truly," said Buffle, removing his hat.

He could afford to. She was not beautiful, but she seemed to be in trouble, and a troubled woman can command, to the death, even worse men than free-and-easy miners. She had a refined, pure face, out of which two great brown eyes looked so tenderly and anxiously, that these men forgot themselves at once. She seemed young, not more than twenty-three or four; she was slightly built, and dressed in a suit of plain black.

"Mr. Buffle," said she, "I was going through by stage to San Francisco, when I overheard the driver say to a man seated by him that you knew more miners than any man in California--that you had been through the whole mining country."

"Well, mum," said Buffle, with a delighted but sheepish look, which would have become a missionary complimented on the number of converts he had made, "I _hev_ been around a good deal, that's a fact. I reckon I've staked a claim purty much ev'rywhar in the diggins."

"So I inferred from what the driver said," she replied, "and I came down here to ask you a question."

Here she looked uneasily at the other players. The man who stole the ace translated it at once, and said:

"We'll git out ef yer say so, mum; but yer needn't be afraid to say ennything before us. We know a lady when we see her, an' mebbe some on us ken give yer a lift; if we can't, I've only got to say thet ef yer let out enny secrets, grizzlies couldn't tear 'em out uv enny man in this crowd. Hey, fellers?"

"You bet," was the firm response of the remaining two, and Buffle quickly passed a demijohn, to the ace-thief, as a sign of forgiveness and approbation.

"Thank you, gentlemen--God bless you," said the woman, earnestly. "My story is soon told. I am looking for my husband, and I _must_ find him.

His name is Allan Berryn."

Buffle gazed thoughtfully in the fire, and remarked:

"Names ain't much good in this country, mum--no man kerries visitin'-cards, an' mighty few gits letters. Besides, lots comes here 'cos they're wanted elsewhere, an' they take names that ain't much like what their mothers giv 'em. Mebbe you could tell us somethin' else to put us on the trail of him?"

"Hez he got both of his eyes an' ears, mum?" inquired one of the men.

"Uv course he hez, you fool!" replied Buffle, savagely. "The lady's husband's a gentleman, an' 'tain't likely he's, been chawed or gouged."

"I ax parding, mum," said the offender, in the most abject manner.

"He is of medium height, slightly built, has brown hair and eyes, and wears a plain gold ring on the third finger of his left hand," continued Mrs. Berryn.

"Got all his front teeth, mum?" asked the man Buffle had rebuked; then he turned quickly to Buffle, who was frowning suspiciously, and said, appeasingly, "Yer know, Buffle, that bein' a gentleman don't keep a feller from losin' his teeth in the nateral course of things."

"He had all his front teeth a few months ago," replied Mrs. Berryn. "I do not know how to describe him further--he had no scars, moles, or other peculiarities which might identify him, except," she continued, with a faint blush--a wife's blush, which strongly tempted Buffle to kneel and kiss the ground she stood on--"except a locket I once gave him, with my portrait, and which he always wore over his heart. I can't believe he would take it off," said she, with a sob that was followed by a flood of tears.

The men twisted on their seats, and showed every sign of uneasiness; one stepped outside to cough, another suddenly attacked the fire and poked it savagely, Buffle impolitely turned his back to the company, while the fourth man lost himself in the contemplation of the king of spades, which card ever afterward showed in its centre a blotch which seemed the result of a drop of water. Finally Buffle broke the silence by saying:

"I'd give my last ounce, and my shootin'-iron besides, mum, ef I could put yer on his trail; but I can't remember no such man; ken you, fellers?"

Three melancholy nods replied in the negative.

"I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Mrs. Berryn. "I will go back to the crossing and take the next stage. Perhaps, Mr. Buffle, if I send you my address when I reach San Francisco, you will let me know if you ever find any traces of him?"

"Depend upon all of us for that, mum," replied Buffle.

"Thank you," said she, and departed as suddenly as she had entered, leaving the men staring stupidly at each other.

"Wonder how she got here from the crossin'?" finally remarked one.

"Ef she came alone, she's got a black ride back," said another. "It's nigh onto fourteen miles to that crossin'."

"An' she orten't to be travelin' at all," said little Muggy, the smallest man of the party. "I'm a family man--or I wuz once--an' I tell yer she ort to be where she ken keep quiet, an' wait for what's comin'

soon."

The men glanced at each other significantly, but without any of the levity which usually follows such an announcement in more cultured circles.

"This game's up, boys," said Buffle, rising suddenly. "The stage don't reach the crossin' till noon, an' she is goin' to hev this shanty to stay in till daylight, anyhow. You fellers had better git, right away."

Saying which, Buffle hurried out to look for Mrs. Berryn. He soon overtook her, and awkwardly said:

"Mum!"

She stopped.

"Yer don't need to start till after daylight to reach that stage, mum, an' you'd better come back and rest yerself in my shanty till mornin'."

"I am very much obliged, sir," she replied, "but--"

"Don't be afeard, mum," said Buffle, hastily. "We're rough, but a lady's as safe here as she'd be among her family. Ye'll have the cabin all to yerself, an' I'll leave a revolver with yer to make yer feel better."

"You are very kind, sir, but--it will take me some time to get back."

"Horse lame, p'r'aps?"

"No, sir; the truth is, I walked."

"Good God!" ejaculated Buffle; "I'll kill any scoundrel of a station-agent that'll let a woman take such a walk as this. I'll take you back on a good horse before noon to-morrow, and I'll put a hole through that rascal right before your eyes, mum."