Mrs. Berryn shuddered, at sight of which Buffle mentally consigned his eyes to a locality boasting a superheated atmosphere, for talking so roughly to a lady.

"Don't harm him, Mr. Buffle," said she. "He knew nothing about it. I asked him the road to Fat Pocket Gulch, and he pointed it out. He did not know but what I had a horse or a carriage. Unfortunately, the stage was robbed the day before yesterday, and all my money was taken, or I should not have walked here, I assure you. My passage is paid to San Francisco, and the driver told me that if I wished to come down here, the next stage would take me through to San Francisco. When I get there, I can soon obtain money from the East."

"Madame," said Buffle, unconsciously taking off his hat, "any lady that'll make that walk by dark is clear gold all the way down to bed-rock. Ef yer husband's in California, I'll find him fur yer, in spite of man or devil--_I_ will, an' I'll be on the trail in half an hour. An' you'd better stay here till I come back, or send yer word. I don't want to brag, but thar ain't a man in the Gulch that'll dare molest anythin' aroun' _my_ shanty, an' as thar's plenty of pervisions thar--plain, but good--yer can't suffer. The spring is close by, an'

you'll allers find firewood by the door. An' ef yer want help about anythin', ask the fust man yer see, and say I told yer to."

Mrs. Berryn looked earnestly into his face for a moment, and then trusted him.

"Mr. Buffle," she said, "he is the best man that ever lived. But we were both proud, and we quarrelled, and he left me in anger. I accidentally heard he was in California, through an acquaintance who saw him leave New York on the California steamer. If you see him, tell him I was wrong, and that I will die if he does not come back. Tell him--tell him--that."

"Never mind, mum," said Buffle, leading her hastily toward the shanty, and talking with unusual rapidity. "I'll bring him back all right ef I find him; an' find him I will, ef he's on top of the ground."

They entered the cabin, and Buffle was rather astonished at the appearance of his own home. The men were gone, but on the bare logs, where Buffle usually reposed, they had spread their coats neatly, and covered them with a blanket which little Muggy usually wore.

The cards had disappeared, and in their place lay a very small fragment of looking-glass; the demijohn stood in its accustomed place, but against it leaned a large chip, on which was scrawled, in charcoal, the word _Worter_.

"Good," said Buffle, approvingly. "Now, mum, keep up yer heart. I tell yer I'll fetch him, an' any man at the Gulch ken tell yer thet lyin'

ain't my gait."

Buffle slammed the door, called at two or three other shanties, and gave orders in a style befitting a feudal lord, and in ten minutes was on horseback, galloping furiously out on the trail to Green Flat.

The Green Flatites wondered at finding the great man among them, and treated him with the most painful civility. As he neither hung about the saloon, "got up" a game, nor provoked a horse-trade, it was immediately surmised that he was looking for some one, and each man searchingly questioned his trembling memory whether he had ever done Buffle an injury.

All preserved a respectful silence as Buffle walked from claim to claim, carefully scrutinizing many, and all breathed freer as they saw him and his horse disappear over the hill on the Sonora trail.

At Sonora he considered it wise to stay over Sunday--not to enjoy religious privileges, but because on Sunday sinners from all parts of the country round flocked into Sonora, to commune with the spirits, infernal rather than celestial, gathered there.

He made the tour of all the saloons, dashed eagerly at two or three men, with plain gold rings on left fore-fingers, disgustedly found them the wrong men beyond doubt, cursed them, and invited them to drink. Then he closely catechised all the barkeepers, who were the only reliable directories in that country; they were anxious to oblige him, but none could remember such a man. So Buffle took his horse, and sought his man elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Berryn remained in camp, where she was cared for in a manner which called out her astonishment equally with her gratitude.

Buffle was hardly well out of the Gulch when Mrs. Berryn heard a knock at the door; she opened it, and a man handed her a frying-pan, with the remark, "Buffle is cracked," and hastily disappeared.

In the morning she was awakened by a crash outside the door, and, on looking out, discovered a quantity of firewood ready cut; each morning thereafter found in the same place a fresh supply, which was usually decorated with offerings of different degrees of appropriateness--pieces of fresh meat, strings of dried ditto, blankets enough for a large hotel, little packages of gold dust, case knives and forks, cans of salt butter, and all sorts of provisions, in quantity.

Each man in camp fondly believed his own particular revolver was better than any other, and, as a natural consequence, the camp became almost peaceful, by reason of the number of pistols that were left in front of Mrs. Berryn's door. But she carefully left them alone, and when this was discovered the boys sorrowfully removed them.

Then old Griff, living up the Gulch, with a horrible bulldog for companion, brought his darling animal down late one dark night, and tied him near the lady's residence, where he discoursed sweet sounds for two hours, until, to Mrs. Berryn's delight, he broke his chain, and returned to his old home.

Then Sandytop, the ace-thief, suddenly left camp. Many were the surmises and bets on the subject; and on the third day, when two men, one of whom believed he had gone to steal a mule, and the other believed he had rolled into the creek while drunk, were about to refer the whole matter to pistols, they were surprised at seeing Sandytop stagger into camp, under a large, unsightly bundle. The next day Mrs. Berryn ate from crockery instead of tin, and had a china wash-bowl and pitcher.

Little Muggy, who sold out his claim the day after Buffle left, went to San Francisco, but reappeared in camp in a few days, with a large bundle, a handsaw and a plane. Some light was thrown on the contents of the bundle by sundry scraps of linen, cotton, and very soft flannel, that the wind occasionally blew from the direction of Mrs. Berryn's abode; but why Muggy suddenly needed a very large window in the only boarded side of his house; why he never staked another claim and went to "washing;" why his door always had to be unlocked from the inside before any one could get in, instead of being ajar, as was the usual custom with doors at Fat Pocket Gulch; why visitors always found the floor strewn with shavings and blocks, but were told to mind their business if they asked what he was making; and why Uppercrust, an aristocratic young reprobate, who had been a doctor in the States, had suddenly taken up his abode with Muggy, were mysteries unsolvable by the united intellects of Fat Pocket Gulch.

It was finally suggested by some one, that, as Muggy had often and fluently cursed the "rockers" used to wash out dirt along the Gulch, it was likely enough he was inventing a new one, and the ex-doctor, who, of course, knew something about chemistry, was helping him to work an amalgamator into it; a careful comparison of bets showed this to be a fairly accepted opinion, and so the matter rested.

Meanwhile, Buffle had been untiring in his search, as his horse, could he have spoken, would have testified. Men wondered what Berryn had done to Buffle, and odds of ten to one that some undertaker would soon have reason to bless Buffle were freely offered, but seldom taken. One night Buffle's horse galloped into Deadlock Ridge, and the rider, hailing the first man he met, inquired the way to the saloon.

"I don't know," replied the man.

"Come, no foolin' thar," said Buffle, indignantly.

"I don't know, I tell you--I don't drink."

"Hang yer!" roared Buffle, in honest fury at what seemed to him the most stupendous lie ever told by a miner, "I'll teach yer to lie to me." And out came Buffle's pistol.

The man saw his danger, and, springing at Buffle with the agility of a cat, snatched the pistol and threw it on the ground; in an instant Buffle's hand had firmly grasped the man by his shirt-collar, and, the horse taking fright, Buffle, a second later, found in his hand a torn piece of red flannel, a chain, and a locket, while the man lay on the ground.

"At last!" exclaimed Buffle, convinced that he had found his man; but his emotions were quickly cooled by the man in the road, who, jumping from the ground, picked up Buffle's pistol, cocked and aimed it, and spoke in a grating voice, as if through set teeth:

"Give back that locket this second, or, as God lives, I'll take it out of a dead man's hand."

The rapidity of human thought is never so beautifully illustrated as when the owner of a human mind is serving involuntarily as a target.

"My friend," said Buffle, "ef I've got anything uv yourn, yer ken hev it on provin' property. We'll go to whar that fust light is up above--I'll walk the hoss slow an' yer ken keep me covered with the pistol; ain't that fair?"

"Be quick, then," said the man, excitedly; "start!"

The trip was not more than two minutes in length, but it seemed a good hour to Buffle, whose acquaintanceship the delicacy of the trigger of his beloved pistol caused his past life to pass in retrospect before him several times before they reached the light. The light proved to be in the saloon whose locality had provoked the quarrel. The saloon was full, the door was open, and there was a buzz of astonishment, which culminated in a volley of ejaculations, in which strength predominated over elegance, as a large man, followed closely by a small man with a cocked pistol, marched up to the bar.

"Gentlemen," said Buffle, "this feller sez I've got some uv his property, an' he's come here to prove it. Now, feller, wot's yer claim?"

"A chain and locket," said the man; "hang you, I see them in your hand now."

"Ennybody ken see a chain an' locket in my hand," said Buffle, "but that don't make it yourn."

"The locket contains the portrait of a lady, and the inscription 'Frances to Allan'--look quick, or I'll shoot!" said the little man, savagely.

Buffle opened it, and saw Mrs. Berryn's portrait.

"Mister, yer right," said he; "here's yer property, an' I'll apologize, er drink, er fight--er apologize, _an_' drink, _an'_ fight, whichever is yer style. Fust, however, ef ye'll drop that pistol, I'll drink myself, considerin'--never mind. Denominate yer pizen, gentlemen," said he, as the audience crowded to the bar.

"Buffle," whispered the barkeeper, who knew the great man by sight, "he's a littler man than you."

"I know it, boss," replied Buffle, most brazenly. "He sez he don't drink."

"Never saw him _here_ before--there, he's goin' out now," said the barkeeper.

Buffle turned and dashed through the crowd; all who held glasses quickly laid them down and followed.

"Stand back, the hull crowd uv yer," said Buffle; "this ain't no fight--me an' the gentleman got private bizness." And, laying his hand on Berryn's shoulder, he said, "What are yer doin' here, when yer know a lady like that?"

"Suffering hell for abusing heaven,'" replied Berryn, passionately.

"Then why don't yer go back?" inquired Buffle.

"Because I've got no money; all luck has failed me ever since I left home--shipwreck, hunger, poverty--"

"Come back a minute," interrupted Buffle. "I forgot to come down with the dust for the drinks. Now I tell yer what--I want yer to go back to my camp--I've got plenty uv gold, an' it's no good to me, only fur gamblin' an' drinkin'; yer welcome to enough uv it to git yerself home, an' git on yer feet when yer get thar."