entertaining some friends at his residence; or, to use the language of
the mines, "there was a game up to Buffle's." In a shanty of the
composite order of architecture--it having a foundation of stone,
succeeded by logs, a gable of coffin misfits and cracker-boxes, and a
roof of bark and canvas--Buffle and three other miners were playing "old
sledge."
The table was an empty pork-barrel; the seats were respectively, a block
of wood, a stone, and a raisin-box, with a well-stuffed knapsack for the
tallest man.
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."
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."
Berryn looked doubtingly at him as they entered the saloon.
"P'r'aps somebody here ken tell this gentleman my name?" said Buffle.
"Buffle!" said several voices in chorus.
"Bully! Now, p'r'aps you same fellers ken tell him ef I'm a man uv my
word?"
"You bet," responded the same chorus.
"An' now, p'r'aps some uv yer'll sell me a good hoss, pervidin' yer
don't want him stole mighty sudden?"
Several men invited attention to their respective animals, tied near the
door. Promptly selecting one, paying for it, and settling with the
barkeeper, and mounting his own horse while Berryn mounted the new one,
the two men galloped away, leaving the bystanders lost in astonishment,
from which they only recovered after almost superhuman industry on the
part of the barkeeper.
* * * * *
One evening, when the daily labors and household cares of the Pat Pocket
Gulchites had ended, the residents of that quiet village were
congregated, as usual, at the saloon. It was too early for gambling and
fighting, and the boys chatted peacefully, pausing only a few times to
drink "Here's her," which had become the standard toast of the Gulch.
Conversation turned on Muggy's invention, and a few bets were
exchanged, which showed the boys were not quite sure it was a rocker,
after all. Suddenly Sandytop, who had been leaning against the
door-frame, and, looking in the direction of Buffle's old cabin,
ejaculated:
"'_Tis_ a rocker, boys--it's a rocker, but--but not that kind."
The boys poured out the door, and saw an unusual procession approaching
Mrs. Berryn's cabin; first came Uppercrust, the young ex-doctor, then an
Irishwoman from a neighboring settlement, and then Muggy, bearing a
baby's cradle, neatly made of pine boards. The doctor and woman went in,
and Muggy, dropping the cradle, ran at full speed to the saloon, and up
to the bar, the crowd following.
Muggy looked along the line, saw all the glasses were filled and in
hand, and then, raising his own, exclaimed, "Here's her, boys!" and then
went into a fully developed boo-hoo. And he was not alone; for once the
boys watered their liquor, and purer water God never made.
It was some moments before shirt-sleeves ceased to officiate as
handkerchiefs; but just as the boys commenced to look savagely at each
other, as if threatening cold lead if any one suspected undue
tenderness, Sandytop, who had returned to his post at the door to give
ease to the stream which his sleeve could not staunch, again startled
the crowd by staring earnestly toward the hill over which led the trail,
and exclaiming, "Good God!"
There was another rush to the door, and there, galloping down the trail,
was Buffle and another man. The boys stared at each other, but said
nothing--their gift of swearing was not equal to the occasion.
Steadily they stared at the two men, until Buffle, reining back a
little, pointed his pistol threateningly. They took the hint, and after
they were all inside, Sandytop closed the door and the shutters of the
unglazed windows.
"Thar's my shanty," said Buffle, as they neared it from one side; "that
one with two bar'ls fur a chimley. You jest go right in. I'll be thar ez
soon ez I put up the hosses."
As they reached the front, both men started at the sight of the cradle.
"Why, I didn't know you were a married man, Buffle?" said his companion.
"I--well--I--I--don't tell everything" stammered Buffle; and, catching
the bridle of Berryn's horse the moment his rider had dismounted, Buffle
dashed off to the saloon, and took numerous solitary drinks, at which no
one took offense. Then he turned, nodded significantly toward the old
shanty, and asked:
"How long since?"