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?”