“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.