“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 with 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.