“That feller can outhug a grizzly,” said he. “Boys,” he continued, “that chap’s been buckin’ agin luck sence he’s been in the diggin’s, an’ is clean busted. But his luck begun to turn this evening, an’ here’s what goes for keepin’ the ball a-rollin’. Here’s my ante;” saying which, he laid his old hat on the bar, took out his buckskin bag of gold-dust, and emptied it into the hat. Bags came out of pockets all around, and were either entirely emptied, or had their contents largely diminished by knife-blades, which scooped out the precious dust, and dropped it into the hat. “There,” said Buffle, looking into the hat, “I reckon that’ll kerry ’em back to their folks.” For a fortnight the saloon was as quiet as a well-ordered prayer-meeting, and it was solemnly decided that no fight with pistols should take place nearer than The Bend, which was, at least, a mile from where the new resident’s cradle was located. One pleasant, quiet evening, Buffle, who frequently passed an hour with Berryn on the latter’s woodpile, was seen approaching the saloon with a very small bundle, which, nevertheless, occupied both his arms and all his attention. “It, by thunder,” said one. So it was; a wee, pink-faced, blue-eyed, fuzzy-topped little thing, with one hand frantically clutching three hairs of Buffle’s beard. “See the little thing pull,” said one. “Is that all the nose they hev at fust?” asked another, seriously. “Can’t yer take them pipes out uv yer mouths when the baby’s aroun’?” indignantly demanded another. Little Muggy edged his way through the crowd, threw away his quid of tobacco, took the baby from Buffle, and kissed it a dozen times. “I’m goin’ home, fellers,” said Muggy, finally. “I’m wanted by the lawyers for cuttin’ a man that sassed me while I was shoe-makin’. But I’m a-goin’ to see my young uns, even if all creation wants me.” “An’ I’m a-goin’, too,” said Buffle. “I’m wanted pretty bad by some that’s East, but I reckon I’m well enough hid by the har that’s grow’d sence I wuz a boy, an’ dug out from old Varmont. I’ve had a new taste uv decency lately, an’ I’m goin’ to see ef I can’t stan’ it for a stiddy diet. The chap over to the shanty sez he ken git me somethin’ to do, an’ ennythin’s better’n gamblin’, drinkin’, and fightin’”. “It’s agin the law to kerry shootin’-irons there, Buffle,” suggested one. “Yes, an’ they got a new kind uv a law there, to keep a man from takin’ his bitters,” said another. “Yes,” said Buffle, “all that’s mighty tough, but ef a feller’s bound fur bed-rock, he might ez well git that all uv a sudden, ef he ken.” Buffle started toward the door, stopped as if he had something else to say, started again, hesitated, feigned indignation at the baby, flushed the least bit, opened the door, partly closed it again, squeezed himself out and displaying only the tip of his nose, roared: