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