"I--well--I--I--don't tell everything" stammered Buffle; and, catching
the bridle of Berryn's horse the moment his rider had dismounted, Buffle
dashed off to the saloon, and took numerous solitary drinks, at which no
one took offense. Then he turned, nodded significantly toward the old
shanty, and asked:

"How long since?"

"Not quite yit--yer got him here in time, Buffle," said Muggy.

"Thank the Lord!" said Buffle. His lips were very familiar with the name
of the Lord, but they had never before used it in this sense.

Then, while several men were getting ready to ask Buffle where he found
his man--Californians never ask questions in a hurry--there came from
the direction of Buffle's shanty the sound of a subdued cry.

"Gentlemen," said the barkeeper, "there's no more drinking at this bar
to-night until--until I say so."

No one murmured. No one swore. No one suggested a game. An old enemy of
Buffle's happened in, but that worthy, instead of feeling for his
pistol, quietly left the leaning-post, and bowed his enemy into it.

The boys stood and sat about, studied the cracks in the floor, the
pattern of the shutters, contemplated the insides of their hats, and
chewed tobacco as if their lives depended on it.

Buffle made frequent trips to the door, and looked out. Suddenly he
closed the door, and had barely time to whisper, "No noise, now, or I'll