shoot," when the doctor walked in. The crowd arose.

"It's all right, gentlemen," said the doctor--"as fine a boy as I ever
saw."

"My treat for the rest of the evening, boys," said the barkeeper,
hurriedly crowding glasses and bottles on the bar. "Her," "Him," "Him,
Junior," "Buffle," "Doc.," and "Old Rockershop," as some happily
inspired miner dubbed little Muggy, were drunk successively.

The door opened again, and in walked Allan Berryn. Glancing quickly
about, he soon distinguished Buffle. He grasped his hand, looked him
steadily in the eye, and exclaimed:

"Buffle, you--"

He was a Harvard graduate, and a fine talker, was Allan Berryn, but,
when he had spoken two words, he somehow forgot the remainder of the
speech he had made up on his way over; his silence for two or three
seconds seemed of hours to every man who looked on his face, so that it
was a relief to all when he gave Buffle a mighty hug, and then
precipitately retreated.

Buffle looked sheepish, and shook himself.

"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