Saying which, Buffle hurried out to look for Mrs. Berryn.  He soon overtook her, and awkwardly said: 

“Mum!”

She stopped.

“Yer don’t need to start till after daylight to reach that stage, mum, an’ you’d better come back and rest yerself in my shanty till mornin’.”

“I am very much obliged, sir,” she replied, “but—­”

“Don’t be afeard, mum,” said Buffle, hastily.  “We’re rough, but a lady’s as safe here as she’d be among her family.  Ye’ll have the cabin all to yerself, an’ I’ll leave a revolver with yer to make yer feel better.”

“You are very kind, sir, but—­it will take me some time to get back.”

“Horse lame, p’r’aps?”

“No, sir; the truth is, I walked.”

“Good God!” ejaculated Buffle; “I’ll kill any scoundrel of a station-agent that’ll let a woman take such a walk as this.  I’ll take you back on a good horse before noon to-morrow, and I’ll put a hole through that rascal right before your eyes, mum.”

Mrs. Berryn shuddered, at sight of which Buffle mentally consigned his eyes to a locality boasting a superheated atmosphere, for talking so roughly to a lady.

“Don’t harm him, Mr. Buffle,” said she.  “He knew nothing about it.  I asked him the road to Fat Pocket Gulch, and he pointed it out.  He did not know but what I had a horse or a carriage.  Unfortunately, the stage was robbed the day before yesterday, and all my money was taken, or I should not have walked here, I assure you.  My passage is paid to San Francisco, and the driver told me that if I wished to come down here, the next stage would take me through to San Francisco.  When I get there, I can soon obtain money from the East.”

“Madame,” said Buffle, unconsciously taking off his hat, “any lady that’ll make that walk by dark is clear gold all the way down to bed-rock.  Ef yer husband’s in California, I’ll find him fur yer, in spite of man or devil—­I will, an’ I’ll be on the trail in half an hour.  An’ you’d better stay here till I come back, or send yer word.  I don’t want to brag, but thar ain’t a man in the Gulch that’ll dare molest anythin’ aroun’ my shanty, an’ as thar’s plenty of pervisions thar—­plain, but good—­yer can’t suffer.  The spring is close by, an’ you’ll allers find firewood by the door.  An’ ef yer want help about anythin’, ask the fust man yer see, and say I told yer to.”

Mrs. Berryn looked earnestly into his face for a moment, and then trusted him.

“Mr. Buffle,” she said, “he is the best man that ever lived.  But we were both proud, and we quarrelled, and he left me in anger.  I accidentally heard he was in California, through an acquaintance who saw him leave New York on the California steamer.  If you see him, tell him I was wrong, and that I will die if he does not come back.  Tell him—­tell him—­that.”

“Never mind, mum,” said Buffle, leading her hastily toward the shanty, and talking with unusual rapidity.  “I’ll bring him back all right ef I find him; an’ find him I will, ef he’s on top of the ground.”