“Buffle,” whispered the barkeeper, who knew the great man by sight, “he’s a littler man than you.”

“I know it, boss,” replied Buffle, most brazenly.  “He sez he don’t drink.”

“Never saw him here before—­there, he’s goin’ out now,” said the barkeeper.

Buffle turned and dashed through the crowd; all who held glasses quickly laid them down and followed.

“Stand back, the hull crowd uv yer,” said Buffle; “this ain’t no fight—­me an’ the gentleman got private bizness.”  And, laying his hand on Berryn’s shoulder, he said, “What are yer doin’ here, when yer know a lady like that?”

“Suffering hell for abusing heaven,’” replied Berryn, passionately.

“Then why don’t yer go back?” inquired Buffle.

“Because I’ve got no money; all luck has failed me ever since I left home—­shipwreck, hunger, poverty—­”

“Come back a minute,” interrupted Buffle.  “I forgot to come down with the dust for the drinks.  Now I tell yer what—­I want yer to go back to my camp—­I’ve got plenty uv gold, an’ it’s no good to me, only fur gamblin’ an’ drinkin’; yer welcome to enough uv it to git yerself home, an’ git on yer feet when yer get thar.”

Berryn looked doubtingly at him as they entered the saloon.

“P’r’aps somebody here ken tell this gentleman my name?” said Buffle.

“Buffle!” said several voices in chorus.

“Bully!  Now, p’r’aps you same fellers ken tell him ef I’m a man uv my word?”

“You bet,” responded the same chorus.

“An’ now, p’r’aps some uv yer’ll sell me a good hoss, pervidin’ yer don’t want him stole mighty sudden?”

Several men invited attention to their respective animals, tied near the door.  Promptly selecting one, paying for it, and settling with the barkeeper, and mounting his own horse while Berryn mounted the new one, the two men galloped away, leaving the bystanders lost in astonishment, from which they only recovered after almost superhuman industry on the part of the barkeeper.

* * * * *

One evening, when the daily labors and household cares of the Pat Pocket Gulchites had ended, the residents of that quiet village were congregated, as usual, at the saloon.  It was too early for gambling and fighting, and the boys chatted peacefully, pausing only a few times to drink “Here’s her,” which had become the standard toast of the Gulch.  Conversation turned on Muggy’s invention, and a few bets were exchanged, which showed the boys were not quite sure it was a rocker, after all.  Suddenly Sandytop, who had been leaning against the door-frame, and, looking in the direction of Buffle’s old cabin, ejaculated: 

“’Tis a rocker, boys—­it’s a rocker, but—­but not that kind.”

The boys poured out the door, and saw an unusual procession approaching Mrs. Berryn’s cabin; first came Uppercrust, the young ex-doctor, then an Irishwoman from a neighboring settlement, and then Muggy, bearing a baby’s cradle, neatly made of pine boards.  The doctor and woman went in, and Muggy, dropping the cradle, ran at full speed to the saloon, and up to the bar, the crowd following.