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Updated: June 13, 2025
At the end of another fortnight there was a procession formed at Fat Pocket Gulch; two horses, one wearing a side-saddle, were brought to the door of Buffle's old house, and Mrs. Berryn and her husband mounted them; they were soon joined by Buffle and Muggy.
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.
"He is of medium height, slightly built, has brown hair and eyes, and wears a plain gold ring on the third finger of his left hand," continued Mrs. Berryn.
One pleasant, quiet evening, Buffle, who frequently passed an hour with Berryn on the latter's woodpile, was seen approaching the saloon with a very small bundle, which, nevertheless, occupied both his arms and all his attention. "It, by thunder," said one. So it was; a wee, pink-faced, blue-eyed, fuzzy-topped little thing, with one hand frantically clutching three hairs of Buflle's beard.
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.
Finally Buffle broke the silence by saying: "I'd give my last ounce, and my shootin'-iron besides, mum, ef I could put yer on his trail; but I can't remember no such man; ken you, fellers?" Three melancholy nods replied in the negative. "I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Mrs. Berryn. "I will go back to the crossing and take the next stage. Perhaps, Mr.
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.
Hey, fellers?" "You bet," was the firm response of the remaining two, and Buffle quickly passed a demijohn, to the ace-thief, as a sign of forgiveness and approbation. "Thank you, gentlemen God bless you," said the woman, earnestly. "My story is soon told. I am looking for my husband, and I must find him. His name is Allan Berryn."
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.
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