ing work on her husband's estate, and
the major promised him Rose Cottage for a permanent residence as soon as
he would find a mistress for it.

Naturally, the young man succombed to the influences exerted against
him, and, after Mr. and Mrs. Doyson were fairly settled, the major told
his own wife, to her intense amusement, the history of the letter which
induced her to change her name.

BUFFLE.

How he came by his name, no one could tell. In the early days of the
gold fever there came to California a great many men who did not
volunteer their names, and as those about them had been equally reticent
on their own advent, they asked few questions of newcomers.

The hotels of the mining regions never kept registers for the
accommodation of guests--they were considered well-appointed hotels if
they kept water-tight roofs and well-stocked bars.

Newcomers were usually designated at first by some peculiarity of
physiognomy or dress, and were known by such names as "Broken Nose,"
"Pink Shirt," "Cross Bars," "Gone Ears," etc.; if, afterward, any man
developed some peculiarity of character, an observing and original miner
would coin and apply a new name, which would afterward be accepted as
irrevocably as a name conferred by the holy rite of baptism.

No one wondered that Buffle never divulged his real name, or talked of
his past life; for in the mines he had such an unhappy faculty of
winning at cards, getting new horses without visible bills of sale,
taking drinks beyond ordinary power of computation, stabbing and
shooting, that it was only reasonable to suppose that he had acquired
these abilities at the sacrifice of the peace of some other community.

He was not vicious--even a strict theologian could hardly have accused
him of malice; yet, wherever he went, he was promptly acknowledged
chief of that peculiar class which renders law and sheriffs necessary
evils.

He was not exactly a beauty--miners seldom were--yet a connoisseur in
manliness could have justly wished there were a dash of the Buffle blood
in the well-regulated veins of many irreproachable characters in quieter
neighborhoods than Fat Pocket Gulch, where the scene of this story was
located.

He was tall, active, prompt and generous, and only those who have these
qualities superadded to their own virtues are worthy to throw stones at
his memory.

He was brave, too. His bravery had been frequently recorded in lead in
the mining regions, and su