rs. Berryn's delight, he broke his chain, and returned
to his old home.

Then Sandytop, the ace-thief, suddenly left camp. Many were the
surmises and bets on the subject; and on the third day, when two men,
one of whom believed he had gone to steal a mule, and the other believed
he had rolled into the creek while drunk, were about to refer the whole
matter to pistols, they were surprised at seeing Sandytop stagger into
camp, under a large, unsightly bundle. The next day Mrs. Berryn ate from
crockery instead of tin, and had a china wash-bowl and pitcher.

Little Muggy, who sold out his claim the day after Buffle left, went to
San Francisco, but reappeared in camp in a few days, with a large
bundle, a handsaw and a plane. Some light was thrown on the contents of
the bundle by sundry scraps of linen, cotton, and very soft flannel,
that the wind occasionally blew from the direction of Mrs. Berryn's
abode; but why Muggy suddenly needed a very large window in the only
boarded side of his house; why he never staked another claim and went to
"washing;" why his door always had to be unlocked from the inside before
any one could get in, instead of being ajar, as was the usual custom
with doors at Fat Pocket Gulch; why visitors always found the floor
strewn with shavings and blocks, but were told to mind their business if
they asked what he was making; and why Uppercrust, an aristocratic young
reprobate, who had been a doctor in the States, had suddenly taken up
his abode with Muggy, were mysteries unsolvable by the united intellects
of Fat Pocket Gulch.

It was finally suggested by some one, that, as Muggy had often and
fluently cursed the "rockers" used to wash out dirt along the Gulch, it
was likely enough he was inventing a new one, and the ex-doctor, who, of
course, knew something about chemistry, was helping him to work an
amalgamator into it; a careful comparison of bets showed this to be a
fairly accepted opinion, and so the matter rested.

Meanwhile, Buffle had been untiring in his search, as his horse, could
he have spoken, would have testified. Men wondered what Berryn had done
to Buffle, and odds of ten to one that some undertaker would soon have
reason to bless Buffle were freely offered, but seldom taken. One night
Buffle's horse galloped into Deadlock Ridge, and the rider, hailing the
first man he met, inquired the way to the saloon.

"I don't know," replied the man.

"Come, no foolin' thar," said Buffle, indi