ch records were transmitted from place to
place with an alacrity which put official zeal to the deepest blush.

At the fashionable hour of two o'clock at night, Mr. Buffle was
entertaining some friends at his residence; or, to use the language of
the mines, "there was a game up to Buffle's." In a shanty of the
composite order of architecture--it having a foundation of stone,
succeeded by logs, a gable of coffin misfits and cracker-boxes, and a
roof of bark and canvas--Buffle and three other miners were playing "old
sledge."

The table was an empty pork-barrel; the seats were respectively, a block
of wood, a stone, and a raisin-box, with a well-stuffed knapsack for the
tallest man.

On one side of the shanty was a low platform of hewn logs, which
constituted the proprietor's couch when he slept; on another was the
door, on the third were confusedly piled Buffle's culinary utensils, and
on the fourth was a fireplace, whose defective draft had been the agent
of the fine frescoing of soot perceptible on the ceiling. A single
candle hung on a wire over the barrel, and afforded light auxiliary to
that thrown out by the fireplace.

The game had been going largely in Buffle's favor, as was usually the
case, when one of the opposition injudiciously played an ace which was
clearly from another pack of cards, inasmuch as Buffle, who had
dealt, had the rightful ace in his own hand. As it was the ace of
trumps, Buffle's indignation arose, and so did his person and pistol.

[Illustration: "COME IN," ROARED BUFFLES'S PARTNER. "COME IN, HANG YER,
IF YER LIFE'S INSURED!' THE DOOR OPENED SLOWLY, AND A WOMAN ENTERED.]

"Hang yer," said he, savagely; "yer don't come that game on me. I've got
that ace myself."

An ordinary man would have drawn pistol also, but Buffle's antagonist
knew his only safety lay in keeping quiet, so he only stared vacantly at
the muzzle of the revolver, that was so precisely aimed at his own head.

The two other players had risen to their feet, and were mentally
composing epitaphs for the victim, when there was heard a decided knock
on the door.

"Come in!" roared Buffle's partner, who was naturally the least excited
of the four. "Come in, hang yer, if yer life's insured."

The door opened slowly, and a woman entered.

Now, while there were but few women in the camp, the sight of a single
woman was not at all unusual. Yet, as she raised her vail, Buffle's
revolver fell from his hands, and the other pla