"There," said Buffle, looking into the hat, "I reckon that'll kerry 'em back to their folks."
For a fortnight the saloon was as quiet as a well-ordered prayer-meeting, and it was solemnly decided that no fight with pistols should take place nearer than The Bend, which was, at least, a mile from where the new resident's cradle was located.
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.
"See the little thing pull," said one.
"Is that all the nose they hev at fust?" asked another, seriously.
"Can't yer take them pipes out uv yer mouths when the baby's aroun'?" indignantly demanded another.
Little Muggy edged his way through the crowd, threw away his quid of tobacco, took the baby from Buffle, and kissed it a dozen times.
"I'm goin' home, fellers," said Muggy, finally. "I'm wanted by the lawyers for cuttin' a man that sassed me while I was shoe-makin'. But I'm a-goin' to see my young uns, even if all creation wants me."
"An' I'm a-goin', too," said Buffle. "I'm wanted pretty bad by some that's East, but I reckon I'm well enough hid by the bar that's grow'd sence I wuz a boy, an' dug out from old Varmont. I've had a new taste uv decency lately, an' I'm goin' to see ef I can't stan' it for a stiddy diet. The chap over to the shanty sez he ken git me somethin' to do, an' ennythin's better'n gamblin', drinkin', and fightin'.