Barker, who knew that the bulk of Demorest’s fortune was in Stacy’s hands, was touched at this proof of his unselfish thought, and answered with equal unselfishness that he was concerned only by the fear of Mrs. Barker’s disappointment.  “Why, Lord!  Phil, whether she’s lost or saved her money it’s nothing to me.  I gave it to her to do what she liked with it, but I’m afraid she’ll be worrying over what I think of it,—­as if she did not know me!  And I’m half a mind, if it were not for missing her, to go over to Boomville, where she’s stopping.”

“I thought you said she was in San Francisco?” said Demorest abstractedly.

Barker colored.  “Yes,” he answered quickly.  “But I’ve heard since that she stopped at Boomville on the way.”

“Then don’t let me keep you here,” returned Demorest.  “For if Jim telegraphs to me I shall start for San Francisco at once, and I rather think he will.  I did not like to say so before those panic-mongers outside who are stampeding everything; so run along, Barker boy, and ease your mind about the wife.  We may have other things to think about soon.”

Thus adjured, Barker rose from his half-finished breakfast and slipped away.  Yet he was not quite certain what to do.  His wife must have heard the news at Boomville as quickly as he had, and, if so, would be on her way with Mrs. Horncastle; or she might be waiting for him—­knowing, too, that he had heard the news—­in fear and trembling.  For it was Barker’s custom to endow all those he cared for with his own sensitiveness, and it was not like him to reflect that the woman who had so recklessly speculated against his opinion would scarcely fear his reproaches in her defeat.  In the fullness of his heart he telegraphed to her in case she had not yet left Boomville:  “All right.  Have heard news.  Understand perfectly.  Don’t worry.  Come to me.”  Then he left the hotel by the stable entrance in order to evade the guests who had congregated on the veranda, and made his way to a little wooded crest which he knew commanded a view of the two roads from Boomville.  Here he determined to wait and intercept her before she reached the hotel.  He knew that many of the guests were aware of his wife’s speculations with Van Loo, and that he was her broker.  He wished to spare her running the gauntlet of their curious stares and comments as she drove up alone.  As he was climbing the slope the coach from Sacramento dashed past him on the road below, but he knew that it had changed horses at Boomville at four o’clock, and that his tired wife would not have availed herself of it at that hour, particularly as she could not have yet received the fateful news.  He threw himself under a large pine, and watched the stagecoach disappear as it swept round into the courtyard of the hotel.