“No,” said Stacy bluntly.  “Call me a crank, say I’m in a blue funk”—­his compressed lips and sharp black eyes did not lend themselves much to that hypothesis—­“only get out of this with that stuff, and take Barker with you!  I’m not responsible for myself while it’s here.”

Demorest knew Stacy to be combative, but practical.  If he had not been assured of his partner’s last night slumbers he might have thought he knew of the attempt.  Or if he had discovered the turned-up ground in the rear of the cabin his curiosity would have demanded an explanation.  Demorest paused only for a moment, and said, “Very well, I will go.”

“Good!  I’ll rouse out Barker, but not a word to him—­except that he must go.”

The rousing out of Barker consisted of Stacy’s lifting that young gentleman bodily from his bunk and standing him upright in the open doorway.  But Barker was accustomed to this Spartan process, and after a moment’s balancing with closed lids like an unwrapped mummy, he sat down in the doorway and began to dress.  He at first demurred to their departure except all together—­it was so unfraternal; but eventually he allowed himself to be persuaded out of it and into his clothes.  For Barker had also had his visions in the night, one of which was that they should build a beautiful villa on the site of the old cabin and solemnly agree to come every year and pass a week in it together.  “I thought at first,” he said, sliding along the floor in search of different articles of his dress, or stopping gravely to catch them as they were thrown to him by his partners, “that we’d have it at Boomville, as being handier to get there; but I’ve concluded we’d better have it here, a little higher up the hill, where it could be seen over the whole Black Spur Range.  When we weren’t here we could use it as a Hut of Refuge for broken-down or washed-out miners or weary travelers, like those hospices in the Alps, you know, and have somebody to keep it for us.  You see I’ve thought even of that, and Van Loo is the very man to take charge of it for us.  You see he’s got such good manners and speaks two languages.  Lord! if a German or Frenchman came along, poor and distressed, Van Loo would just chip in his own language.  See?  You’ve got to think of all these details, you see, boys.  And we might call it ’The Rest of the Three Partners,’ or ‘Three Partners’ Rest.’”

“And you might begin by giving us one,” said Stacy.  “Dry up and drink your coffee.”

“I’ll draw out the plans.  I’ve got it all in my head,” continued the enthusiastic Barker, unheeding the interruption.  “I’ll just run out and take a look at the site, it’s only right back of the cabin.”  But here Stacy caught him by his dangling belt as he was flying out of the door with one boot on, and thrust him down in a chair with a tin cup of coffee in his hand.